Matt put his truck in park and grabbed the brown paper bag from the passenger seat. He grasped the door handle and stopped.
Leaving the station, he thought he was ready for this. Now he wasn’t so sure.
He was going to tell her he was still in love with her. He knew how she felt about his lifestyle—or at least he thought he did. Lying awake last night, he’d come up with every excuse she might offer and his response to each one. His argument was solid.
But he would not push himself on her. He only wanted her in his life if she wanted him in hers. The thought that she might not want him sent a cold ripple through his body.
Nick’s words ran through his head. At least you’ll have an answer. No more wondering.
He sucked in a breath and opened the door. It was now or never.
He strode up the front walk and smiled, remembering Amy-Lynn tipsily kicking over a pathway light—and asking him to kiss her. He’d be totally okay if she asked him again today. And this time he wouldn’t say no.
He knocked on the door and she yelled, “It’s open.”
He opened the door, pulled his boots off, and took in a giant breath. The house smelled amazing. Isabel’s Pozole. He hadn’t eaten it for over a decade. But he’d know that smell anywhere. Funny how those things stuck with you.
Amy-Lynn came around the kitchen corner. She’d changed from her work ‘uniform’ into a loose sundress, her hair down, curling toward her neck. Casual. And beautiful.
He handed her the bag. “If I’d known you were serving Pozole, I would have tried to find some bolillos.”
She smiled, but it was clearly fake. Was she trying to figure out how to let him down easy? No. She didn’t know what he intended to tell her, to ask her.
“Sourdough is close enough,” she said, taking the bag from him. “Thank you.”
He followed her into the kitchen. “I really like your place,” he said, taking in the Craftsman design and the bright colors.
“I forgot you’ve never made it past the entryway.” Her eyes flashed around the room, as if taking it in for the first time. “The soup needs a few more minutes. Do you want a tour?”
“Sure,” he said. “How long have you lived here?”
“About three years.”
“And Isabel?”
“About a year. And Jess moved in shortly thereafter.”
“I’m impressed. I can’t imagine buying a house.” He dipped his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Neither can my bank account.”
Her throat bobbed and she ran her fingers over her exposed collarbone. “I got a little help. When Jess and I reached twenty-five, Momma gave us a portion of daddy’s death gratuity. I used mine for a down payment.”
“And Jess?”
Her eyes met his, and a flash of something flickered in her eyes. “A baby.”
He lifted a brow. “Huh?”
“She had Wyatt . . . and was uninsured.”
“Wyatt’s dad is not in the picture?”
Amy-Lynn visibly stiffened. “No. They didn’t have a relationship, and he didn’t want to be a dad. Jess considered all her options, but ultimately decided to have the baby.”
“That’s—"
“So, this is the living room,” Amy-Lynn said, cutting him off.
Huh. So that subject was off-limits. So many of her walls were crumbling, but so many remained intact. Maybe after he told her how he felt, she’d let the rest fall. Sadness bubbled up. She’d always had a lot of walls, but never with him.
Floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanked a vintage fireplace. He wandered over and ran his hands over the spines of the books. Jane Austen. Virginia Woolf. Ayn Rand. Toni Morrison. Stephen King. And Nora Roberts. He laughed and pulled it off the shelf.
“I think I’ve read this one.”
Her lips twitched. “Or at least the sexy bits.”
His eyes widened. “Wait. There are other parts?”
She smiled a half smile. “If those books are where you learned your moves, remind me to send Ms. Roberts a thank-you letter.”
He licked his lips and let his eyes slide down her body. “I learned all my moves with you, Mac. Trial and error.”
Her cheeks went pink. “I don’t remember the errors,” she breathed out, her voice rough.
He smiled, reminding himself that he was here to talk. Or at least talk first.
He placed the book back on the shelf, a collection of framed photos catching his attention. The first one a chubby baby with a mop of dark curls, laughing with abandon, ice cream running down his cheeks. He picked up the second one. Two teenagers. The girl smiling at the camera. The boy looking down at the girl like he couldn’t bear to take his eyes off her. “I haven’t seen this one.”
