"Sure," he said. "Come on." He stood up and held out a hand to her. "I'm starving. Let's go downstairs and find something to eat."
She reached out and took his hand. The two of them headed for the kitchen, but the feeling of Matthew's warm fingers wrapped around her own wasn't sending the usual rush of sparkling-hot blood through her veins. The longer the little knot of tension held on, the more freaked out she got. She'd never felt this way around Matthew. Ever. If anything, she'd always been too relaxed around him—too connected. She didn't understand what was happening. It was like everything had shifted just enough to make it hard to keep her balance. She didn't like this new, slant-floored world, but she wasn't sure how to straighten things out. Matthew headed straight for the fridge, pulling out a pan of lasagna that Lisbeth had made the night before.
"God, I love your house. There's always something amazing to eat."
Claire hopped up onto the counter and perched there. "I think Lisbeth just feels guilty that there's not as much for her to do around here anymore, so she cooks."
"Well, I still love it." Matthew hummed to himself as he slid the pan onto the counter. He moved in front of Claire. "You're blocking the plates."
"Oh. Yeah."
She hadn't exactly meant to sit in front of that cabinet, but the teasing intensity of the look Matthew gave her made her glad that she had. The tangle inside her melted under his gaze. Gently, he nudged Claire's knees apart and stepped closer, wrapping one arm around her hips and pulling her against him. His lips grazed her neck, tracing a path from just underneath her jaw to the top of her collarbone. She wrapped her arms around him as his mouth met hers with the sort of burning kiss that sent electric tingles through her every time.
"What about the lasagna?" she managed to whisper.
"Screw the lasagna." She wrapped her legs around him, and he lifted her off the counter. "Couch." He kissed her. "Now."
She laughed as he carried her to the den and dumped her unceremoniously on the deep, fluffy couch. She stretched out on the welcoming cushions, and Matthew lay down next to her, picking up exactly where he'd left off in the kitchen. Sometime later, Claire heard the faraway crunch of tires against gravel. She pulled away from Matthew, tugging down her shirt and sending up a tiny prayer of thanks that her mother had never paved the driveway. Matthew sat up blinking at her as she smoothed her hair. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Did I do something?"
Claire reached behind herself and flipped on the sidetable lamp. "My mom's home," she said, turning on the TV and searching for something she and Matthew could believably have been watching.
Matthew cocked his head, listening hard. "Are you sure?"
Claire raised an eyebrow at him. "Your hair is sticking up."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, the unmistakable sound of the garage door opening rumbled through the house.
Matthew swiped at his hair. "I may never get used to your supersonic hearing." He grabbed a throw pillow that had fallen onto the floor and shoved it behind his back. "Right. So. What are we watching?"
There was a clank and a thud in the kitchen.
"Hello?" Claire's mom sounded tired. And vaguely grumpy.
"In here," Claire called back.
Marie poked her head around the corner. Her face was paler than usual, the contours of her cheekbones painfully sharp underneath her skin. She smiled when she saw Matthew, though Claire noticed her nostrils flaring ever so slightly. Claire willed herself not to blush. Other people only had to worry about not looking guilty when they got caught making out. Claire had to worry about smelling guilty, too.
"How was the shoot?" Claire asked. Talking about photography was the only sure way to distract her mother.
"Miserable." Marie pursed her lips. "They could hardly afford me, so the rest of their budget was nonexistent. The space was terrible, and the lighting was worse." She closed her eyes briefly.
"You okay?" Claire asked, concerned.
"Just tired and hungry. I noticed there's some lasagna on the counter. Have you eaten?"
"Um, not yet," Matthew admitted, a pink flush creeping into his cheeks.
"Well"—Marie cleared her throat—"Why don't you join me, then?"
Claire opened her mouth to say no, but Matthew, who was clearly experiencing some sort of embarrassment-induced insanity, leapt in first.
"Sure," he said. "I'm starved."