The real disaster was losing Matt.
The idea hit her out of nowhere, but she knew with absolute certainty it was true.
Brennan handed her a tissue. She hadn’t even realized she’d started crying.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, swiping at the tears on her cheeks.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Erin shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know you went to a lot of trouble for me.” She gestured at the airplane cabin. “I’ll pay you back for the flight.”
He smiled a bit sadly. “Don’t worry about it. I had a good time.”
“Me too.”
He reached out and grasped her hand. “Are you sure about this? We’re good together, and we have a lot in common. It could be great.”
For one second she hesitated. He was right; they were good together. And okay, she might be rushing ahead a little bit, but there was a better-than-average chance this could turn into a long-term thing, maybe even an until death you do part thing.
But she knew it was hopeless. In spite of all his charm, it wasn’t Brennan she wanted; it was Matt. Thoughts of Matt brought a dull ache in her chest, mixed with a raw, unsettled feeling and a deep ... longing.
Brennan must have read his answer in her face. He gave her a sad smile and kissed her gently on the cheek. “I think I need some alone time,” he said, getting up from their seat.
“I’m sorry,” she managed.
“Me too.”
Brennan moved to the back of the plane and Erin pressed her forehead against the cold, dark window. Her heart ached at the thought of losing Brennan, but along with the hurt was a small spark of something else.
Love.
She’d finally seen it, recognized it for what it was, and accepted it. And now she could try to claim it. Maybe Matt would forgive her and she could fix what had broken between them.
**
Chapter 27
Matt threw the remote across the couch in disgust. Three hundred channels and there was still nothing good on evening TV.
Okay, maybe that was unfair. With his current mood, even a Lord of the Rings marathon probably wouldn’t satisfy him. Not with how restless, irritable, and bored he’d been feeling.
And lonely.
He dragged his hand through the four-day stubble at his jaw. Even shaving had felt like too much effort lately. When had he become such a slob?
When Roswell was taken away. When his business folded. When Erin left. He knew he was being sulky and morose, but honestly, there was only so much a guy could take.
The knock on the door startled him. He stayed quiet, hoping whoever it was would go away.
There was another knock, and then his mother’s voice rang clearly through the metal door. “Matthew Alexander Walters, I know you’re home. Open this door!”
All three names. Uh-oh, trouble.
He dragged himself off the couch and unlocked the door. “Hello, Ma.”
She pushed her way past him into the apartment “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” she demanded, eyes narrowing as she took in the mess of dirty clothes, takeout containers, and neglected paperwork spread throughout the room.
“I needed some alone time,” Matt said feebly. She’d never buy it.
His mother scooped a wadded-up blanket from the couch to the floor and sat down with a huff. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s hurting right now? Corben could really use your support.”
“I’m sorry,” Matt mumbled, taking a seat in the easy chair, being careful to stay out of her range. Ma had a mean set of fingers and wasn’t slow to deliver a brain-jarring thump to a skull when required. “What’s the latest?” he asked. He’d been avoiding the studio all week.
She sighed and smoothed an errant hair away from her face. “If we can pay a lump sum to get current on the interest and the late fees, they’ll tack the missed payments on the end of the loan.”
“Gee, how generous,” he said sarcastically. “So we max out a few more credit cards to pay up to date, then what? Don’t they think if we could make the monthly payment, we would? We’re not sitting on some hidden cash reserve and trying to get out of paying the loan!”
“Yes, I know, thank you. You can stop shouting at me,” his mother said calmly.
“Sorry.” Matt lowered his voice. He wasn’t aware he’d been shouting. “It makes me so mad! What are we supposed to do?”
“I know. It makes me angry too. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Then ... what?”
“If we lose the business, we lose the business. We certainly wouldn’t be the first or the last small business to go under. I don’t want that,” she said, cutting him off when he began to protest, “but we knew the studio would be risk; it’s a miracle we’ve been able to hold on to it this long. What I’m worried about right now is you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone had setbacks and disappointments, Matt. It’s part of life. But you’re letting it change you, and I don’t like it.” She gave him a steady look.
Suddenly he felt nine years old again, squirming under her direct scrutiny. “You let Dad’s death change you,” he blurted.
The words were out before he realized it. But it was the truth. Part of his mother, with her warm eyes and infectious laughter, had slipped away the night Dad died, never to return.
“Yes, I did,” she answered softly. “And I wish every day I’d been stronger.”
“You’ve been plenty strong,” Matt objected.
“I guess we can disagree on that.” She picked up the blanket from the floor and began folding it, smoothing out the wrinkles across her lap. “Your dad was a very special man, and I miss him very much. But when I look at you, I see him, and that helps. You’re just as creative, just as talented, and just as passionate.”
Matt shook his head. “No, I’m not passionate,” he said. “Erin’s the passionate one. She’s got spirit and fire and willpower. I’m just a big dumb dreamer who can’t handle reality.”
“Not true,” Ma said. “Passion comes in all forms. Erin’s variety is loud and showy; yours is quiet and steady. Yours comes from inside. It’s quiet at first, but it grows, it learns, and if you let it, it guides.”
