With his mind swirling, he looked around for something useful to do. After pulling his mother’s cleaning supplies out from under the sink, he began a top-down scrubbing, starting with the girls’ bathroom and working his way through the house. He took the sheets to the basement laundry and smiled when he saw the state-of-the art washer and dryer set that had been his family holiday gift two years ago.
Neat since childhood, Seb didn’t mind the rhythmic work of wiping down tiles and fluffing pillows. He made each girl’s bed up with care, spending long minutes selecting a different array of stuffed animals from their crowded bins to make the beds cozy.
With trepidation he entered his sister’s bedroom, not at all surprised that every surface was covered with discarded clothes. Reading labels, he segregated dry-clean-only and hand-washables in two piles on the bed. He’d drop her dry cleaning off later, but he was not going to fuss around with his sister’s lingerie. There was being useful and then there was being weird.
Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he frowned at the knit sweater in his hands that had the care tag cut off. “What are you looking at?” he asked his mirror self. He rubbed his scruff and fingered his thick hair. It bounced back into place as usual. Grumbling under his breath, he tossed the garment onto the bed just to be safe. “I’ll make a fine wife one day.” Twisting his lips, he lifted the basket under his arm. “Yes, Stephanie, I know that was sexist.”
And great, now he was having imaginary conversations with not just himself, but his sister too.
Switching out the sheets for the clothes took a few minutes and then he had both the washer and the dryer going. He crossed his arms and looked around the cramped basement. He spotted numerous cobwebs along the ceiling beams in the dim light from the high narrow windows. A few broom swipes made them dissolve. The small space was so different from Matty’s expansive basement with its white-washed paneling.
“Sebby?” A shout from upstairs startled him.
Emerging from the basement stairwell, he spotted his sister. She looked him over, eyes landing on the empty laundry bin he was bringing back up. “You’ve not been here long enough to have amassed laundry.”
He laughed. “No. It’s your stuff actually.”
She flushed. “What the hell? I didn’t ask you to…. Tell me you didn’t throw my good undergarments in the washing machine?”
Eyes narrowing, he gave her a look that telegraphed what he thought of her opinion of him. “Your unmentionables are safe, I assure you.”
“Oh. I just didn’t think you’d start up cleaning so soon.” Seb was about to ask what the hell she meant by that, but she immediately switched topics. “The store’s hectic but I had to leave to pick up Rowen. Mom and I were hoping you could mind her this afternoon.” Without waiting for a reply, she tossed her hair over one shoulder and muttered, “Back in a few.”
AN hour later, Seb peered into the well-stocked refrigerator, and pulled out sliced ham and cheddar cheese. He turned to Rowen. “Fancy a ham melt?”
She looked at him distrustfully. “What’s that?”
“It’s like a grilled cheese. Only with ham as well.”
Rowen continued to look dubious.
“How about if I make one and you can try it. If you don’t like it, I’ll eat it and you can have something else.”
Taking silence as acquiescence, he set to work. “Do you have a favorite bread?”
She bit her lower lip as he held up a few choices. She pointed to the rye bread. He smiled. Perfect.
He toasted the bread and buttered it before placing the slices on a flat broiler pan and layering the ham and cheese. Setting the oven to broil, he kept watch till the cheese bubbled.
Spotting a set of nonbreakable Disney plates he assumed must be the girls’, he laid out the open-faced sandwich before her. She seemed puzzled. “It’s not a samwich,” she complained. “How do I—”
“We’ll wait a moment for it to cool and then you can pick it up and eat it like a pizza.”
Leaning forward, Rowen puffed up her cheeks and blew to speed up the cooling. Seb watched as she took the first gooey bite and chewed in a considering manner. Anxious, he waited for her verdict.
“Unc Matt cuts my samwich into animals. He made a bear with banana ears and raisin nose.”
Seb resisted the urge to correct her pronunciation and stayed quiet. Rowen kept eating and so he turned to make himself another ham melt. As he waited for his cheese to bubble, Rowen mumbled, “It’s nummy.”
