This was why I had to find another way.
Because no amount of cash was worth losing who I was trying to become, for her.
A sharp knock startled me. We didn’t get many visitors except for Estelle, who dropped in with Tupperware of real food now and then. Thick stews, roasted chicken, buttery mashed potatoes. Meals I looked forward to more than I’d ever admit, especially on nights like tonight when I was staring down a bowl of overcooked ramen and trying to convince myself it didn’t taste like regret.
I put down my fork, hoping it really was Estelle. “Keep eating, Bug. I’ll check who it is and be right back.”
I opened the front door, and my mouth went dry. Definitely not Estelle.
Matty stood on my step with a brown paper bag cradledin his arms. He’d changed since I saw him last. Traded one soft flannel shirt for another, unbuttoned and hanging open over a plain white tee that hugged his chest, reminding me I hadn’t touched him enough when we fucked by the lake three days ago. His jeans were worn, faded in all the right places, and his hair looked slightly damp, like he’d come straight from a shower.
I blinked. “Uh, Matt?”
“Where’s your kitchen?” He pushed his way past me into my home.My home.
I pointed like an idiot. “Straight ahead, on the right.”
He walked into the kitchen, and Ivy squealed. “Maaaah!”
I snapped out of my daze and ran after him. This obsession Ivy had with him wasn’t good. I had to nip it in the bud.
“Wait. What are you doing here?” The sight of him ruffling my little girl’s hair made my heart beat fast.
“I brought ice cream.” He set the bag down on the counter like he owned the place.
“Don’t say that?—”
“I’cweam!” Ivy shrieked from the table. Her chair scraped as she bounced up, then squealed again. “Maaaah bought Ivy i’cweam, Daddee!”
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “Great. Thanks. Now she’s not gonna eat her veggies.”
Matty turned and smiled at her like it was the best thing in the world to be adored by a three-year-old. “You’ll eat your veggies, won’t you, Ivy?”
Ivy nodded eagerly, the brightest damn smile lighting up her whole face. She patted the chair next to hers. “Fee’ me?”
I opened my mouth. “Ivy, you can feed yourself, baby?—”
“It’s okay.” Matty slid into the seat beside her like he’d done it a hundred times before. “I’ve got her.”
He handed me the ice cream without looking away fromher, and I stood there a beat too long, staring at him like he might disappear if I blinked.
Oh God.
He was in my kitchen.
In my kitchen.
Where the cupboard doors hung crooked on their hinges and the paint was chipped from years of wear. Where the fridge groaned every time it kicked on, and the counter had scorch marks from where Heather almost burned the place down.
I swallowed hard and turned away, shoving the pint into the freezer like it might make all this feel less exposed. Less intimate. Less like a dream I hadn’t allowed myself to have in years.
Behind me, Matty’s voice was soft. Low. Encouraging. “Open wide, Bug.”
Ivy giggled, opened her mouth, and made a show of chewing exaggeratedly. She held up Tumbles.
I forgot to breathe.
“Maaah has to feed Tumbles too.”
