by Jillian Dodd
“Oh, how generous of you.”
“I have a good feeling about this. Watching you two together.” Peter stands up, knife in hand, ready to carve the turkey. “I have a feeling this is the first of many family dinners we’ll be spending together.”
Matt smiles at me from across the table, and yes, now that I think about it, I can imagine seeing him sitting with me at many family dinners to come. Maybe the rest of them, all my life.
“They put a hole in our wall today,” I blurt out.
“Why ever for?” Grandmother says.
“We’re combining our apartments. We’re going to live together.”
“Really?” Grandmother says. “That’s a big commitment.”
“Yes, it is,” Matt says, squeezing my hand. “One we both take very seriously.”
“We’re very happy for the two of you,” Peter says sweetly.
Dinner goes on and on. In a good way. In the kind of way that, even when it’s getting late, you’re just not quite ready to leave because you don’t want the night to be over. We drink wine, and then Matt teaches us how to play pinochle. Then, he manages to beat Grandmother.
She jokes he is never to be invited again. At least, I think she is joking.
On the way home, sitting together in the car, Matt turns to me. “It’s beautiful, seeing them so happy and in love, isn’t it?”
I’ve never heard him talk that way before. “Yeah, it is. I feel very full right now.”
“You had two helpings of dessert.”
“I don’t mean, in my stomach, silly. I mean, here.” I put a hand over my heart. “I feel full here.”
“That’s nice. That’s how it should be.” He drapes an arm over my shoulders and pulls me close while our driver takes us home. “I’m glad it didn’t take us thirty-six years to decide to get together.”
“That’s the truth. I don’t know if I could stand you for thirty-six years and still want to be in a relationship with you when all was said and done.”
“Does that mean you don’t see us lasting for very long?” he teases.
“No!”
“Because, you know, I could start looking at other options. I mean, if anything, tonight, your grandmother let me know what a catch I am. She asked how much I make a year when you went to the bathroom between dinner and dessert.”
“She did not.”
“She did. And she seemed pleased with the answer. Between that and informing me how it looks like I’m disciplined—I think we both know that means she likes my bod—”
“I’m sure she does. It is pretty amazing,” I coo. “Everything with you is pretty amazing. And I think you need to remind me of that when we get home.”
“Home,” he says. “With the wall gone, technically, we can say that now, can’t we?”
“That’s reason enough to celebrate,” I tell him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Hayley’s mouth hangs open, her eggs Benedict forgotten in front of her. “Matt punched a hole through your wall?”
“He didn’t personally, but he had a friend draw up these amazing plans. Our apartment is going to be so cool. We’ll have to tackle the kitchen after the holidays, but—”
“But nothing. This is huge. You’re moving in together. That’s a serious commitment.”
“The funny thing is, we really didn’t talk about it. I floated the idea, and when he said he’d think about it, I assumed that was his polite way of telling me no. When he showed me the plans, I thought I might faint.”
“Excuse me.” A middle-aged woman comes over to our table with a shy smile. “I just wanted to tell you, I think it was rotten the way that has-been tried to drag your reputation through the muck. I hope they hang him by the balls for it.”
Hayley laughs behind her hand while I do everything I can to keep a straight face.
“I appreciate that.”
“Well, that’s it, I guess.”
One of her friends is motioning to her, probably begging her to go back to her table before everybody’s embarrassed.
“Happy holidays,” she offers before hurrying back to her friends and their shopping bags.
“Nothing like sharing holiday cheer.” Hayley giggles. “At least you know there are people who saw through his bullshit.”
“I’m sure plenty of people did—though I wish I could go back to having brunch with you without having to wonder whether a stranger is going to come over out of nowhere.”
“That’ll die down. Wait and see.” She goes back to her eggs, eyeing me as she cuts into them. “So, tell me more. Like, are you painting everything?”
I roll my eyes at her. “I am working with a designer. I tell her what I want, send her some pics for inspiration, and she’s going to make it happen.”
“Oh, that’s the best way to do it. And I’m saying that as a friend because I clearly remember going to the paint store with you.” She smiles mockingly and pretends to speak in my voice. “I’d like Tiffany blue, but not quite Tiffany blue. A little more green—no, a little less green. Maybe a little gray in there.”
“Be nice.”
“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t wish that on Matt,” she teases. At least, I think she’s teasing.
“We’re working with a designer. I pinned my dream rooms and inspirational ideas to a board and sent it to her, and she sent me back a mood board that I approved quickly because it was perfection. When I get back home, I’ll have a few samples to look at and paint swatches to approve, but she’s picked out everything, including an incredible four-poster bed. I’ve always thought those are so romantic. But enough about me. How are you? How are you feeling? Any morning sickness?”
“So far, so good. As long as I eat as soon as I get up, I’m okay. That part of it has gone smoothly. And I had my first visit with an obstetrician, who confirmed the pregnancy and gave us a due date.”
“A due date,” I say with a happy sigh.
