As I was fixing my coffee, he said, “I’m not happy about this.”
I frowned over at him. God, I couldn’t get used to seeing that silky black hair where I expected dirty blond. I wondered how long he’d been awake. He wore a pale long-sleeved shirt and black fleece pants, and even those casual clothes fit him so elegantly. He must have looked like that when he was alone, relaxing at his desk, writing. Without me.
Matt turned and caught me staring.
“What? About what?” I said.
“You leaving. I’m not happy about it.”
He rose and began to prowl through the cabin, stopping at windows to study the landscape. I watched him again, and I smiled. He couldn’t be happy with a weekend. He was angry all the time—in his passion, in his contentment—as if he needed anger to survive.
“Matt, I’m not happy about it either.”
“Then call Pam and take a sick day.”
“No.” I blew steam off my coffee. “I’m sorry, but I won’t do that.”
“Why? Why not?”
“Don’t be childish, Matt. It’s my job, it’s my dream job, and you of all people should know that Pam can smell a lie for miles.”
Matt glared a challenge at me from across the room. I met his gaze and shook my head. In bed, he could boss me around all night—and all day, for that matter—but not outside of it.
“Besides”—I swirled the spoon in my mug—“I’ll drive up next weekend.”
“Don’t you want to spend another day with me?” Having failed with anger, Matt shifted into a far more persuasive mode: Mopey Matt. He flopped onto the couch and snatched a pillow, which he began to pick at and examine. When I said nothing, he set aside the pillow and went for Laurence, opening the rabbit’s cage and leaning in to talk quietly to him.
Oh, Lord. He was like an outsized nine-year-old but with a man’s guile. I grinned down at my coffee. To laugh at him now would be a mistake.
“Baby, of course I want to spend another day with you. I want to spend every day with you, but we can’t, and you know that. You wanted this…”
My last words hung between us. Matt’s hand stilled on Laurence’s head, then resumed down the rabbit’s back. He closed the cage and stood.
“I wanted my life back,” he said.
“Your life minus me.”
“I didn’t want this.”
Matt stormed out of the room. The bedroom door slammed.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I huffed.
I let Matt cool his heels in the bedroom. Whatever. If he wanted to fight, I had plenty of ammo. After all, I was the one taking heat over Night Owl. I was the one acting out our charade. I gained nothing from his absence except his absence, which seriously sucked.
I never got to go to dinner with my boyfriend anymore … never got to walk down the street holding his hand … all week I slept alone in our king-size bed. The hell with him. I was the one sacrificing. He got his happy anonymous little life, and he just wanted more, more, more.
I sneered and dropped onto the couch.
I finished my coffee and had another cup. I played Candy Crush on my phone. I even stood on the deck awhile, enjoying the crystalline silence. I wanted to wait Matt out. He owed me an apology. But he didn’t appear, and I heard no sound from the bedroom.
After an hour and a half, I knocked lightly on the door.
Nothing.
“Matt?”
Silence.
“Okay, I’m coming in, you big baby,” I said.
I slipped into the room.
My suitcase lay open on the bed, and it was empty. Matt lounged against the windowsill smoking. Gradually, I noticed my clothes and toiletries in various places around the room.
There was my nightgown, still neatly folded, sitting on the bedside table. And there were my boots poking out from under the bed.
“Yes,” Matt said. “I put all your things around here.” He gestured to the room without looking at me. “And in the bathroom, too. And I won’t help you find them, so good luck.”
I fought to keep a straight face.