Twenty-Three

Focus on the good, that’s what Matt planned to do. And he’d go after it.

Soon as he worked up the courage.

He rinsed his plate and set it in the dish rack to dry. Then took one last look around the spotless kitchen. Not that the quick dinner of thick-sliced white bread and melted Gruyère cheese had made much of a mess in the first place.

Function hadn’t been at the top of his dad’s mind when he’d done the kitchen’s layout. It was easier to nuke a meal than to cook in it. The kitchen needed more open shelving, preferably in sturdy, rough-cut wood. All those closed cabinet doors were just another obstacle to slow the chef down.

For his own sanity, Matt had cut down on the clutter, added labels, and lidded storage containers. Drawer dividers for the cutlery, pull-outs for spices. There wasn’t much he could do about the microwave-centred design or the shaker cabinets besides a full reno, but he could make sure things were in the exact same place every time he reached for them.

The cut-out in the wall over the sink though, that was the one thing his dad got right. The view onto the living room and the widescreen TV meant he could wash the dishes without missing a grand slam.

Time to go. It was now or never. Never mind that his heart was pounding, and his hands felt clammy.

Get a grip. Charley had been staying late at the gallery. She might not even be home yet. This could all be wasted effort.

Dropping by unannounced was a risk. But a man bearing chocolate was hard to turn away — at least, that’s what he was counting on. The bar of strawberry and saffron white chocolate would be his ticket over the threshold.

A grin spread over his face as he grabbed the chocolate from the counter and headed to the entrance. Shoes. He’d need shoes. And car keys.

Just a smile from her would make the trip worthwhile.

Holy hell. He paused in the process of yanking on his sneaker and froze. What did it mean when a smile from one woman could make your day? He took a breath, sucked it in through his teeth. Nothing good, that’s what.

“You like her, that’s all,” he muttered, tugging the shoe on. This was no big deal. He tied the laces with a sharp tug. “It’s physical attraction.” That moment in the attic had sparked a hunger. And a healthy craving was meant to be indulged. So what if he also wanted to impress her, maybe even sweep her off her feet? It was normal. “Happens to everyone,” he said out loud as he straightened.

She’d gotten into his head. Just because he thought about Charley — a lot — didn’t make this any different. Eventually, the heat between them would fade to a slow simmer, then cool off entirely. The way these things always did.

He jiggled the keys in his hand as he yanked the front door open. And came face to face with Jeffrey.

Surprised, Matt fell back a step. “Hey.”

“On your way out?” Jeffrey had his hands shoved in the pockets of his Levis. He wore an old and faded sweatshirt, a sign he’d come straight from the workshop.

“Yeah.” He took in the grey stubble of beard, the tired eyes and held the door open. “But I can change my plans.”

Seeing Charley had been a spontaneous idea anyway. And it was probably better if he didn’t follow through with it.

“You sure about that?”

When Jeffrey stopped by, he normally had a good reason, and Matt wasn’t about to turn him away. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t. Want a coffee?”

“Just a pop, thanks.”

Matt led the way to the kitchen. He set the bar of chocolate on the counter, to the side but not out of sight.

Jeffrey flicked a curious glance at it but didn’t say anything.

Cracking the tab on a can of ginger ale, Matt wondered briefly if there should be whiskey in it. He poured the drink in glasses with a snap of ice cubes but held off on the shot of Jameson’s, for now. “Been busy today?”

Jeffrey took a seat at the green Formica table. “You could say that. I’ve been wrapping my head around a new project. Thomas’s house.”

“Really?” The project was big. Bigger than most of the contracts Jeffrey had taken on in the past few years. “That’s good.”

He folded his hands, spent a second frowning at his thumbs. “I wanted to apologize to you.”

About the photographs? Matt slid the glass over the table to him. “For what?”

“The way I broke the news to you.”

So that’s what this was about. He took the chair across from Jeffrey, the chrome frame cool against his back, and shrugged. “I get it.”

Jeffrey swirled his glass, so the ice rattled, then set it down. Levelled his gaze at him. “You didn’t see me at my best the other night, and I’m sorry for that.”