Amy-Lynn lifted up on her toes to look over his shoulder. “That’s shortly after they met. Momma had just moved from Mexico. She said Daddy was her first friend.”
He turned, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Sounds familiar.”
She grunted. “Yeah, history repeating itself.”
He frowned at her negative response and waited for her to continue. She didn’t. He set the frame down and his eyes landed on another photo, tucked in the back. “Is that our prom picture?”
A nervous giggle escaped her lips. “Momma’s sentimental.”
He grinned and nodded. “It’s always Isabel.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her tight into his body. She stiffened before melting into him.
“That guy,” he said, tapping a finger on his face in the photo, “had no idea what was coming later than night.”
She rolled her eyes. “So cliché. Losing your virginity on prom night.”
He kissed her forehead. “Seventeen-year-olds aren’t known for inspired ideas. Good thing we’ve learned a thing or two since then.”
Her face flushed from pink to red, and she unwound from his embrace. “Do you want the rest of the tour?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Does it include your bedroom?”
She playfully swatted his chest. “Maybe lunch is a better idea. I’m sure the soup is hot by now.”
She turned back toward the kitchen. Something was up. She’d been the one to initiate sex the other night, but ever since then, she’d gotten uncomfortable any time he even hinted at a repeat performance.
Was she reluctant to do it again because he was leaving? Did she think he’d wrap up his gig at the station and never look back? If that was it, he’d remedy that this afternoon.
An all-too-familiar nagging feeling crawled up his spine. Or maybe she still didn’t think he was a good long-term bet? He shook his head, trying to dislodge the thought. He couldn’t ask her for more if he kept doubting himself.
Remember, talk first, Matt. Get everything out in the open. Then they could move on to other, more satisfying, things.
“Matt?” she called from the kitchen. “Are you coming?”
“Coming,” he said, doing his best to ignore the doubts. He turned into the kitchen. She’d set bowls on colorful woven placemats at the bar. His bread lay sliced on a cutting board, butter in a crock to the side.
“Hope you don’t mind eating at the bar. We rarely use the dining table. This floor is easier to clean with a toddler just learning how to hold a spoon.”
“I’ve been using a spoon for a while now.”
She laughed. “I meant Wyatt.”
“Oh,” he nodded, biting back a smile, “okay.” He slid onto a bar stool and watched her efficient movements as she poured a glass of amber liquid. She held up the pitcher. “Sweet tea?”
“Now I know you’ve been in Nashville for a while.”
She pulled a face. “Do you want some or not?”
He held a glass out to her. “Yes, please.”
She placed the glasses in front of their bowls and moved around the bar, climbing onto her stool. She placed a napkin in her lap and moved her spoon and knife, turning her bowl to the left three times.
She looked up, finding his eyes on her, and blushed. “I . . . I . . .”
“Mac,” he said, sliding his fingers over hers. “I’ve known you for a long time. You don’t need to explain yourself. The way you move through this world is uniquely you and nothing that needs an apology.”
“Thank you,” she said, staring at her bowl. A beat passed. Then another before she lifted her head, confidence back in her expression. “Now eat. Before it gets cold.”
He dipped a spoon into the bowl. The smell was embroidered into the memories of his youth. How many times had Isabel fed him this specific meal?
He took a bite and groaned. “It’s good to know some things never change. This is exactly how I remember it. It’s amazing.”
“Momma will be happy to hear that.”
“Did you tell her I was coming here today?”
“Yes.” She looked back down at her bowl, her spoon aimlessly moving through the soup. “They’re both working today, but I also asked them not to come home, so we’d have some time to talk—just the two of us.”
“About that,” he said, after swallowing another bite of Isabel’s creation. “There’re some things I need to tell you.”
“Yeah?” she said, still not making eye contact with him.
“Mac, please look at me.”
She turned her head, her eyes still squeezed closed. She slowly opened them with a shake of her head. “I have things to tell you too.”
Could she be ready to admit she loved him, too?
“Can I go first?”
She drummed her fingers on the counter. “I’m not sure that’s the best thing.”
“I need to get it out before I lose my nerve. Mac,” he said, grabbing her hand. “It’s always been you. No one ever —"
“No,” she said, standing up and walking to the other side of the bar.
