Chapter Three
Matt loved his job.
All jokes and stereotypes about male kindergarten teachers aside, he liked going home at the end of the day knowing he’d accomplished something good, that lives were being changed for the better because of his small place in them. He’d never been one to pursue grand ambitions, and he liked to think he’d once been happy.
Work, wife, home. A simple lineup—but then, he’d never professed to be anything but a simple man.
Unfortunately, with one of the key ingredients missing, Matt had moved well beyond simple into dismal territory. It was a fact he felt keenly, never more so than on days like today, when no fewer than three kids had meltdowns before lunch and all he wanted was to go home to a friendly face.
So much for transforming into the free-wheeling bachelor Lincoln wanted him to be. So much for meeting incredible women in bars and taking advantage of what they had to offer.
As the bell rang, signaling freedom, Matt stepped out of the two-story brick schoolhouse, a historic building with ample charm and not nearly enough electrical outlets, with his line of students in tow. Half of them vibrated with pent-up energy, while the other half appeared ready for an afternoon nap. A nap sounds about right.
Visions of his couch and the deep reaches of sleep beckoned warmly. Or rather, they began to beckon warmly. All thoughts of sleep fled the second he caught a bright flash of color the same shade of a traffic cone standing in the schoolyard.
The color itself wasn’t unusual. The woman attached to it, however, was—bold, daring, leaning against a tree and presumably waiting for him.
He did his best to ignore Whitney’s concentrated stare as he handed the children off, one by one, to parents and babysitters. What on earth was she doing here? And how had she found him?
She has your ID information, dummy. She could probably steal his identity if she wanted to. Run a background check. Stalk him to the ends of the earth.
He’d never been stalked before.
Matt’s pulse picked up, clearly enjoying the idea, but he tamped the sensation down. She’d probably left something behind at the diner, or maybe her friend failed to show up yesterday morning and she wanted to exact payment in Lincoln’s blood. Nothing big. Nothing at all like what his overactive and apparently workplace-inappropriate imagination had in mind.
Two of the more persistent moms lingered long after everyone else cleared away, and he had to force himself to greet them with a semblance of calm, to avoid Whitney’s oppressive gaze. As much as he might want to run screaming into the school right now, taking a much-needed time out in the corner, he had to man up and face these women.
All three of them.
The two parents he knew as Tara and Nadine were both single moms, both taking care of robust boys who routinely pushed their boundaries using physical force against the smallest kids. They weren’t bad—they just needed a strong male presence.
The boys. Not the moms.
“I was hoping to set up a time to talk to you about Tommy’s reading.” Nadine tugged her squirming son to stay by her side. She had red hair that passed in a tumble of curls to her mid-back and always dressed in a sweater with a deep v-neck, no matter what the weather. “I’m so happy with what you’re doing—I just want to take it to the next level, you know?”
The sound of a deep, feminine chortle filled the air.
“Of course,” Matt said, doing his best to ignore Whitney. He wished he knew what she wanted. He wished he knew whether the curve of those lips carried mockery or something else...something that coiled down toward his groin and gave an insistent tug. “Why don’t I send Tommy home with a book list that you two can work on together?”
Before Nadine could say anything more, Tara pushed her way forward, a plate of something warm and cinnamony in her hand. Even though she often brought baked goods with her, she looked as though she never ate any. She and her son Giovanni dressed almost exclusively in athletic gear, she in those tight black pants women liked to exercise in and he in matching tracksuits, one color for each day of the week.
She pressed a plate of cookies in his hand and beamed. “Right out of the oven. Oatmeal pecan—it’s my great-granny’s recipe.”
Matt held the plate a little farther out from his body. He was deathly allergic to pecans. “Thank you.” She seemed to expect something else, so he paused for a moment before adding, “Did, ah, you guys get the notice about the field trip next week? I think we’re still short a few chaperones, so if you’re free...”
“Oh, I’m free. Absolutely. Count me in.” The words were shot rapid-fire. As her clothes indicated, Tara was very energetic.
“I’d love to help too, but my job as a legal secretary keeps me so busy during the day, you know?” Nadine’s job as a legal secretary had been mentioned so many times throughout the course of the school year Matt sometimes heard it in his sleep. “We didn’t all divorce a big-shot director with alimony to spare. But I can volunteer in the evenings. Any time.”
Matt smiled and nodded, awkwardly holding the cookies so far out a bird could have swooped down and taken every last one. He appreciated that Tara and Nadine took an active interest in their kids, but he hadn’t yet learned how to straddle the line between professionally friendly and not interested.
He fought a sigh. This sort of thing had never happened before the divorce.