“Yes, and I realized that all the other stuff doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out. We’re both going to put in for transfers to each other’s offices as well as look for new opportunities. Nicholas surprisingly really liked New York City, but he thinks we should be in the suburbs to raise our family. I’m embarrassed to say, I didn’t know this, but his grandparents had a house on the Cape, and he spent many summers there. He thinks we should consider Massachusetts or Connecticut. We really can’t both work eighty-hour weeks with a baby. Well, we could, but we don’t want to.”
“That’s amazing, Hayley.”
“It’s shit,” she says. “Years of school, law school, studying to get to where I am, and now, I’m considering throwing it all away.”
“You’re not throwing it all away. You’re designing your life. With Nicholas. Together. You just have to figure out a different work-life balance. It will happen. But I admit, I like the idea of you being not quite so far away.”
“That’s true. And I do too. It’s the not knowing that’s hard.”
“But it also gives you time to think. Had you not had some time to think, had you not gotten pregnant, you would have moved out to LA and fallen into the same rut of work, work, work. You would have been happy, being with Nicholas, but—”
“I get what you’re saying. And you’re right.”
“Wow! You want to say that again, so I can record it for posterity?”
“August 4th,” she says.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It’s the date you’re going to become a godmother.”
“A godmother? Like a fairy one?”
“If need be. But I want you to be my child’s godmother. So, I’m asking you now.”
Tears fill my eyes, and I reach across the table and grab her hand. “I’d be honored.”
“Good,” she says. “Now, you’d better get going, so you aren’t late for your meeting with Lois. Be bold.”
“I will,” I say.
“As a matter of fact, yes, I’ve received a few unsolicited offer
s,” Lois says to me when I get to her office.
I plop down on the couch, and a sound I don’t quite recognize comes out of me. Something between a grunt and a gasp. “You’re kidding.”
“I thought I would tell you about it after the holidays. So you could have time to work on your latest book without having this on your mind.”
That makes me laugh, though there isn’t any humor in it. “I do wish you’d let me know people were interested. Especially since I turned the book in already.”
She pauses a beat. “Are you considering making a change?”
The whole thing just makes me cringe. I feel bad about even considering it. If it wasn’t for them, where would I be? I feel like I owe my career to them. But I’m going to be a godmother, and I have to be bold. I’m the one who creates the content they are selling. I’m the talent.
“I want you to tell me of any offer that comes my way.”
“I really wish you had told me this was on your mind. You and Maggie seem to have a good relationship. I figured you’d tell me it was a hard no.”
Ugh, she’s so exhausting—and right, which makes her even more exhausting to me at the moment.
“Fair enough, but with all the publicity, I think it’s worth considering. If ever there was a time to make a move, it’s now. My sales are great.” Another beat. “Wait. Are you keeping something from me now?”
“No, I’m not hiding anything. But there is another issue I wanted to bring up after the holidays.”
“I would rather discuss it now.”
“Well, your current publisher knows a good thing when they see it. Your sales are good in the States as well as many foreign markets. You’re not just a New York Times best seller, Kitty. You’re hitting lists worldwide. An international best seller. With that in mind, they’re interested in offering you a contract for another ten books.”
Ten books. That’s a lot. And a big commitment. I think about Hayley and how she wants to slow down and have a life. I want to do the same. Have an amazing life with Matt. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I told Maggie what books I wanted to write. She gave me her word that I could go back to writing sweet. I need to find out the terms of the deal.
Which is why I ask, “And what kind of books am I to write?”
“I thought that was a given. More of the tropes, of course.”
I know Matt said he’d help me research, but I don’t want that pressure.
“It’s not where my heart is. It’s not what I want to write. And I can’t keep up this kind of writing schedule. And I won’t.”
“Sweetheart, right now, you could write about a restaurant, and you’d end up with a best seller. But what’s the real reason? You fall for one of the guys you wrote about?”
“No, but I am in a relationship right now, and dating other guys would kind of ruin it. So, why do I feel like I don’t have any say in this?”
“You do—it’s called negotiation. We’ll go back to the publisher and state our demands. I’m with you, doll. I think you’ve given them their pound of flesh and then some. It’s time for you to start calling the shots.”
“I think I needed to hear that from you. Thank you, Lois.”
“That’s what I’m here for. You know you’ve been my easiest, least fussy client from the start. You deserve to work on your own terms now after everything you’ve been through.”
“I have to agree.”
“You have a face-to-face with Maggie soon. After, if you don’t want to continue the relationship, I’ll put out feelers.”
“I think you should actually start putting them out now,” I say boldly.
And now, it looks like I owe Matt something. Sure, I know what he has in mind, but there’s something I’ve had on my mind for a long time. Something I owe him.
After my meeting with Lois is over, I go to a store with a good selection of what I’m looking for.
When they ask if I want it delivered, I tell them, “No, thank you. I’ll carry it.”
They look at me like I’m crazy, and I probably am.
But it feels like the right thing to do.
