Debating about what to do with the pictures, she finally opted to slide them into a different book, an unused journal with a picture of Venice on the cover. She didn’t have a rational reason for doing so, but she felt, in some small way, that she was acknowledging Brad’s message by moving the photos somewhere that was her secret. Even if she didn’t know what his message was yet.
She fed the dogs then decided to jump in the shower and wash the remains of her afternoon nap off, as well as some of the ickiness she felt after looking at the photos. Refreshed, she pulled on a sundress, brushed on a little makeup and mascara, and headed down the lane to drop off the gift she’d purchased for her neighbor earlier that day.
When Elise didn’t answer her door, Matty realized that, yes, she’d wanted to drop the gift off, but that she’d also been hoping the woman would be home to offer her a distraction. With a sigh, she left the package and card on the porch of the house—a house much more traditional than she would have expected given the owner’s mailbox—and continued down the driveway toward Anderson’s. She wasn’t really hungry and hadn’t intended to carry on down the road, but it was better than going back to Brad’s and sitting alone all night. Thinking about the pictures.
She was just about to cross the street to the restaurant when she heard the rumble of an old engine. Pausing to see where it was coming from, a smile spread across her face when it came into view. A classic red Cadillac convertible—fins and all—pulled to a stop. And perched in the white leather driver’s seat was Elise. Wearing more than just a bathing suit this time, she sported a white sundress, a white scarf around her head, and a pair of big Jackie O. sunglasses.
Matty crossed the street and leaned over the passenger door, grinning. “This is quite a car you have, Elise. She’s got some attitude, doesn’t she?”
“Life is boring without attitude, darling. This is Greta. I’ve had her for thirty years. More reliable than most people I know.”
“More sturdy, too, would be my guess,” Matty said, resting her elbows on the open window frame. “I just left you a little package on your porch to say thank you for your help yesterday.”
Elise beamed. “Thank you, darling. It’s so nice to meet a young person with manners. You’re welcome, by the way—and how is the little guy?”
As she was giving Elise a brief report on Bob, the sound of a familiar truck could be heard coming up behind her. Stopping her narrative, she turned to watch it over her shoulder. Dash stopped at the stop sign, paused a little longer than necessary, then turned right. She thought he might be headed out on a call, but then she heard him pull his truck into the back part of Anderson’s parking lot, turn the engine off, and, a few seconds later, open and close his truck door. She and Elise were quiet, still listening. After a minute, they saw Dash standing on the roadside, clearly waiting for her.
She turned back to Elise, who was smiling. “The rumors say he’s quite a handful, Matty dear.”
Matty laughed. “Is that a warning or a challenge, Elise?”
“That, my dear, is up to you.”
Matty straightened as Elise pulled back onto the road. She watched the Caddy drive away, then crossed the street and stopped in front of Dash.
“You’re a traffic hazard, Matty Brooks,” he said.
“You here to cash in on that rain check?” She gestured toward Anderson’s with her head. “If I recall, I offered you a drink,” she said, harkening back to their conversation the first day she arrived.
He let out a little chuckle. “You can keep the rain check. I’ll buy.”
They entered and took a seat at the same table by the window where they’d watched the storm a few nights earlier. There was some sort of huge party going on in the back of the restaurant, which accounted for the number of cars in the parking lot, but the front of the restaurant, which was mostly the bar, was fairly empty.
“You look like you got some sleep this afternoon,” Dash commented, picking up the menu.
She nodded. “Yes, Bob and I both took your advice. We needed it. How was the rest of your day?”
They spent the next few minutes talking about his day. She didn’t know any large animal vets, and being a writer and a naturally inquisitive person, she took the opportunity to learn a little bit about his job. Amy came and took their orders about ten minutes after they’d sat down and explained that, because there was a wedding rehearsal dinner going on in the back, dinner might take a little longer than usual. Matty had no desire to rush back to Brad’s house and be alone for the rest of the evening, so she didn’t mind at all. She still wasn’t certain what to think about the whole thing with Dash—whether she wanted to pursue something or not, or, if she did, whether he would be interested or still freaked out by his crazy family tradition. The only thing she did know was that she didn’t want to go back to the house until she was good and tired enough to fall straight into bed.
Dinner came and went while she asked Dash about his family, growing up in Windsor, and his time in the military—the conversation they should have had the first time they were in Anderson’s, before Marcus and Carly joined them. Before Dash fled the scene.
And so, for a few hours, she was able to forget the pictures, Bob’s toe, and even the looming deadline for her book.
And then the bride and groom walked by. Maybe it was guilt playing in her mind, but when Matty saw the bride, a young woman who so closely resembled the main female character Matty pictured in her head when writing her new book, for a moment, she was speechless.
“Matty? Is everything alright?” Dash asked. “Matty?” he repeated.
She gave herself a little shake as the couple exited the restaurant, followed by several others in the wedding party. “Sorry, I just got distracted. I’m close to being done with my next book, but just a little behind schedule, and that woman reminded me of something.”
