The Family You Make (Sunrise Cove #1)(82)

Which meant Mateo was right. She needed to say it all out loud and take away its power to hurt her. “I woke up the next morning alone in a strange bed, in a strange place, no clothes, not knowing where I was or what had happened.” The not remembering was probably a blessing, but sometimes in the dark of the night her brain liked to fill in the missing time, and she had to admit her imagination might be a whole lot worse than the truth.

Mateo sat quietly next to her, calm and steady, but there was a storm in his eyes. “How badly were you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Not badly.”

“There are levels of hurt,” he said carefully.

As she knew all too well. Charges hadn’t been pressed because she’d never been able to ID anyone. “I’m fine. No long-lasting damages.” She made the mistake of looking at him again, seeing a genuine concern for her and a carefully banked fury for what she’d gone through. And also . . . understanding. “Well, no lasting physical damages anyway,” she admitted with an attempt at a smile.

He’d stopped eating and set his fork down. “And the not-physical damages?”

She shrugged. “I’ve had counseling. I don’t hate men. I just . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t like to talk about it. People get weird.”

“Weird how?”

She bit her lower lip. “Okay, they don’t. Because I never talk about this, not with anyone.”

“Not even Jane?”

“She knows, but only because she saw my reaction when a man . . .” She shuddered. “There was a situation in Colombia, at a medical clinic. It got held up, and I reacted badly.” She drew a deep breath. “But other than Jane and a bunch of therapists, no one else knows.”

“What about in your past relationships?”

She froze for a beat. “I get claustrophobic in relationships,” she finally said. “So I don’t do them.”

“You’re sure about that?”

She blinked. “What does that mean?”

“Look, there are all kinds of relationships, right? Like us,” he said quietly. “Technically, what we have could be called a relationship. We’re two neighbors who fight over who plows the snow.” He smiled. “It also might be the best relationship I’ve ever been in.”

She was . . . well, she didn’t know exactly. Flustered? “But we’ve never—”

“There are all kinds of relationships,” he repeated softly.

She stared at him some more. He just flashed another small smile and went back to eating.

Around her, the sounds of the busy cafeteria kicked in and she realized she’d been holding her breath, so she breathed. He’d heard her deepest, darkest secret and he wasn’t scared off. Even more than that, he hadn’t asked invasive questions or pulled back in horror. He wasn’t treating her like a fragile piece of glass that could shatter at any moment.

Normal.

He was acting completely normal.

“Normal’s good, right?” she accidentally said out loud.

He shrugged. “Personally, I think it’s overrated.” Very briefly, so it might have been a mistake, he let his thigh and biceps touch hers. It felt like the very best hug. “Thanks for trusting me,” he said very softly.

She turned her head and met his gaze.

He fed her a bite of her own delicious stuffing. “Charlotte?”

“Yeah?”

“What do you need from me right now?”

“Um . . .” She eyed her half of his pie.

“Think bigger,” he said.

The truth was, she knew exactly what she needed. What she didn’t know was how to ask for it. She looked at his mouth, imagined it on hers, on all of her, erasing all her nightmares . . .

“Anything, Charlotte. All you have to do is say it.”

“Sometimes . . .” She had to lick her dry lips. “I think maybe I need a momentary diversion from my life.”

“Such as?”

She bit her lower lip. How did you tell the man you’d spent months and months secretly aching for—while turning him down—that you wanted to do just as her mom had suggested: jump his bones? “Maybe a hug,” she finally said.

He immediately stood up, and even though they were literally in the middle of the crowded cafeteria, he pulled her up as well, and right into his arms. And as they closed around her, not carefully, not gently, and definitely not like she was a piece of glass, she sighed out her tension and melted into him. Her past didn’t fade away—she was the only one with the power to make that happen—but the memories became . . . muted. For now, at least.

Mateo ducked a little to look into her eyes, a question in his own. Okay? he was asking.

“Yes.” More than. “I want . . .” She wanted them to be off duty. In his big, warm house. In his bed . . .

“Anything,” he said.

She stared at his mouth.

A low groan rumbled up from his chest. “Especially that.”

She nodded, then closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a tease here, but . . . I really also like things the way they are.”

“You mean with you yelling at me every time I do something nice for you?”

Her eyes flew open and found him smiling at her.