“You’re not allowed weakness?”

“Don’t get smart with me.” The grin almost reached his eyes. “I have no weaknesses.”

Bulletproof and invincible? He’d believed that at one point. “Even Superman had kryptonite,” he pointed out.

“God, that takes me back.” Jeffrey blinked and shook his head. “Andrew used to call his allergy that, when we worked together. Kryptonite.”

And cast himself in the role of hero. Anger twisted, low in his gut. “I keep forgetting you were friends.” It was hard to imagine.

“That’s ancient history now. I came to talk about the past, but not my own.” Jeffrey shifted, pulled something out of his back pocket. He laid it on the table. A square of folded paper, heavy, the finish glossy. A photograph? He smoothed it flat, turned it to face Matt. “I found this the other day, thought you might like to have it.”

Curious, he reached for it. It only took one glance for recognition to hit, a jolt straight to the heart. A birthday, long ago. How old had he been there? Just a kid.

Chocolate cake in front of him, heavy on the icing, an elephant design and blazing candles. At their old dining room table with the rustic, oak planked top and enough chairs to seat six. A face-splitting grin showed the gaps in his teeth. His mom leaned over him from behind, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Her smile just as wide as his. The scent of cinnamon hovered at the back of his mind, along with the sweeter, burnt sugar undertone of cedar resin.

Jeffrey leaned back in his chair. “Biggest birthday bash for a seven-year-old I’ve ever seen. Your mom went all out.”

“Looks like.” He cleared a throat that suddenly felt tight. “That’s some cake.”

“She came up with the design, got me to bake it by calling in a favour. I had strict instructions, too. She knew exactly what she wanted.”

“An elephant?” He raised a brow.

“Elephants” — Jeffrey tapped a finger on the edge of the photo — “don’t forget. Your mom was big on making memories last.”

“That she was.” And she’d had less than four decades to enjoy them.

“You were barely seven and already a hassle and a half,” he said it with a wry grin. “Asking questions all the time. Grilling me about how I made the icing, the elephant. Made from marzipan. I told your mom you wouldn’t like it, but she was set on it.”

“And you were wrong.” His chocolate marzipan truffles were as close as he could get to reliving that first taste of almond paste, honey, and sugar. And it was never quite the same as that first bite.

“Yup.” Jeffrey chuckled. “You went through three slices of cake that night.”

“I remember the sugar high.” Buzzing through his veins, sending his heart racing so he couldn’t sit still.

“It left an impression on all of us.” Jeffrey raised his glass, gaze fixed on him. “Who do you think killed Andrew?”

From cake to murder. It took him a whole second to catch up. “The obvious answer is Kayla, isn’t it?”

“I knew there were problems. I wish she’d gone to someone with them. Matt —” Jeffrey broke off, took a sip. The liquid trembled in the glass, as he set the drink back down, his hand not quite steady. “There’s another reason why I’m here.”

He’d already figured that one out. “Yeah?”

“If I had another option, I wouldn’t come to you with this.”

An uneasy feeling washed over him. “Okay.” Jeffrey didn’t normally beat around the bush like this.

He gave a short laugh and scraped a hand over his jaw. “This is harder than I thought.”

Asking for a favour? That had never come easy for him. For either of them. “Better get it over with fast then.”

“Right.” He frowned at his glass. Silence fell.

On edge, Matt broke it first. “Thanks for this.” He nodded at the photo. Hard to believe Jeffrey managed to dig it up. “Dad never talked about the past much, not after. Never talked much at all, actually. He saved all his words for the page.”

More at ease, Jeffrey smiled. “As it turns out, with great success.”

The shard of bitterness buried beneath his skin ached, a dull pain he’d grown used to. But that didn’t mean he was ready to rave about his father’s hidden talent. “I’ve been clearing out Dad’s office. You should have a look at his books while you’re here, take the ones you want.”

Jeffrey seemed to consider it. “He still have that book on residential framing?”