Whitney, of course, seemed to take all of this in at a glance, sensing his distress—not that she appeared to have any plans to save him. As though she’d come by merely to spectate, she continued resting against the tree, managing to look amused and relaxed at the same time.
Don’t just stand there—help me, he mouthed, being careful not to draw the attention of the two women, who had squared off to discuss the comparative merits of being a working mom versus a stay-at-home one. Nadine and her legal secretary background were currently in the lead.
He thought for a minute that maybe Whitney misunderstood or was willfully ignoring him, but with a slow, satisfied smile, she pushed off from the tree and sauntered over as if she owned the place. That had to be a thing of hers—that sense of entitlement. It seemed somehow ingrained.
“Hello, ladies,” she said coolly. A quick appraisal determined that she wasn’t wearing anything low cut or revealing, being dressed in skintight jeans and a bright orange top, but she still seemed to swell larger than life, taking over all the air and space.
Or maybe that was just him.
“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Whitney.” She extended her arm, confident and strong, holding it there until the women had no choice but to take it. “I’m so sorry to have to whisk your child’s teacher away like this, but I’m having a bikini wax in an hour and Matt always holds my hand during the appointment.”
She did not just—
Whitney clasped his hand and beamed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And then we always take that baby out for a test drive.”
She did.
But even as Matt’s face burned and he heard echoes of the adage to watch out for cures that were worse than the disease, he felt a smile form on his lips. Maybe he would have adopted a more subtle approach, but there was no denying Whitney’s version got results. He had a feeling she always got results.
“Oh, my stars, I had no idea.” Nadine cocked her head and stared at Matt. “You have got to be the sweetest man on the face of the planet.”
“Thank you,” he managed, striving to keep a straight face. “I try.”
“You are so lucky,” Tara added, her words directed warmly at Whitney. “I couldn’t even get Gio’s daddy to come to the ultrasounds.”
“I know.” Whitney wrapped an arm around Matt’s waist and squeezed him. “And you wouldn’t believe how great he is with those hands.”
Both women looked down at his hands with interest. As far as he could tell, they were just hands, chapped from excessive washing but otherwise unremarkable.
“He gives great foot rub,” she added. “Honestly, though, I’m just so grateful to have him in my life. And I know he just loves those kids of yours. It takes a special kind of man to step up for this kind of job. He’s society’s hero, if you ask me. A real pillar of the community.”
Tara and Nadine nodded, beaming at him.
“I couldn’t agree more.” Tara grabbed the plate from Matt and foisted it into Whitney’s hands. “You enjoy those cookies, both of you.”
“Thank you. We will.” Whitney smiled, taking over the conversation with ease, her lips rolling over the word we in a way that made Matt’s insides grow taut with expectation. “And I’ll make sure this gorgeous man of mine brings the plate back when we’re done.”
They stood chatting for a few more moments before the moms took their leave, crises averted, now on perfectly amiable terms with one another.
Matt took a moment to squat to the boys’ level, careful to look them both in the eye. “Remember what I said about your homework tonight. What is it we’re working on, again?”
Giovanni scowled. “I’m s’posed to say please and thank you, ’specially to my mom.”
He ignored the outburst of feminine “awwws” at Giovanni’s recitation. It wasn’t doing these kids any favors for them to think being polite was anything other than what they owed every fellow human being. “And I think you’ll do great at it. What else? James?”
“Look for shapes and write ’em in our journals. My Wii is a white square. I already know that one.”
“You might try looking outside too. There are some really good shapes in nature.” He stood and brushed off his knees. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”
He refused to make eye contact with Whitney as Tara and Nadine dragged their sons away, fearful that any sort of acknowledgement of what had just happened would have him rolling on the ground in tears of laughter.
Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t acutely aware of her watching him. He defied anyone to ignore that kind of intensity—they might as well try to turn off the sun. But then she picked up one of the cookies and began nibbling, so he jumped away.
“Pecan allergy,” he explained when one of her eyebrows rose. “One crumb will send me to the hospital.”
“Then why didn’t you tell Tara that?”
It was a good question. And the answer—that strong, forceful women scared the crap out of him—didn’t seem like a confession he should make if he planned on getting out of this situation alive. “I was being polite.”
“You’d risk anaphylactic shock for the sake of being nice?”
“I’ve risked a lot worse.”
“Good thing I’m a doctor,” she added.
“You are?” That didn’t seem right. A doctor was upright and professional and...staid. Whitney, this city girl with a strangely overpowering pull on him, was not.