“Do you really have a schedule?” he asked.
She wagged her head. “I do, and while it isn’t set in stone, I do like to stick to it as much as possible.”
“So what’s causing the delay? Other than all the shit that’s been going on, of course,” he added with a smile.
“Strangely enough, it’s not that. I tend to find that when I have a lot going on, I actually write more, and even better. But this time it’s—well, it’s hard to explain.”
“Try me,” he prompted.
She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then leaned forward and ran her fingers over her beer glass as she spoke. “I don’t write sex into my books, but there are definitely elements of romance or potential romance in them. It’s something that helps a thriller appeal across genders. And I kind of like the idea of people getting a happy ending,” she added with a sheepish smile.
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
“But the problem is, I haven’t been able to figure out that connection between my two main characters. Like I said, I don’t include the sex scenes in my books, but I do like to write them out so that it’s in my head when I write their interactions. I find that it brings a sense of realism to their relationship.”
“You write sex scenes?”
He was getting that glazed look again. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I do, and no, you cannot read them. And no, they generally aren’t based on experience. Besides, what I write is fictional, it’s not real sex.”
“How can something be ‘not real sex?’”
“Because I write what I write to create and capture a feeling, rather than an act. There aren’t any awkward moments, there aren’t any jeans getting stuck on feet, or unplanned bodily noises. Condoms appear out of nowhere and everything is perfect the first time around. And the second time. It’s planned and orchestrated and helps me focus on what my characters feel, emotionally, so I can leverage that throughout the book. Real sex isn’t so constructed.”
“And why don’t you write real sex?”
“Because people have real sex. Like I said, writing fictional sex lets me ex
plore and discover emotions that translate into an intimacy between the main characters. And I’ve found, from talking to readers, that when they read my books, they tend to want to escape reality, to go into a world that’s different than their own, both intellectually and emotionally. Fictional sex, if only as a backstory in my head, helps me give my readers what they want. If people want real sex, there are a number of ways to get it, including with a different kind of book or with an actual person.”
“You make real sex sound so easy.”
She arched a brow at him. “You’re not honestly going to tell me it’s that hard for you to find a partner? ‘Cause that’s not what I’ve heard.”
He opened his mouth then shut it. Smart man. “Okay, so then what’s the problem with these two characters?” he said instead.
“I can’t seem to put my finger on what it is that will tip them over the edge from where they are to what they can be, together.”
“Meaning?”
“There’s a moment in every romantic relationship that gives the people involved a choice. To jump in or not? I’m not saying there is only ever one moment, because I don’t believe that, but there is always at least one moment when the parties have to make that decision.”
“And,” he said, leaning forward.
“And I can’t quite seem to construct that moment for these two characters. I can’t quite figure out what they need to be thinking or feeling, or what needs to be happening for that moment to even present itself.”
“A plot issue?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Maybe, but I think it’s more of a feeling issue. The characters are both strong, but she’s been lied to and betrayed by so many people she’s not really sure she can trust herself anymore. The lies and betrayals are work related, not from former boyfriends or anything like that. But what has happened is she’s been put in a position where she’s starting to question her own judgment.”
“Including what she might feel for the guy or might think she feels,” Dash said.
Matty nodded. “So, when she questions her own judgment, what needs to happen to make her take that leap without making her seem like a helpless princess?”
Dash laughed a bit. “I’ve read your books, you don’t write helpless princesses.”
She smiled at that.
“You want to know what I think?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I think he needs to overwhelm her with his certainty.” As Dash spoke he leaned across the table and traced a finger up the back of her hand. Such a small touch.
“Reassure her?” she managed to say as her eyes fixed on his finger making its way back down her hand.
“No, not reassure her. If she’s been betrayed, only time and consistency will reassure her. But if he wants the chance to have that time and the opportunity to be consistent, he needs to push her over that ledge once and then let her see that he’s with her the whole time.”
Matty swallowed and looked at Dash. His eyes were almost black. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience?”
He shook his head. “In real life it isn’t so thought out, is it?”
Her eyes held his for a long moment. “No, it isn’t.” It didn’t escape her notice that what Dash was suggesting was almost the exact opposite of what he himself had been doing for the past few days.
But as his fingers moved up and circled her wrist bone, she wondered if that was about to change. “How did you hear about the family tradition?” he asked, changing the subject but keeping his voice low and intimate.
“People talk.”
“More than they should, apparently. It bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“That people talk? No, I live in DC, gossip spreads faster in my city than it does in a fifth-grade classroom.”
“Don’t be obtuse, Matty.”
She let out a breath but held his gaze. “Honestly, Dash, I’m not sure what to make of your family situation. I think it’s crazy, I really do. And so, in some sense, I don’t think it’s worth thinking about. But then again, it’s not my family that’s had this experience, is it?”
“And what if it isn’t crazy?”
