“We only have two, Mom,” Grayson said. “The one next to my room and the one in your room.”
Rebecca laughed—something like a horse’s whinny—and grabbed Grayson’s shoulders. “That’s right. Just two. Okay, come on, I’ll show you where,” she said, and pushed her son into the house with Matt following.
They walked down the long hallway to her room, but when they crossed the threshold of her inner sanctum, Grayson squirmed out of her grip and ran to the bath. “Nice,” Matt said, looking around at the pale blue walls, the rustic quilt that covered her bed, and the whitewashed furniture. “A person could really hide out here for a few days.”
Rebecca shot him a look; he smiled pleasantly. Rebecca walked (or staggered, she wasn’t really sure) into the master bath.
“Thanks,” he said, looking at the extra-large shower, which Rebecca remembered a moment too late, had been built specifically for two people. “I appreciate it.”
“Towels are there. Shampoo, soap, that sort of thing in the shower.”
“Great.”
She tapped Grayson on the shoulder. “Come on, kiddo, we need to get that mud off you.” She walked out of the bath, thought she could feel Matt’s eyes on her, and as Grayson went darting past her, she casually glanced over her shoulder. He was looking at her, all right, that deep intense gaze boring right through her. “Umm anything you need?” she asked.
A curious smile came over Matt’s face. “I think all that I need is right here.”
She really had to stop reading something into every little statement he made. But even just standing there her skin was doing that prickly thing. She ushered Grayson out of her room and across the house to his bath.
While she helped him bathe and get the big clump of mud out of his hair, she barely heard his chatter, something to do with the habits of frogs. Her mind was filled with the image of Matt standing in her bathroom, looking at her in a way that made her feel so tingly.
When Grayson finished his bath, she helped him dress in his favorite pajamas, saw him to bed, and was prepared to read to him, but Grayson wasn’t interested.
“You don’t want a story?” she asked, surprised.
“No, because I went frog hunting and now it’s your turn.”
“My turn for what?”
“I dunno,” he said, settling back against the pillow. “Maybe ice cream, because you really like ice cream.”
Rebecca laughed. “I do like ice cream.” she said, and kissed Grayson good night, left him to dream about frogs while Tater dozed on the floor next to his bed.
As she walked down the hall to the great room, she could hear Matt in the kitchen. He had dressed in a fresh polo shirt, had wiped the mud off his jeans pretty well, and was padding barefoot around the old oak floors of her kitchen. Frank, Bean, and Tot were with him, all lounging, their heads between their paws, their snouts pointed at empty dog bowls.
Matt looked up and smiled as Rebecca walked in. “Your dogs are hungry.”
“They’re con artists,” Rebecca said, sliding onto a bar stool. “They’ve all been fed.” Frank thumped his tail against the floor in acknowledgement of the truth.
“Is that right?” he asked, frowning down at the dogs. “They scammed me out of a couple of biscuits, then.” He looked up at Rebecca as he reached into a bag of grapes. “I hope you don’t mind, but I sort of invaded your pantry.” He paused, held up a bottle of wine for her to see.
“I don’t mind,” she said, and in fact, thought it was kind of nice, particularly seeing as how he had some French cheeses arranged on a platter, and was now putting grapes around the cheese. “I had no idea you were a gourmet.”
“A gourmet I’m not,” he said with a laugh. “This is something my mom does. I have no culinary skills, but I copy well. Except,” he said, frowning down at the platter, “there’s something she always puts with it . . .”
“Just a wild guess, but maybe crackers?”
“Yes!” he said, snapping his fingers. “So you’re the gourmet.”
“As it happens, I have dabbled in the culinary arts. Enough to at least know that crackers go with cheese,” she said. “I’ll get them for you.”
“Great. Will you bring them outside?” he asked as he stuffed the wine bottle under his arm and picked up the platter.
Rebecca fetched the crackers and followed him out onto the porch. He’d lit three citronella candles that she kept out back to keep the mosquitoes at bay. There were two wineglasses and a corkscrew, too. Matt put down the platter, took the crackers from her hand, and emptied some onto the platter. He stood back, looked critically at his efforts, and finally shrugged. “I don’t know why, but it always looks a lot better when she does it,” he confessed, and picked up the corkscrew and wine bottle.