She smirked. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. At least not yet. Which is why I think I’ll let you thank me over a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee?” That sounded suspiciously like what he’d offered the other night...and what she’d turned down flat, claiming a disinterest in daytime activities. “What’s the catch?”
Her grin grew and she took a few predatory steps forward. “No catch. Can’t a girl take a man out for a hot beverage of the bean variety? Can’t two consenting adults share a plate of something delicious and pecan-free?”
The way her voice dropped over the word consenting spiked straight to his groin. His powers of resistance were only so strong. He was human, after all.
She laughed, a rough, low sound that didn’t help matters any. “That’s what I thought. Meet me at Java Rocket in half an hour?”
He hesitated, not because he wasn’t interested, but because he was. It had been so long since he’d felt that surge—anticipation and curiosity and the stirrings of lust all at the same time—and he was almost afraid he’d forgotten how it was supposed to work. Women. Coffee. Dating.
Sex.
“I won’t take no for an answer.” Whitney picked up one of the cookies and waved it in his face.
“Is this how you get dates?” he couldn’t help asking, even though they both knew he was well on his way to capitulation. Who was he kidding? He was already there. He wanted coffee with this woman in ways that had to be illegal in at least ten states. “Threatening a man with bodily harm?”
“Oh, honey.” Whitney laughed and tossed her hair. She took his assent as a matter of course and turned toward the parking lot. “No one said anything about this being a date.”
* * *
“How did you do that back there, anyway?” Matt balanced two cups of coffee and a huge wedge of chocolate cake as he approached their table.
Chocolate and table service. Matt might be a bit quieter than the guys she usually went after but, damn, did he know how to woo a girl.
“How did you turn Nadine and Tara around like that without their knowing?”
“Easy.” She grabbed a fork. “I was nice.”
He shook his head and studied her intently. After what felt like a full minute he said, “No. That wasn’t it.”
“I beg your pardon?” Whitney was used to men looking at her—she wasn’t without her faults, obviously, but her bright colors and tight pants weren’t exactly subtle cues, the human equivalent of a bright red baboon ass waggling under the trees. While she definitely read interest in Matt’s sharp blue eyes, it was tempered with something else. Disdain, almost. As though she wasn’t quite up to his usual standards.
Damn if that look didn’t make her want to prove him wrong. It was the only reason she could give for being so persistent in her pursuit of him, coming to his place of work and accosting complete strangers on the playground. She wasn’t normally the one doing all the work.
He wasn’t fazed. In that same thoughtful vein, he added, “That wasn’t being nice. Kindness is something that comes from within. It’s spontaneous, unconscious. You were extracting something from those women—getting them to do what you wanted.”
“That is so not true. I was getting them to do what you wanted. I saw that pained look. You were a trapped man.”
“I think I might still be.” He grinned, flashing that damn dimple and looking more appealing than her cake—and that was saying a lot. “What were you doing at the school?”
“Trapping you,” Whitney admitted. She arched her brow suggestively, but he kept chewing, kept watching, making her realize she had virtually no discernible effect on him.
“So you’re really a doctor?”
“A plastic surgeon. You know that old dental office just off Main Street? It’s mine—well, mine in conjunction with Kendra and another friend of ours. We’re opening a medical spa. Botox, boobs, brows—the whole package.”
“You mean...you live here? In Pleasant Park?”
There was a reluctant note in his voice that made her feel every inch the naughty seductress she was attempting to be. “Yes. I live here. Why? Afraid I’m going to ruin your reputation?”
He took a long sip of coffee, giving nothing away.
“Can I get you anything for that? Maybe a stool for getting down off your high horse?”
Matt offered a slight grin over the rim of his cup—just enough of a quirk of the lips to do strange things to her equilibrium. He was cute and self-deprecating, which was turning out to be a bizarre and effective aphrodisiac.
“I’m sorry. That was rude. I just assumed you and your friend were visiting.”
“Slumming it in the boonies?”
“Something like that,” he admitted. “I’m sure you guys will love it here. It’s a very friendly place.”
Whitney placed a hand on his. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
He looked at her hand warily, and Whitney’s pulse picked up. She’d never met a man so attracted to and repulsed by her at the same time.
“So.” She leaned over the table. “Tell me about you.”
“There’s not much to say. I live in Pleasant Park. I teach kindergarten.”
“You have a brother who, unlike you, enjoys the bar scene.” She ticked off her fingers. “You’re divorced. You’re abnormally polite. You think women are scary.”
“Not scary.” His eyes met hers. For all his bashfulness, his stare was very direct.
“What, then? Why are you looking at me as though I might eat you?”
