Page 35 of The Third Girl

CHAPTER 16

SKYLAR

After Matt takes off for the shower, I peek in on Sailor. She’s happily playing with her pink kitchen set. That sucker takes up half the wall. There are plastic pots and pans and plates everywhere. Fake food, too. Good. She’s occupied.

Ducking back into the kitchen, I hurriedly remove the platter of waffles from the table and put them into a storage bag to take home with me. I don’t want Matt to even see them in the trash. Fuck, can I possibly do anything else wrong with this guy? This is exactly what I meant when I told Laney his life is a minefield of potential triggers. He’s right, I couldn’t have known about that. But I still feel awful.

And what was with him not-so-subtly asking about my age? Well, now he knows, I guess. I huff out a sad laugh. I’m younger than he thought, and from his reaction, I guess that’s not a good thing. I’ve been aware of his age since before I met him because I know he’s older than Lucy, and she’s thirty-five. And Travis is between them, so I’m guessing Matt must be thirty-eight or thirty-nine. Maybe forty? I don’t know. It’s so hard to tell with guys.

The shower starts upstairs, and I figure I have ten minutes or so to pull this together. Quickly, I yank open the refrigerator and take out the ingredients, then fish around in his cabinets until I find a small fry pan and a cutting board. I move quickly, chopping veggies and ham into small pieces, then melting some butter in the pan.

The look on his face when he walked in and saw those damn waffles is going to haunt me forever. Shell-shocked. That’s a good term for it. I shake my head, regretting every moment of it. And then, to top it all off, I had the urge to hug him. I even reached for him. What an idiot I am sometimes, I swear. But I’d wanted to comfort him, and he’d looked like he could use a hug. So, maybe I’m not that dumb. It’s simply not me he wants in his arms.

I sigh, dumping the onions and peppers into the pan, then move them around for a few seconds before I get out a bowl and crack three eggs into it.

Cheese.“Shit.” I pivot on my heel and dig back into the fridge. Spotting a block of cheddar, I bring it back to the counter and slice off a few pieces.

Hearing the shower turn off, I know I only have another couple of minutes, so I whisk the eggs and pour them into the pan, staring at them as they cook. I don’t know what else to say to Matt. What a shit show this morning has turned into. Deftly flipping the egg, I lay cheese on one half of it and let the second side continue to cook.

As soon as I hear Matt’s heavy tread on the stairs, I fold the omelet in half, slide it onto the waiting plate, grab a fork, and race out to meet him.

I run into a solid wall of chest as I turn the corner, and the plate tips, trapping the omelet between it and my chest. The back of my hand is flat against Matt’s abs. Very muscular, hard abs. A surprised sound erupts from my mouth as strong hands grasp my upper arms to steady me. I squeak out, “Whatever you do, don’t move.”

“Shit.” Matt’s huffed expletive is close to a laugh, and for that I’m grateful.

A silent giggle bubbles in my chest. “Oh, God. I’m sorry.” An actual laugh bursts from me at the same time it does from Matt.

“Holy shit, what a morning,” he groans.

“I think we can salvage the omelet. Hang on.” And even though I don’t want to leave the warmth of Matt’s body or make him remove his hands from me, I do want him to have something for breakfast. I bring my other hand up to help me maneuver, making sure I have the plate with both hands before I step back, bending forward. The egg falls neatly onto the plate, though some of the cheddar is stuck to my shirt. “Um. Here’s your breakfast?” I wrinkle my nose, then shake my head, looking at the sad thing. “Well, it did look good. I’ll make you another.”

Another chuckle rumbles from Matt. “No. That’s okay. Give it to me, I’ll eat it.”

My brows draw together as I look up at him. “Really?”

He shrugs. “Sure. Why not? It’s not like you were rolling around in the mud in that shirt. Or changed a tire while wearing it. Or wore it to a self-defense class and got sweaty.”

I blink up at him, then my eyebrow twitches upward as I hand him the plate. “Are you saying I was sweaty at that last self-defense class?”

His brows draw together, and he shakes his head, a slight smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. “Nooo. Women never sweat. Sorry, my mistake.” He gives me an endearing grin, then sits down with his smashed omelet, tearing into it. “Anyway, my point was that you did what? Sleep in the shirt? I’m sure I’ll be okay. No harm done.” He laughs again and points at the melted cheese. “Now, your shirt? That’s a problem. You’re messy. Just like my daughter.”

“Matt Morello. This might be the most you’ve said at once in a week. And are you cracking jokes?”

“Indeed.” He shoots me a grin.

I hold out my hand. “I’m sorry, who are you and what did you do with the guy who went upstairs?”

“I don’t know. It struck me as funny.” He shovels another bite of the omelet into his mouth. I pull out the chair opposite him and sit down, continuing to stare at him as he wolfs down his breakfast. “This is excellent, by the way. You’re right, you do make a mean omelet.”

My brows draw together.

He pauses for a few seconds, then lets out the breath he was holding, his expression thoughtful. He murmurs, “I’ve gotta learn how to deal with things that remind me of her. I can’t live my life like that.”

My lips part. I didn’t expect him to say that at all. “Um. I think that’s brave of you.”

“It’s necessary. It’s time.” He nods, almost as if he’s reassuring himself that he’s doing the right thing.

Not wanting to push him any further, I change the topic. “Do you still want me to stay so you can sleep?”

“That’d be great. Um.” He gives me a funny look. “Do you want to go to the park with Sailor and me later?”

My brain does a zig and then it zags. I blink.Shit.“I would normally say yes, but I’m meeting someone for lunch.”

“Oh. Okay. No problem.” He slaps his hands to his thighs and gets up with the empty plate, taking it into the kitchen.

Regret hits me square in the face. Leave it to me to accept a date the day before Matt asks me to go with him to the park with Sailor. I heave out a sigh. Not that I think he was asking me out. A trip to the park isn’t exactly a date. But I do wonder if it’s Matt’s way of easing into more. And I’ve just fucked it up.

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