“Then I can understand why you flipped hot and cold on me faster than a politician in an election year, because if I thought it was remotely real, it would freak me out, too.”
A small smile touched his lips. “So, if you don’t think it’s real, does it bother you?” he pressed.
She looked at him and, for the first time, really wondered if it mattered whether the tradition was a real thing or not. She had said it didn’t, but that had been more of a knee-jerk reaction. But now? Now that she really thought about it, she was more convinced than ever that no, it didn’t matter to her if it was real or not. It didn’t matter because she wanted Dash, and she knew he wanted her too. And it didn’t matter because no one was going to force either one of them to get married if they didn’t want to. She didn’t foresee wanting to, but knew herself well enough to know that when she decided to take that step, if she decided to take that step, it was something she would only do after giving it a lot of thought—not on the notion of a family tradition.
She turned the hand he’d been holding and curled her fingers around his. “I’m not much of a fatalist, Dash, but the truth of it is, if it is real, then there’s nothing we can do about it, right? And if it’s not, then there’s no reason we can’t enjoy each other’s company in the time I’m here.”
She saw Dash suck in a quick breath and his grip tightened on hers. Good lord, she wanted this man.
“So, you’re saying it doesn’t matter to you?” he clarified.
At the moment, very little mattered to her other than leaving this public place. She shook her head.
“Even knowing what it might mean?” he pressed.
She still didn’t really believe in it, but if things worked out that way, she knew she’d make the right decision based on what they felt for each other, not because of the tradition. “Even knowing,” she said.
“Then let’s get out of here,” he said, pulling her up. The best words she’d heard all night.
She let go of his hand just long enough for him to throw some money on the table, then he was reaching for her and they were out the door. He unlocked his truck as they approached and opened the passenger door for her. Rather than climb in, she turned, slipped her hand behind his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss. He braced one hand against the truck’s door and the other, the one holding her hand, he wrapped around her back, arching her up into him as he deepened the connection.
The heat of the night had nothing on what they were generating with this relatively simple touch. A little sound of need escaped her as she untangled her fingers from his, brought her hand from behind her back, and began pulling his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans, needing to feel more of him. When the tips of her fingers brushed his bare skin she felt it go taut under her touch. And when she slid her hand around his hip and across the small of his back, pulling him closer, he took his hand off the door and speared his fingers through her hair, taking the kiss from hot to scorching.
“The truck, Matty. Get in the truck,” he said when she drew her mouth away from his and trailed her lips down his neck.
“Hmm,” she said, bringing her hands up to unbutton his shirt. He tilted her head up and covered her mouth again with his. Even as she finished with the buttons and smoothed her hands over his cotton undershirt, feeling his chest and muscles under her touch, she wanted more.
Dash dipped his head and began moving his lips over her shoulder, pushing the strap of her sundress down. She tilted her head away to give him better access and ran her fingers along the waist of his jeans and up his sides.
“Dash, I don’t want to wait,” she said, moving her hands back down to his jeans and unbuttoning the top button.
“We’re in a parking lot, Matty. Get in the truck. We can be at your house in less than five minutes.”
But he wasn’t making
it easy. One of his hands had dropped to her thigh and was making its way back up, pulling her dress along with it. The other was splayed across her lower back, making her aware of his size and strength.
He must have sensed she was close to not caring because, in an instant, she found herself in the passenger seat. But before he closed the door on her, she grabbed his shirt and pulled him into another kiss, this time wrapping her legs around his body. She didn’t want to let him go, not even to walk around the truck to get in on the other side so he could take them home.
“Jesus, Matty,” Dash said, forcibly pulling himself away. “I knew it would be like this,” he added, before bringing his lips back to hers. More than anything else, there was something about that phrase, about the assurance in his voice about her, about them, that sent her hurling over the edge.
“We need to leave, Dash,” she said, reining in every bit of what she was feeling and experiencing in an effort to keep it from exploding.
He drew back and his eyes searched hers. She knew what he saw there because it felt like everything she was feeling, everything she wanted, was written not just on her face but on her body.
He nodded and stepped back. She swung her legs back inside and jerkily closed the door as Dash rounded the truck. He paused for a moment and looked at her through the windshield, his hair tousled, shirt open. Their gazes met and held for a heated moment and then he was beside her in the driver’s seat.
And she didn’t want to wait anymore.
***
Matty’s leg came across his lap and the next thing Dash knew, she was straddling him in his truck, pulling his undershirt up to touch his skin as she dipped her head to kiss him.
“Parking lot,” he reminded her, even as he moved his seat back to give her more room.
“Do you want to wait?” she asked with her hands unbuttoning his jeans. She paused for a moment, met his eyes, then slid her hands inside.
“Oh, hell, no,” he said, searching for the zipper on her dress. She lifted her arm a touch and he found it. Tugging it down, the top of her dress fell, revealing her bare chest.
These Sorrows We See Page 10