“I move a little slower than most guys, that’s all,” he said carefully. “I don’t see what the big hurry is.”
She licked her lips. “Don’t you?”
Matt pushed back from the table with a polite nod. “I’ve got to get back to school—I didn’t get a chance to set up for tomorrow. Thanks for coffee and everything.”
She watched him for a suspended moment before rising to her feet. “Lots of crayons to organize and paper shapes to cut out?”
“Something like that,” he said, but added nothing more. He’d resorted to being cool and polite—almost exactly the way he’d been with those overeager women at the school. It was as good a sign as any that she was being rejected. Again.
As she reached around to the back of her chair, Matt stepped forward, once again grabbing her coat and helping her into it. The brush of his fingers against her neck stalled them both in their tracks, and Whitney knew a sudden urge to arch into his hand. But he pulled away before she completed the thought, stepping so far back someone could have wedged a grocery cart between them.
Whitney let out a low whistle. “Your ex-wife really did a number on you, didn’t she?”
Matt jerked his head in the direction of the door. “It’s complicated.”
“Is she off limits, the ex-wife?” Whitney asked, taking pity on him and allowing him to lead her out. As expected, Matt opened the café door for her, and even made a move as if to follow her to her car—protecting her against the savages of Pleasant Park in the daytime. “Are you still at that stage where you’d rather stab your eyes out with a fork than talk about her? I remember that stage well. I used to have a very fond daydream of a fork and a totally different organ to puncture.”
“It’s fine.” Matt shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “In fact, if you want the whole story, all you have to do is ask anyone walking down the street. It’s kind of hard to keep a personal life personal around here.”
“I’d rather you tell me.”
He paused before shuffling forward again. “The short version? She cheated.”
Oh. Oh.
Whitney stopped him. It was just a quick hand to his arm, but enough to show she was listening. “That sucks, Matt. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Actually, I did. I wasn’t able to give her the emotional support she needed, so she looked for it somewhere else. It happens.” As soon as the words moved past his lips, he stopped and laughed. “I don’t know what it is about you. I really can’t keep my mouth shut, can I?”
There was nothing even remotely funny about a cheating wife—infidelity was the one thing Whitney refused to play off as a joke—but she still laughed. Matt looked so sheepish, his hands in his pockets, hair tousled, breath coming out in short puffs in the cold air. Oversharing definitely became him. And she wanted to hear more about this bitch of an ex-wife—preferably over dinner or wine or partial nudity.
“You don’t spend a whole lot of time with members of the opposite sex, do you?” Whitney asked warmly, tucking her arm in his.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Let’s just say it’s been a long time since anyone has been able to catch me so far off guard.” And off her game. “But you? You surprise me. You’ve been surprising me for almost a full forty-eight hours now.”
“Is that a good thing?” Matt’s look of discomfort grew until it was all she could do not to kiss him and squeeze him until the adorable exploded all over them both.
“It’s good.” Emboldened by the deepening of his dimple, she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his cheek. Warm and scratchy—just the way a man ought to be. “You have no idea how much.”
Matt was never more grateful for a telephone call than he was in that moment, what with Whitney and her lips and his ever-weakening resolve toward her. The only dark spot was that Lincoln had somehow gotten to his phone and managed to change the ringtone for Laura’s number to Rhianna’s “Unfaithful.” Very subtle.
With a quick look of apology to Whitney, who was struggling not to laugh, he pulled his cell out of his pocket. “Hello?”
“Hey, Matt. It’s me.”
Me. A word that meant so much and yet so little. “I know. What’s up?”
He heard her sharp intake of breath over the phone and realized he’d spoken much more harshly than he intended. He was usually pretty good at this part—the inevitable conversations and lingering issues of two lives torn apart—but he felt oddly hesitant to talk right now. It probably had something to do with standing next to a woman who didn’t carry years’ worth of his history on her shoulders, who actually laughed at his jokes for a change.
“Was there a problem with the check?” he continued, more moderate this time. Laura didn’t demand much in the way of alimony—and how could she, given his profession?—but they’d settled it between them that he’d cover the house payment on their little two-bedroom cottage for the first year. Enough time for her to get back on her feet, and enough time for him to pay down on the guilt he felt at the way things had ended.
His sister Hilly and Lincoln considered it the height of outrage that he gave her anything at all, considering the circumstances of their breakup, but it wasn’t for them to judge. Hilly had been happily married to the same man for a decade and Lincoln...well. Matt looked at Whitney and smiled. Lincoln was orange.
“Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong,” Laura rushed to assure him, her tone breathy and light. “I was just wondering if you planned on stopping by this week.”