“That and more. I’ve only managed to get rid of a few so far. There are some boxes in the room. You can load one up.” Or two.

“Might as well take a look at them now then.” Chair legs scraped over the floor as he stood.

Matt narrowed his eyes at him. “Dodging the topic?”

“I’m getting to it,” he growled. “Patience is a virtue.”

“So is openness.”

“And, right now, I could use some understanding. Come on. Show me those books.” Jeffrey clapped him on the shoulder. Solid enough for Matt to figure it was a good thing he hadn’t just taken another sip. He’d be choking on his ginger ale.

Matt led the way. This time, the door didn’t creak and the office smelled of citrus cleanser. “Some books are already in the boxes; the rest are on the shelves. You’ll have to do some digging. Or leave it up to fate and take the lot.” Might as well plant the seed.

Jeffrey moved into the room slowly. He rested his hand on the back of the armchair, same way Matt had. “Jesus, it’s like time stood still in here.”

And he was setting it back in motion, one cog at a time. “It’s cleaner.” He leaned back against the desk.

Jeffrey stopped in front of the bookcase, scanned the titles. Books tilted in the shelves, no longer packed in tightly as the numbers dwindled.

All he had to do was wait for Jeffrey to bring up the topic again. And, if he didn’t, he’d pry.

From the other room, the phone rang.

Jeffrey shot him a glance over his shoulder. “You gonna get that?”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“You don’t answer your phone anymore?” He might as well be saying, you gonna operate that saw without eye protection? The tone was the same.

“They can leave a message.” At the look Jeffrey gave him, Matt swore under his breath, pushed off the desk. “I’ll be right back.” Shaking his head, he went to track down the phone.

Where the hell had he left it? Kitchen table? No. Living room. The couch.

He leaned over the back and there it was, on the seat cushion. He grabbed the phone.

Meghan. He answered on the last ring. “Yeah?” Couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice.

“Nice way to answer the phone, Matt. I have a proposition for you.”

He dropped onto the couch, a headache building behind his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “The answer is still no.”

“Hear me out. How about an interview via email? You veto the questions, answer the ones you like.”

“No.”

The sigh crackled in his ear. “You’re being stubborn,” she said.

He tipped his head back against the upholstery, looked up at the ceiling. “Meghan, I like you. I really like your sister. But you’re starting to become very annoying.”

“Let’s call it pesky. It sounds nicer.”

It might as well have been a compliment. “The pesky reporter?”

She laughed. “Plosives, always a hit.”

He remembered enough from English class to know she was talking about consonants, not dynamite. Though either one would work in this scenario. “I’m ending the call now, Meghan.”

“I’ll get back to you with another idea,” she said cheerfully.

He shook his head, torn between frustration and amusement. “Bye.” He pressed the end call button.

It’s no wonder the Oakcrest Courier was known for its content. Meghan simply didn’t back down until people bared their souls and agreed to publication.

But not him.

He returned to the office to find Jeffrey had filled a box. The remaining books narrowed down to three shelves.

“You sure you want to get rid of all these?” Jeffrey looked at him like the books should hold some kind of meaning. Some sentimental value. Maybe they should.

He shrugged. “I don’t need them.” Or want them.

“Then I’ll make sure to put them to good use.” Jeffrey folded the flaps down with a scrape of cardboard, sealing the box shut.

One less problem for him to worry about. “So.” He sat on the edge of the desk, waited until Jeffrey turned, made eye contact. Held it. “Out with it. What were you trying to say before?”

“Ask.” Jeffrey dragged a hand through his hair and shrugged with a sheepish grin. “The muffin recipe. I’ve tried to replicate it, but it’s not the same.”

“You want a recipe?” He blinked. All that lead up, for this? He’d been thinking the favour was along the lines of a kidney donation or unpaid labour.

“It’s never easy admitting defeat, but this one’s got me stumped.”

Maybe. More likely, he’d decided to keep whatever was on his mind to himself, for now. “Sure. I can give it to you.” He looked at Jeffrey, but he couldn’t see past the open grin.