Tears filled his eyes and he studied his hands, the burn marks and the calluses that spoke to thousands of hours of work, pain, and sweat.
“And you’re just as stubborn your dad. He never gave up on something he wanted, and neither do you.”
Shame pounded through him. “What can I do?” he whispered.
She set the neatly folded blanket gently on the couch and stood, arms outstretched. “You can start by giving me a hug.”
Matt gathered his tiny mother into a hug, drawing strength from her belief in him.
“Don’t give up, okay?” she whispered. “No matter what happens, don’t let it change who you are.”
“I won’t,” he promised.
“And take a shower.” She swatted his arm. “You stink.”
**
Matt hit the shower after Ma left and emerged feeling more energized than he had in days. He wolfed down a peanut butter sandwich and fell to cleaning the apartment with a vengeance. It was well past midnight by the time he finished and even though none of his problems were solved, he did have to admit he felt better.
He ran the dust rag along the bookshelf, working it carefully over the sculptures and bits of glass he habitually brought home from the studio: the first paperweight he ever made, misshapen and ugly, but still precious; an early version of his attempts to create an owl; a couple of glass knots, and on the top shelf, a yellow flower—Erin’s yellow flower. He’d brought it home but never had the chance to give it to her.
Now he picked it up and twisted it in his hands, studying the way the saffron glass caught the light, remembering the day he’d helped her make it. The concentration on her face as she’d rolled the pipe and pulled at the individual petals. Her cute little bunny hop of excitement when it was fini
shed and how she’d made him open the lehr again so she could gaze at it.
What if ... ?
He put the flower back on the shelf and went to his bedroom for his phone.
“Dude, it’s almost one a.m.,” Corben said when he answered Matt’s call.
“I know, sorry. But hear me out on this ...” Matt said, then launched into his idea.
They talked for over an hour and by the end, Corben was as pumped up as Matt. He immediately went to work on the website.
Corben wanted to meet early the next morning, but Matt had something else to do first. He started calling pet shelters as soon as they were open and found Roswell at the second number.
“We have a dog matching your description,” the guy on the phone said. “But he didn’t come with a name, so I can’t guarantee it’s him.”
You can’t go yell his name and see if he answers? Matt bit back a retort. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said instead, reaching for his shoes.
Roswell was lying in a cage, his back to the chain-link gate. The concrete had to be cold and damp, but he’d refused to use the large pillow in one corner.
“You wanted to look as pathetic as possible, right?” Matt said dryly.
At his voice, Roswell’s head whipped around and he sprang to his feet, tail wagging so hard it echoed off the brick wall of his cage.
“You’re lucky not many people adopt pets this time of year,” the shelter worker said. “We normally don’t keep them this long, but since he’s a purebred, we were pretty sure someone would come looking for him.” He fixed Matt with the stink eye, as if demanding an explanation for why he’d taken so long to show up.
Matt ignored him. Instead, he stuck his fingers through the chain link and Roswell immediately began licking him. “Hey, boy,” Matt laughed. “Shall we got home?”
Roswell stood with his front paws on the gate of his cage, whining the entire time Matt filled out the paperwork and paid the adoption fee. When everything was done, the shelter worker opened the cage and Roswell ran straight to Matt, practically bowling him over in excitement.
Corben was waiting at Matt’s apartment when he and Roswell got home. “I thought you got rid of that thing,” he said with raised eyebrows.
“No can do,” Matt said with a grin. He got Roswell situated, then joined his brother at the kitchen table, iPad at the ready. “Let’s get to work.”
It was late when Matt finally crawled into bed that night. His head spun with exhaustion and with excitement over the new plan for the studio. He couldn’t help smiling at the familiar click of doggy toenails on a wood floor, and a second later, the bed creaked when Roswell jumped up on the mattress. He sniffed around for a moment, then flopped down by Matt’s side.
Matt reached out to scratch his ears. “Welcome home, boy,” he whispered.
**
Chapter 28
Friday morning was cold and the wind came in fits and bursts, tugging at Matt’s coat as he made his way from the car to the studio. He’d taken Roswell out to do his business and the dog had immediately burrowed back under the covers when they’d gotten home. Since coming home from the shelter last week, he’d spent much of his time curled up on Matt’s bed, which was just fine with Matt.
He was turning on the lights to the showroom when his phone rang.
Erin’s ringtone.
Startled, he fumbled for the phone in his pocket, almost dropping it in his hurry. He hadn’t heard from her since their fight in his apartment. He’d thought about calling or texting more times than he could count, but each time, he’d stopped. She didn’t want him, she’d made that clear.
Now he hurried to answer the call and press the phone to his ear. “Erin?”
For a moment there was no reply and his heart sank; she’d probably butt-dialed him ... or whatever the equivalent was for people who didn’t keep their phones in their pockets. Purse dialed?
“Matt?” Her voice was thin and strained, sending his heart plummeting.
“I’m here. What’s wrong?”
