Page 20 of Matthias's Protective Embrace
“Did you eat dinner yet?”
“Oh, um, yeah.” Accurate if a bag ofSkittlescounts as dinner.
He shakes his head, like he can hear my thoughts. “I don’t have anything fancy, but I can heat some leftover Thai food for you.” He pauses for a second. “It’s chicken. Is that okay?”
Technically? I can eat chicken, but without knowingexactlyhow something’s made, it’s a risk. He’s going out of his way for me, so I hate to be a pain. I swear, I didn’t used to be high-maintenance.
“Or, I have a couple of frozen meals that we can look at. I’m sure one of them will work.”
“If it’s not too much trouble.” I miss certain foods, but what I miss most is not worrying about what I eat or where it comes from. I miss saying yes when people offer me things without running through a long list in my head. I miss being easygoing at restaurants or people’s houses. I miss not constantly thinking about food.
“It’s not.” He pulls back a stool from the counter before he heads to the freezer. I guess that means I’m supposed to sit?
“So, did Sam do the kitchen, too?”
“A bit of it. Most of it was done when I bought the place.” Matthias rifles around, grabbing a few boxes.
“That’s nice. Kitchens are a pain. We do them sometimes, but they take tons of work to get done correctly. Cabinets and counters are usually special order to make sure they fit correctly.” And nothing ever arrives on time or in the right order.
Matthias nods as he sets a few boxes down in front of me, nutritional information facing up. “See if one of these will work. If not, I can find something else.”
I go through the information on them quickly and realize everything in front of me is vegetarian, even though I know Matthias eats meat. I pick one of them up and do a little more digging, scanning the ingredient list three times to make sure I’m not missing anything. “Um, this one looks good.”
He hums and takes it from me, pulling it out of the box and putting it in the microwave. “So, which jobs do you like best?”
“Yards are always nice, especially planting.” Who would’ve thought that I’d end up liking the outdoors? Ithought I might hold a grudge against it, but it turns out Mother Nature and I called a truce. “Plus, we don’t have to worry about other things in the house, like keeping the carpet clean.”
He nods, his eyes fixed on the microwave timer. It must be broken because I swear it’s slowing down. My brain is empty. I should ask him something about his job or life, but I can’t think of a single question. When the microwave finally chimes, I let out a big sigh.
Matthias slides a plate and silverware over to me, along with a bottle of water. “I’ll be back in my office if you need anything. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen or living room. There’s a TV there with plenty of options.”
“Oh, okay.” I thought inviting me over meant we’d be hanging out together. Of course, he doesn’t want to spend the evening with me. He wants my family not to sue him for wrongful death. It was stupid of me to think anything else.
“When you leave, make sure to shut the front door. The alarm system will automatically set the locks. Stay as late as you like.” He pauses for a moment, then retreats around the corner.
Well, I guess that’s it. Honestly? I think I prefer the diner.
MATTHIAS
I told myself it wouldn’t be strange having Frank over at my house every night. Promised that it wouldn’t interrupt my routine. All of it turns out to be a lie. After a week of having him here every weeknight, the one thing I’ve learned is how hard it is to stay away from him. I’m managing. Barely. Assoon as he shows up, I excuse myself to work in my home office.
It’s not that I don’t have plenty of work to do, but, for once, I want to be somewhere else. Specifically, the living room with Frank. He keeps the TV volume low so it doesn’t disturb me, but if I leave the office door open, the low hum of voices makes its way to the back of the house.
Weirdly, I like hearing it. The sound reminds me that he’s here. In my space. That and the dishes neatly stacked in the dishwasher at the end of each night are the only proof that he was here. That he’s a part of my life.
Trust me, I’ve looked. I’d love to see more evidence of him in my home. There’s no good way to say that, though. Or to ask him to take over more of my space, especially when I’m ignoring him.
What bothers me the most is that I’m not sure he cares that I’m hiding away. Perhaps he prefers it this way, getting to use my house as a retreat without being disturbed by the uptight, controlling man who lives here. It’s not like he’s asked me to spend time with him.
I let my head drop to my desk. I got myself into this mess. What I’m not sure of is how to get myself out of it. Or even if I want to.
I listen for signs of him in the living room. Nothing. That’s what I get for having my office at the back of the house, away from everything else. I could go out there and talk to him. I’ve spent the last week not doing that, but nothing’s keeping me from changing my mind. It’s my house; if I want to be in the living room or kitchen, I will be.
So why aren’t my legs moving? I groan and get out of my chair, mentally preparing my argument.
I pause before I hit the living room, listening to the low dialogue on the TV. I recognize the show as a popularsitcom from a few years ago. I didn’t watch, but it was a pop culture thing that was impossible to ignore. “Hey,” I say loudly, making sure he hears me.
“Oh, is the TV too loud?” He reaches for the remote on the coffee table.