Smiling, he said, “I’m glad you like it.” Then after a pause, “Your grandpa used to make these for us on Sundays sometimes. It was his version of brunch. Only he’d add egg.”
He settled next to her at the counter, eating his own sandwich. “You knew my grandpa?” Rowen asked.
Seb felt the pang down to his toes. “He was my dad.”
She said nothing further but after finishing one slice of bread, she pushed the plate away. “Full.”
“Okay,” Seb said. “What do you want to do now?”
Familiar black eyes twinkling, she replied definitively, “Paint.”
SEVERAL hours and what felt like a gallon of paint later, a deep voice called from downstairs. “Baz?”
The steps creaked under two sets of footsteps.
Matty and Chance stood at the bathroom doorway as Seb finished wiping the last red streak off Rowen’s chin as she struggled to twist away.
“Unc Matt!” Rowen’s face lit up like a strand of holiday lights. “I painted.”
“Heya, munchkin!” He swooped her up and she squealed before kicking to be let down. Matty turned to Seb. “Ma got stuck at the shop, so I—” The rest of his words faded as he was yanked back into Seb’s bedroom turned art room.
Looking wistfully at the direction her little sister had disappeared, Chance stood ramrod straight. “Hello, Uncle Seb.”
“Hi, Chance. How was school?”
“It was fine. How was your day?”
Seb smiled at her attempt at polite conversation. He wondered if it was Stephanie or Matthew who gave her instructions to be nice to him. “Excellent.” He pointed to her schoolbag. “Do you have any homework?”
“Reading.” She glanced toward her room. “I have to read with an adult. Usually I read with Uncle Matt.” Twisting one foot in front of the other, she mumbled, “But I can read with you if you want.”
This time he allowed her to see the curve of his lips. “Absolutely.”
At the doorway to her bedroom, she gasped. “Oh! It’s pretty in here. Mommy makes us make our beds when company is coming.” She studied him. “Is someone coming?”
Still beaming, he replied, “Nope. Just us. And Matty. But he’s not company, eh?”
“Then why—?”
“I make my bed every day. So I thought I’d help out and tidy up everyone’s beds. Did I do all right?” he asked, indicating the stuffed toys he’d selected.
She jumped on her bed and the toys bounced. “Yes. These are my favorites.”
Seb didn’t know if she was being nice to him or if he’d somehow gleaned out her favorites, but it felt good either way. Matty and Rowen found them and this time Rowen’s eyes got big. “Uncle Seb did it,” Chance informed her.
Matty clapped once. “Okay. Chance, put your school things away and Row, you change out of the paint clothes and then come down for a snack.” He was already walking away and Seb followed, unsure what his role was in this instance. “Apples and peanut butter?” Matty called out behind him.
Rowen replied, “We had ham ’n’ cheese. It was all gooey. An’ you eat it like a pizza.”
Matty’s lip twitched. “Well that sounds good.”
“There’s extra for Chance. Just needs to be reheated.”
In the kitchen Seb pulled the reheated ham melt onto a paper plate and set it before Chance. She studied it before proceeding to mimic her sister’s earlier blow and nibble tactic.
“This time of year gets busy,” Matty said. “
Otherwise, I wouldn’t… I mean, I wanted you to have your family time. You know, without interfering.”
Seb nabbed two apples from a bowl and began to slice them, concentrating on the rhythmic thump of the knife on the cutting board as he aimed for thin, even slices. “I’m sure that Steph would yell bloody murder if she heard you characterize yourself as ‘interfering.’”
He placed the slices in a swirl on a paper plate, layering them to form a smooth circle. “You are a part of Steph’s life in a way I haven’t been.” He swallowed. “I am sorry for what I said this morning.”
Matty fiddled with the girls’ napkins, folding each into a triangle. Then, as if caught doing something illicit, he lowered his head and stared at his fingers pressed against the countertop. “It’s okay,” he uttered, before squaring his shoulders and looking up to meet Seb’s gaze, rubbing his fingers on the smooth granite as if trying to coax a buried image within to reveal itself. In an instant, Seb was back to seventeen, staring at eyes that glimmered with flirty promise. It had happened so quickly, a chance private meeting in the boys’ locker room. Looking up as he pulled down his shirt and buttoned his jeans to see Matthew Starr’s gaze roving over him.