She sniffed and began to cry.
“Erin?” He was becoming more panicked. “Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, between sobs. “I’m okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d start crying. I just wanted to talk to you.”
His worry subsided. “But you’re okay? You’re not hurt?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I’m at Lindsey’s and I’m feeling homesick. And now I feel stupid for calling you and bawling like an idiot.”
“Stop it,” he said firmly. “You’re not an idiot.” Her voice sounded so hollow and sad, with none of its usual vibrancy. He ached to take her in his arms. “I read the reviews; it sounds like the play is going great,” he said, searching for something to lift her spirits.
“I’m not Charlotte anymore,” she admitted.
“I know ... their loss. But I’ll bet you make a terrific Jane.”
She laughed shakily. “Somehow I knew you’d say that.”
There was a moment of silence. He considered asking her about Brennan, but decided against it. The theater website where he’d read the review stated they were together; asking her about it would only bring tension and he didn’t want to spoil the phone call. “How’s New York?” he asked instead.
“It’s okay,” she sighed. “Busy. How are you?”
He was about to reply when Corben banged through the door. “You should see the website!” he said with a whoop before he saw the phone pressed to Matt’s ear. “Sorry,” he mouthed, backing away.
“Who was that?” Erin asked.
“Corben.” Matt couldn’t help grinning at the excitement on his younger brother’s face as he pulled his laptop from his bag. Clearly he had good news.
“I didn’t realize you were at work,” Erin said.
“Hurry!” Corben whispered. He flipped the computer around and Matt’s mouth dropped open when he saw the screen.
Erin must have sensed his distraction. “I’ll let you go,” she said. “I was just calling to say hi.”
“We can talk later,” Matt suggested. “I could call you tonight.”
Her voice cracked and he could tell she was close to crying again. “I don’t get home from the theater until around midnight,” she said. “It’s okay, I just wanted to say hi ... and tell you how sorry I am for everything.”
His focus snapped to the phone. “I’m sorry too,” he said. “I can talk longer right now if you need—”
“It’s okay,” she said, tearfully. “I need to go too. I just ... I miss you.”
“I miss you too,” he said, heart pounding.
They said goodbye and Matt forced himself to focus on Corben’s computer. “Are all of these legit?” he asked in disbelief. Under the heading Glass-Blowing Lessons on the studio’s website, Corben had installed an app where customers could book lessons. The lessons lasted half an hour, and almost every slot for the next two months was full.
“Yep,” Coben said proudly. “Deposits paid and everything.”
Matt had had the idea to offer classes when he’d seen Erin’s flower at his apartment. He and Corben had made glass flowers in a rainbow of colors and put pictures on the website, along with the scheduling app. Corben had put the word out on community websites and gotten the local news station to come by with their cameras and do a story on Morgantown Art Glass. The response from the community had been overwhelming. Maybe they couldn’t sell a ton of blown glass in Morgantown, but they could sell the experience of making blown glass. If the trend held, they’d be operating in the black for the first time in years.
But Matt’s sense of elation was tempered by the phone call. Erin had been crying, she missed him. He turned his phone over and over in his hand, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” Corben asked. “This is great news, be happy!”
“I am happy,” Matt said. “I’m thrilled.” He made his decision. “Can you do me a favor? Well, two favors?”
“Okay.” Corben’s look was skeptical.
“Number one, tell Ma the schedule is filling up, she’ll be excited to hear it,” Matt said. “Number two, can you swing by my place a few times today to take Roswell outside? I’ll take him out now before I leave; I have to go home and change anyway.”
“Leave? Where are you going?”
Matt’s face broke into a smile. “New York.”
**
It was already getting dark when Erin got to the theater. She signed in and made her way to the dressing room she shared in the basement with Mariah, who played Anne Brontë. Neither of them had any quick costume changes, so their dressing room was well away from the stage, down a rusted metal staircase and through a warren of hallways cluttered with stray scenery, costume racks, and broken light boards.
The gloomy surroundings did not help Erin’s mood. The call with Matt this morning had not turned out how she’d expected.
Well, what had she expected? One phone conversation would dissolve the last two months and make everything rosy between them? He’d sounded distracted and maybe even a little annoyed. Was he mad she’d called? Maybe he was moving on and by calling, she was only stirring up painful memories he didn’t want to re-live.
She hadn’t helped things by breaking down either. Just the sound of his voice had made her start crying. Waves of panic rushed through her at the thought of losing him for good.
Erin was loaded down with her purse and backpack and she struggled through the doorway to the dressing room, which was partially blocked by black equipment boxes. “This has to be against the fire code,” she grumbled.
“No doubt.” Mariah glanced up from curling her wig. “That came for you a few minutes ago.” She pointed to the long, white box sitting on Erin’s chair.
Erin’s throat went dry as she shrugged out of her coat. She’d had several bouquets when the show opened—Brennan had even sent a beautiful arrangement of exotic flowers—but they’d tapered off after the first week. The only one who ever sent her flowers beyond opening or closing weeks was Matt.
The Passionate One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 13
