Well Matched (Well Met #3)(90)

All my senses went on high alert when, somewhere between ten minutes and three years later, headlights shone through my living room window as a gargantuan red pickup truck swung into my driveway. Every muscle I had tensed up as the engine cut off, and the headlights went out a heartbeat later.

“Here we go, Murray,” I whispered, but he was already asleep again. He was a terrible wingman.

My heart pounded and the cider suddenly tasted sour in my mouth, but I forced myself to swallow it. The slam of the truck door was loud, but I could barely hear it over the blood rushing in my ears, and when the doorbell rang I jumped.

This was it. Mitch was giving me my chance. All I had to do was not screw it up. I took a deep, cleansing breath as I opened the front door.

“Hey.” His hands were shoved in the front pockets of his jeans, and he met my eyes briefly before casting his gaze away, studying the doorjamb, then the porch light.

“Hi.” For a long moment I didn’t move. I was so glad to see him again that I’d forgotten why I’d texted him. I just wanted to look at him there in my doorway. I wanted to look at him every day.

He cleared his throat and brought his eyes back to mine again. “So. What did you need?”

“Oh. Right.” I stepped back and gestured him inside, closing the front door behind him. God, I’d forgotten how much space he took up. His presence should be crowding me, this person who always wanted to be left alone. But now that was the last thing I wanted. And it was time to let him know that.

I took a deep breath. “Like I said. I wanted to get your opinion on something.”

“Okay.” He raised his eyebrows. “What’s that?”

“Come see.” I led him into the living room, but he stopped short in the doorway.

“You got a dog.”

“I did.” I watched while Mitch and Murray looked at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up. Murray quickly determined that Mitch hadn’t brought him a carrot, and put his head back down with a long sigh.

“That’s not why I asked you over, though. I redid the paint in here. What do you think?” I took a step more into the center of the room, waiting for him to follow.

He did. “Let me guess, you changed your mind on the Eggshell.” I didn’t answer, I just waited for him to see what I’d done. “Seriously, as long as it’s some boring neutral color they’re not gonna care . . .” His voice stopped abruptly, and I turned to look at him. His eyes were huge in his face, and his jaw had gone slack. “April.” His voice was hushed.

“What do you think?” I moved to stand beside him, my arms crossed over my chest. We both studied the accent wall that I’d spent this week painting blue. Not-even-close-to-neutral blue. It wasn’t the bright blue of his eyes, or the dark blue of mine. It was somewhere in between. A perfect mix of the two. Just like I wanted us to be.

“What . . .” He cleared his throat. “Why the hell did you do that?” He swung his gaze down to me, and I bit down hard on my lip. He wasn’t getting it. I really should have rehearsed something to say here.

“Because . . .” But my voice failed me. There was so much I wanted to say, and I didn’t know how to say any of it. But I had something else to show him besides the wall. Maybe that would do the trick. “Here. Do you want a drink?” I reached for his hand but thought better of it. He might not want me touching him. I wouldn’t blame him. But he followed me into the kitchen. He was still here. I still had a chance.

“Hey, you did the cabinets! They look great.” He huffed out a laugh. “I guess you didn’t need me after all.” He was trying to make the words a joke, but his voice was laced with hurt.

That was a good place to start. “Maybe not,” I said carefully. “You were right, what you said. That I don’t need anyone. I think that’s what happens when you raise a kid on your own. You get used to not relying on anybody else. But you know, someone told me, not too long ago, that you can want something without needing it.”

A ghost of a smile lit up his eyes. “I remember that.”

“But this isn’t easy for me. I need you to know that.” I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. “Do you know how long it’s been? Since someone’s said they . . . they loved me?” The tears came out with the words, but I couldn’t hold them in anymore. Maybe I didn’t need to. Not with him.

“Yeah.” His voice was a little hoarse. “A couple months ago. In the parking lot outside of Jackson’s.” He spread his arms in a here I am gesture. A smile teased at his mouth, and my responding laugh was little more than a sigh.

“Before that, then. Almost twenty years.” I pressed a hand to my forehead, which suddenly felt hot. My pulse was racing, and I could feel the blood throbbing in my temples. “I’m not even sure I know how to say it anymore. It’s been my daughter and me against the world for so long. And there are so many reasons why you shouldn’t want me.”

“Name one.” His eyes, those perfect blue eyes that I wanted to spend forever lost in, stayed fixed on mine, and that gave me courage.

“I’m too old for you, you know. I know you’re going to say it doesn’t matter, but—”

“You’re right. It doesn’t matter. I—”

“But it’s going to. It’ll matter a lot in five years or so when you decide you want children. You’re barely out of your twenties. I’m forty.” I waved a hand in the vicinity of my abdomen. “Factory’s closed. Been there, done that, sent her to college.”