Years of forcing himself to never allow arousal in the locker room, to never expose himself or risk outing himself, and it vanished in one slow glance.
Chattering girls broke the spell and he was back in his mother’s kitchen, holding a knife and blinking as if splashed with water. After sliding the plate across to his nieces, Seb took a glass, filled it with water, and downed it in a quick gulp.
“Well, I guess I’ll head back to my workshop,” Matty said.
The girls balked at once. “Grandma’s making crab cakes!”
“I can’t have dinner here tonight, Chance. I already told your grandma I couldn’t.” Voice rough, he raked his fingers across the back of his head. “I’m working on a new piece.”
Before Seb could process this news, Matty kissed the top of each girl’s head and headed out of the kitchen. Seb followed his nieces as they chased Matty to the front door, Chance grabbing him around the legs. Matty stooped to return the hug. “I’ll miss you,” she said. Seb was torn between rolling his eyes at her drama and kicking himself for not insisting that Matty have dinner with them.
He settled for a happy medium. “Uncle Matt will be back tomorrow for dinner instead.” Deciding on the spot, Seb lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “I’ll cook. How does spaghetti and meatballs sound?”
Seb couldn’t decipher the meaning of the look he got back from Matty. Pleasure and surprise. But also gratitude?
Chance exclaimed, “Uncle Matt loves spaghetti and meatballs!”
“Does he?” Seb repeated sheepishly.
“I’d really like that,” Matty said, hand on the doorknob. He winked at Chance and ruffled the top of Rowen’s curly head before closing the door behind himself. Seb took a deep breath. “Who’s up for a story?”
Matthew
MATT’S Saturday morning was divided into snips of inspired creative bursts that cut off abruptly when his mind would derail over thoughts of Baz’s coolly daring stare the previous afternoon. But a dare to do what? Eat spaghetti? He wasn’t stupid, he was aware that there was chemistry between them. That’s why they’d hooked up as teenagers, after all. A few intense months of secretive, needy moments that had the novelty of youth to make them so memorable. Except that didn’t quite explain the unmistakable wariness in Baz’s eyes.
“Dammit!” His hand slipped on the clay and the delicate work was marred by a long, ragged edge that didn’t belong. Dropping the tool on his work surface with a clink, Matt gritted his teeth, and wiping his hands on his work jeans, he thought it might be best to call it quits.
After a fast cleanup, Matt headed out, stopping at the Beanie and then Tate’s Luncheonette before driving to Steph and Cheryl’s shop.
“There’s the woman of my dreams,” he called out as he sauntered through the door.
Cheryl twisted to face him, grinning self-consciously as the three customers browsing the displays opened their eyes wide and stared. They were college-aged, two women and one man. The young man perused Matt up and down with obvious interest, and Matt colored as Cheryl snorted at his comeuppance for embarrassing her.
Ducking his head, he lowered his voice and approached her behind the counter. “I bear gifts.” He put the tray of coffees down and swung the white paper bag with the Tate’s logo.
She glanced at the wall clock, arching a brow. “Little early for lunch, isn’t it?”
Okay, so it was just past eleven. “It’s lunchtime somewhere,” he replied. He popped into the storeroom office where he knew she had a mini refrigerator and placed the sandwiches inside. “Where’s Steph?”
“She stepped out back to take a call.” Cheryl’s forehead puckered. “It’s Ryan, isn’t it?”
Rubbing the back of his head, Matt turned to stare back in the direction he’d come from. “I—” he began, not sure where to go with his next words. It was Steph’s choice on what she wanted to share with her mother. He cocked his head. “I’m going to say hi.”
He scurried through the back door, realizing he was doing a poor job disguising that he was keeping a secret. Stephanie had her back against the side of the clapboard building, hand down by her side, gripping her phone tight. Fog curled from her lips as her breath condensed in the cold, making it look like she was smoking.