He ran a quick mental check over the to-do list he kept tacked above his desk at school and came up empty. “Was there something I forgot? Is the water heater acting up again?”
“It’s been fine ever since you replaced the coils. It’s just that you usually check in on Sundays to see how things are getting along with the house. You missed yesterday.”
“I did?” Oh, yeah. He had. A beer, sangria, two shots of tequila and the Whitney whirlwind had conspired to make his Sunday morning something of a blur. He distinctly remembered a headache and a lingering sense of regret that had more to do with turning Whitney down than the unprecedented amount of alcohol he’d consumed.
“It’s not like you to break habit, that’s all,” Laura said. He could hear the smile in her voice. That was one of the things that had first drawn him to her. She’d never been the kind of woman who did things to excess, but when she was pleased, her normally placid exterior broke a little, letting him in. Of course, her tendency to underplay emotion had also made it that much more difficult to tell when she began to be unhappy.
Or when that unhappiness led straight to another man’s arms.
“You’re dependable old Matt,” she added.
The certainty with which Laura spoke sent a jolt of awareness through him. Was he that easy to label? He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen into such an ironclad routine of checking in on her. Taking care of the ordinary household things that had always been his domain had started as a way to retain a connection to his old life. A few months later, it had become a courtesy.
Lately, it had become a chore.
Is that her? Whitney mouthed, catching sight of his frown.
Matt nodded once, regretting his honesty the moment Whitney lit up, unwarranted glee casting the deceptively gentle features of her face into a kind of radiance. “Give me the phone,” she hissed, reaching for it.
He remembered the way she’d so neatly handled the women at the school and shook his head. Laura would find nothing charming in Whitney’s depilatory habits—no matter how much she might deserve to hear them.
Whitney, obviously not one to give up easily, dived toward him with her arm outstretched. “I’m serious. I’ve got one or two things to say to her.”
“Um, I’m sorry, but—” He stepped aside just as Whitney got a hand on his phone. He didn’t let go, but he also wasn’t willing to hit Whitney—a restriction she apparently didn’t share. With a quick, playful jab to his stomach, he was forced to give up the fight. To do anything else would be to confess just how ticklish he was, and nothing seemed more catastrophic than admitting that particular weakness to this particular woman.
Something about his sudden shift backward threw Whitney off balance and the phone clattered to the ground, the screen shattering in the final way that belonged solely to inordinately expensive electronics.
“Well, shit.” Whitney’s words said it all.
He looked at the piece for a moment before giving in to laughter—long, hearty laughter like he hadn’t enjoyed in a long time. “I think you broke it.”
Whitney laughed with him. “That wasn’t my goal, I promise. I just wanted to say hello, introduce myself to the woman. I’ll buy you a new phone.”
“Don’t bother. It was about five years out of date as it was.” Matt cast a sidelong look at her. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever hung up on Laura before.”
“Is that her name? How ordinary.” She paused for a moment. “You aren’t going to let the whole hanging-up-on-her thing eat away at your noble soul, are you?”
“No.” He shook his head resolutely. “She called me dependable. And old.”
Whitney gave a mock shudder. “That unfeeling bitch.”
Matt didn’t correct her. While he wouldn’t choose quite so strong a term to describe Laura, he felt strangely unsettled at her certainty in his reliability. When had he become such a pushover? When had he decided that dependability was the only quality worth having?
“Are you just going to leave the broken pieces there?” Whitney asked, making no move to scoop them up.
“I don’t think I’ve ever littered before either.”
Whitney’s eyes flashed. “I like where you’re going with this. Tell me, Matt Fuller, what else haven’t you ever done?”
“I’ve never met a woman like you,” he said honestly. He doubted most people had ever enjoyed an experience like this.
“Well, what do you intend to do now that you’ve met me?” she asked, not making any overt moves toward him. She stood almost motionless, as if waiting for his response before determining how to proceed.
He knew how he wanted to proceed—and it had nothing to do with being dependable. Or reliable. Or safe. He didn’t want to be the guy who checked in on his cheating ex-wife every week because he couldn’t let go of the feeling that he’d somehow wronged her by not putting up more of a fight.
He also didn’t want to fight. At least, not for Laura.
“Matt?” Whitney prodded. “Are you okay?”
He swallowed and met Whitney’s eyes. The dark, turbulent passion he saw there gave him enough courage to say the words they both needed to hear.
“I’m more than okay.” A feeling of warmth spread through him. There would be no more focusing on all the things he didn’t want. Right now, with this woman, he was going to focus on all the things he did want. Starting with her. “In fact, I think I’d very much like to rebound.”