“Mom.”
I look up in relief as Matt steps into the room, along with Felicia and an older man who’s obviously his father.
If Matt got his mom’s eyes, he got his dad’s everything else. Gary Cannon is the spitting image of what I imagine Matt’ll look like in thirty or so years.
I stand to greet him, and he gives me a firm handshake. “Welcome.”
“Thanks for having me, Mr. Cannon.”
“Gary, please.” He says it with a smile, but my first impression is that he has all of Matt’s looks but none of his son’s charms. There’s a wooden, tired quality about him.
Who knows, perhaps it’s decades’ worth of stress from sleeping with one woman while being married to another?
Matt pours himself a drink from the sideboard as Felicia and Maureen make small talk about Felicia’s daughter’s wedding. The conversation is so sugary sweet my teeth ache.
Matt catches my gaze and rolls his eyes. I give him a quick smile in return. Weird and unexpected as the whole situation is, there’s something oddly nice about being Matt’s partner in all of this.
Not to mention it’s surprisingly comforting to realize I’m not the only one with a background that isn’t Leave It to Beaver perfect.
“Maureen,” Gary says, interrupting his wife’s assessment of the perils of Felicia’s daughter not offering a gluten-free meal option at the wedding. “When are we eating?”
Maureen doesn’t miss a beat at her husband’s rudeness, but her smile is as wide as it is brittle. “They’ve only just gotten here, Gary. I’m sure they didn’t drive an hour and a half to be rushed out of here.”
Matt’s expression indicates he’d like nothing better, but he says nothing as he sips his drink.
“I thought we’d have hors d’oeuvres on the patio. The fire pit’s going, and we just had those new heaters installed. I’ve got a nice baked brie—”
“That’s fine,” Gary interrupts, heading toward the door.
Felicia follows him, patting Matt’s arm affectionately, almost motherly, as she does so.
I glance at Maureen to see if she minds her husband’s mistress acting like a second mother to her only son, but she merely smiles at me. “More wine, dear?”
“Yes,” Matt answers for me. “The whole bottle might be good.”
Maureen lets out a clueless laugh as she heads back into the kitchen.
Matt comes toward me, his face unreadable. “You okay?”
“I’m not going to say this won’t go down as one of the weirdest evenings I’ve ever experienced, but it’s solid entertainment.”
I’m relieved when he smiles. “I should have told you everything. But I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“A safe bet,” I say as we follow his dad and Felicia toward the back of the house. “But for future reference, when it’s a real girlfriend who might not be quite so understanding . . .”
“I know, I know. Skip the flowers and go for jewelry.”
“Actually . . .” I lift up and kiss his cheek. “I liked the flowers. A lot.”
I step out onto the patio to hide my embarrassment at my spontaneity. What is with me? I’m acting far too much like an actual besotted girlfriend than a pretend one. It’s very . . . confusing.
The heaters Maureen mentioned wonderfully heat the Cannons’ outdoor seating area against the late-September chill. I join Matt’s family by the fire pit, both pleased and alarmed when he sits beside me, close enough for our knees to touch.
Pleased, because I like the intimacy of the moment.
Alarmed . . . because I also like him.
21
MATT
Saturday Night, September 30
Sabrina and I haven’t spoken much on the drive back, but it’s a companionable sort of silence.
By the time we get back to the city, it’s nearly eleven, and the crisp dryness of the early evening has given way to a relentless rain that soothes away the sharp edges of the night.
Then again, that could be the effect of the woman beside me. I’d never have thought that Sabrina Cross could have a calming quality. From the very beginning, she’s always been the fuel that lights my flame, the spark that sets me on fire.
Sabrina sighs as I turn onto Park toward her apartment building. “I use to love the rain.”
I glance over, the city lights playing shadows off her profile. “Use to?”
“Until I got a dog.”
“Juno’s not a fan?”
“She’s fine with rain as long as there’s no thunder. And if there’s no umbrella within twenty feet of her. Oh, and did I mention she freaks out if I wear a hood?” She touches her hair. “Bye-bye, good hair day.”
“I’ll take her.”
She looks over. “What?”
“I’ll walk Juno.”
“You are not walking my dog.”
“Why not? I’ve done it before when you were out of town.”
“Yes, but I didn’t ask you to. I asked Kate. She betrayed me.”
“Yeah, a real Judas, that one. Look, you didn’t ask me then, and you’re not asking me now. I’m volunteering.”
“You have your car.”
“Which—and brace yourself for this news flash—can be parked.”
“There’s not that much street parking. My apartment building has a garage, but it’s . . . expensive,” she finishes as I pull into said garage.
“Really?” I say, rolling down the window and punching the button for a ticket. “You have no qualms about my dropping four digits on your clothing, but you’re worried about—” I glance at the sign with the parking prices. “Damn, that is expensive parking.”
“Right?” She unbuckles her seat belt. “If you turn around now, you can sweet-talk the attendant, tell her that you came in here by accident.”
I ignore her as I pull into an available spot and turn off the engine. She huffs. I grin.
“Okay, fine. But you taking my dog out does not make us even,” she says as we climb out of the car and walk toward the elevators. “That dinner was horrendous.”
I laugh. “It really was, wasn’t it?”
“Does Felicia always show up for dinner?”
“No, but it’s become more frequent the past couple years.”
“Has your mom ever brought one of her . . . guys?”
“Nope. Felicia’s divorced, but my mom’s guys have always been married. I don’t think their wives would be keen on them coming over for a cozy dinner party.”
She shakes her head as we step into the elevator. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff in Manhattan. Open marriages aren’t nearly as uncommon as you’d think. But this is the first time I’ve seen the other woman join the family for dinner, complete with son and new girlfriend.”
“You’re welcome for the novel experience.” I keep my voice light, but I feel her watching me.
“Does it bother you?”
I look toward her without moving my head. “Would you believe me if I said I’m used to it?”
She considers this for a moment. “Yes. But that’s not what I asked.”
We step onto her floor, but it’s not until she digs her keys out of her purse that I answer the question. “Yeah. Yeah, it bothers me.”
She nods in understanding, and I’m relieved that she doesn’t press me to say more.
Instead, we let ourselves be greeted by an ecstatic Juno, who’s so busy bounding in circles that I can barely get her leash on.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Sabrina says as the dog tugs me toward the door.
“You endured my mother’s dry lamb chops and my dad’s mistress singing an ABBA medley. I’ve got this. Keys?” She tosses them to me, and I catch them in midair.
Juno charges full speed through the hall, paces impatiently in the elevator, and then shoots across the lobby. Once outside, she slows her roll. She may not hate the rain, but she definitely doesn’t love it. She does her business quickly and efficiently before dragging me back toward the door.
Even still, we’re sopping wet by the time we get back inside. Juan’s working again tonight, and he lifts an idle hand in greeting as I pass. I grin, wondering how Sabrina would feel about the fact that her doorman is officially and thoroughly used to me.
Even if I didn’t already know where Sabrina lived, Juno knows the way. I let her drag me to the apartment, where her tail wags impatiently for me to dig the key out of my pocket.