“Hey.” Upon hearing his voice, she tossed him a wan smile.
“You okay?”
“Ryan,” she deadpanned, as if that told him everything he needed to know. Sadly, it did. They’d faced this anxiety for the past two years, and Matt assumed that Ryan’s patience with putting off their every-other-Christmas agreement was nearing its end.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Stephanie pushed away from the wall and squared her shoulders. Her peacoat was unbuttoned, and she was missing her hat and scarf. “C’mon back inside,” he urged. “There’s a macchiato with cinnamon and an egg salad sandwich with mustard waiting for you.” Weird combination if you asked Matt, but it was one of Steph’s favorites.
Her face brightened. “Yeah?”
Nodding, he smiled back at her but pulled her sleeve before she went inside. “What does your mom know? I mean, she’s asking questions.”
Sighing, Steph eased back against the building. “I don’t want to worry her. She’s got enough running the business and taking care of the girls as much as she does.” Twirling a curl, she inhaled. “As it is, I feel like I’m taking up too much of her life. She’s still young. She should be taking advantage of how well we’ve been doing with the online sales. She talks about traveling, but then….”
Matt had heard this refrain before. He didn’t know what to say and averted his eyes because in his gut he didn’t want Cheryl to go away for any length of time.
“Your folks have traveled the world,” Steph said as if that was the ultimate goal.
Head drooping, Matt replied, “Yes. They have.”
Rubbing the back of her neck, Steph said, “Let’s not talk about Ryan in front of Mom yet. Okay?”
Given no choice, Matt acquiesced.
MUSCLES more twitchy than usual, Matt took a deep calming breath before he turned the knob on the Chesnut’s door that evening and cried out a friendly “Hello?”
Jacket plopped on its designated hook, he plucked a bit of lint off his sweater and rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting to see if anyone would greet him. In seconds two young missiles targeted him.
“Unc Matt,” Rowen yelped, lifting her arms. He twirled her for a few moments before looking down at Chance. Taking her hand, he said, “Princess Rapunzel….” She beamed as he spun her in her lilac gown.
Chance pulled him into the living room. The tree was lit and twinkling. He loved spotting the ornaments he’d made for them in positions of honor on the front-facing side of the tree. Kneeling, Steph poked at the logs that were cr
ackling in the fireplace, causing a swoosh of flame. Several of his figurines decorated the mantel, and warmth squeezed his heart.
Little bits of him were embedded in the fabric of this family. And the winter holidays, the happiest time of year, made it all the more literal as shiny ceramic trees and Santas and mischievous elves danced across the mantel. That reminded him. “Has the elf visited?”
He helped Steph set up Elf-on-the-Shelf scenarios throughout the holiday season, trying to top their cleverness each year. Now each of his adopted nieces took one of his hands and tugged him to look behind the tree. Sure enough, there was that irascible elf, makeshift grappling hook in hand, starting the long hike up the tree. The corner of Matt’s mouth quirked as he met Steph’s eyes. “Good one,” he mouthed, and she tossed her hair cockily.
Sniffing the aroma wafting from the kitchen, he grinned at Stephanie. “Garlic.”
“Yep,” Steph agreed with a corresponding nod. “Seb’s been at it all day. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
“Mama! You don’ eat horses! You ride horses!”
Steph chuckled at Rowen’s reaction to her comment. “Guess I’ll just eat Uncle Seb’s meatballs, then.” She looked back at Matt. “Seb said it will be ready soon.” With a flip of her hair, she addressed her daughters. “You two should wash up.” She peered at her eldest. “And maybe take off the dress, princess, so you don’t get red sauce on it?”
“Aww, Mommy, no,” Chance whined, eyes turning to Matt for support, but he knew better than to disagree with Steph on practical matters.
“I’d hate for you to stain that beautiful gown,” he said diplomatically.
Resigned, Chance trudged up the stairs.
Rowen took his hand, tilting her head back to take him in. “You look pretty.”
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