I throw the thing over my shoulder and trudge home. Manage to get it up the stairs. Then knock on his door. I know it’s unlocked, but I want the visual.
Matt opens the door, takes one look at me, and bursts out laughing. “Finally. You’re finally replacing my rug.”
But it’s me who gets a shock. Matt is basically naked. Wearing only a tool belt around his waist and an orange hard hat on his head.
“Told you I would.”
“Does this mean, I won the bet?”
“Yep.”
“So, I dressed up for nothing?”
“More like didn’t get dressed,” I tease, stepping into the disaster that is currently our place.
“I’ve got power tools,” he says. “I can drill.” He pulls a hammer up out of the tool belt and tosses it in the air before catching it. “Oh, and yes, I have a hammer. Need anything hammered, ma’am?”
He tips the hard hat, and I notice it’s not the only hard thing on his body.
I drop the rug onto the floor. It can wait.
“Actually, I do,” I say, sauntering over to him as I shed my own clothing. “It will have to be quick though, before my boyfriend comes home, you strong, studly—” I start laughing. “Get it? Studly? Like the wall studs.”
“Oh, I get it,” Matt says, closing the space between us. “And now, you’re going to get it too.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The second I see my grandmother’s number on my phone, my chest goes tight. That’s always the way it goes. I can’t not worry about her when she calls at random times.
She’s not the one doing the calling though. If anything, hearing Peter when I pick up only makes my chest clench tighter than before. I can barely breathe.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, nothing at all. I was only wondering … are you free for lunch today?”
Even if I had plans, which I don’t since the house is a disaster and I won’t start writing another book until after the new year, I would still say, “Sure. Just tell me the time and the place.”
But he’s never had lunch with just me before, and I get the feeling that there’s something he’s not telling me.
“I thought perhaps I might bring something over for us to share. I … know you’ve had trouble recently, being noticed in public.”
“Of course, you’re welcome to come over, but just know with the remodeling going on, it’s loud and chaotic here.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” he says.
We end the call, and I dramatically throw myself across the couch, where Matt is watching some game.
“I’m sure everything is fine,” Matt says. “Maybe it’s about a Christmas surprise he wants to plan for your grandmother. Or it could be something he knows she’s planning for you that he thinks you won’t like.”
“Or she could be keeping something from me. Like her heart’s gotten worse.”
“Kitty.”
I do love hearing him say my name. Seriously, I never get tired of the way it rolls off his lips. How, sometimes, the way he says it is soothing. Sometimes totally sexy. Sometimes funny. Although, usually, when he’s being a smart-ass, he calls me Valentine.
He pauses the game and pulls me into his arms, causing me to sigh. “I know you love her, and that’s why you worry. She means a lot to you. I happen to be very fond of her myself.”
“I know you are.” I close my eyes and breathe deep, inhaling his scent. It calms me. So does Phoebe’s gentle nudging against my leg.
“Do you have something to say about it?” I ask her, reaching down to pet her silky fur. She’s like living, breathing therapy.
I can handle this. Whatever Peter wants to talk about, I can handle it. And for all I know, Matt might be right.
“I’m going to take Phoebe for a walk, so you two can have your privacy.” He gives me a sweet kiss as Phoebe pr
ances toward the door.
The remodel has been hard on all of us but especially her. She is used to long naps during the day, and there’s just too much excitement going on.
By the time Peter arrives, I have the place tidied up as best as it can be and have set the table with a tablecloth and everything. I want him to feel comfortable amid the chaos that is this renovation. At least we aren’t doing anything to Matt’s kitchen or dining room just yet, so it’s sort of our safe space. Granted, it’s dusty, and I had to scrub it all down. And luckily for us, the timing works. Most of the workers have gone for lunch.
“Oh, this is beautiful,” he says once he’s in the dining room. He admires the tree, the wreaths, the draped garland Matt helped me hang around the windows. The room is fully decked out since it’s the only room we decorated. “Your grandmother would love to see this.”
“I’ll invite her over.” I motion to the table. “So, what did you bring for lunch?”
When he starts pulling dishes out of a bag, the sight of homemade egg salad sandwiches makes me clap my hands. The man knows me, and he knows that his egg salad is my favorite thing to eat during my weekly teas with Grandmother.
“I brought extra in a container for you to put in the fridge.”
“You’re the best!”
He also brought a fruit salad and cookies for dessert, which he sets down on the table with all the careful consideration of a retired butler while I pour white wine for both of us.
Egg salad and white wine. We are truly living large. Though to be fair, he finds a way to elevate it. Fresh dill, shallots chopped so fine that they’re practically invisible. Same with the celery. A little mayo, a little Dijon, lots of salt and pepper. The aroma alone makes my mouth water.
“Well”—I sit across from him and raise my glass—“what should we toast to?”
“The holidays,” he says. “It’s a wondrous time of the year. Especially here in New York City.”
But when his smile fades, I can’t hold back any longer.
“All right, spill. What’s the matter?”