“No?” he said, his hopes deflating.
“Before you go any further, there is something you need to know.”
“Mac, I know you’ve always had reservations about us. About my job, but . . .”
“That’s not it.”
“Then what?”
She opened her mouth to speak just as her phone played “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge. She looked from him to her phone. “That’s Jess’s ring tone. I really should get that.”
He sighed. He wanted to throw the phone out the door, but that wouldn’t be honoring all the things she held most dear.
“Family first,” he said, gesturing to the phone.
She nodded and hit Accept. “Jess?”
He could hear rapid talking coming from the other end but couldn’t make out words. She walked into the other room, and he tucked back into his soup. This was not going at all like he planned.
When she finally reappeared, her mouth was pulled tight. “I’m sorry to cut this short—I wanted to talk to you—but I need to go get Wyatt. Apparently, he spiked a fever and the daycare called Jess.”
“And she can’t get him?” He knew he sounded uncaring, but this was supposed to be the day they cleared the air. The day they started the next part of their life—together.
“She just started a new job.”
He shook his head. “You do too much for them.”
She straightened, turned to him, and gave him a serious look. “This is different.”
He set his spoon down and rubbed between his eyes. “How?”
She grabbed her keys from a hook on the wall. “I don’t have time to argue with you. I need to go pick up a sick little boy. We’ll need to reschedule.”
“No.”
Her eyebrows arched. “Excuse me?”
His posture softened, and he attempted to douse the irritation swirling in his stomach. “I’ll go with you. We can get Wyatt. Settle him back here and then continue our conversation.”
“It might not work that way.”
“I know.” He grabbed her hands and laced their fingers together. “But you carry so much burden, let me help you with this.”
She nodded. “Fine. Can you move your truck? It’s blocking me in.”
“I can drive,” he offered.
“The car seat is in my car.”
He snapped his finger. “Right. Forgot about that.”
Matt grabbed his keys and headed out the back door. Maybe it wasn’t the right decision to continue after this interruption, but he wanted this done.
If she rebuffed him, he’d have the weekend to lick his wounds before he was due back in the studio on Monday. Because, dammit, he would see that through to the end.
But more than that, he wanted to start his life with Amy-Lynn as soon as possible.
“Tía and Dad!” Wyatt yelled when Matt and Amy-Lynn walked into the daycare center.
Amy-Lynn stiffened, and her eyes flashed to his face. Was she embarrassed?
“I didn’t know Wyatt’s dad was in the picture,” the daycare provider said before Matt could reassure Amy-Lynn it was okay. In his experience, toddlers could say far worse.
Amy-Lynn’s mouth opened and shut, no sound coming out. Matt reached his hand out. “Not dad. Matt,” he said, pointing at himself. “I’m a friend of Avery’s.”
“Oh, I see.” She smiled knowingly. “Little ones are often confused. He hears all the other kids call adult males ‘dad.’ He hasn’t grasped the meaning of the word.”
Amy-Lynn walked over to the little boy, pushing back the hair that was plastered to his sweaty forehead.
“His fever is about 100,” the daycare worker said. “Not super high, but his nose is running a bit, too. Take him home and tuck him in for a nap, and he should be good to go by Monday.”
“Thank you,” Amy-Lynn said, moving to pick Wyatt up.
“No,” he said, his little forehead crinkling. “Want Dad,” he said, pointing at Matt.
“Wyatt,” she said, light admonishment in her voice.
“I got this,” he said, pulling on Amy-Lynn’s arm.
“But . . .”
“No, we can’t have the star of the Avery Lind show getting a cold, can we?” Matt dipped his large frame to the child. “Do you want to walk, or should I carry you?”
“Carry,” Wyatt said, raising his arms.
Matt picked up the child. “Okay, but there is one thing we need to talk about first.”
Wyatt’s forehead crinkled, and he tipped his head, fixing his eyes on Matt.
“If I’m going to carry you, you shouldn’t call me ‘dad.’ My name is Matt.”
“Matt,” the toddler repeated.
“Yes. Can you do that? Can you call me Matt?”
“Matt,” Wyatt repeated.
“Okay, Tía,” Matt said to Amy-Lynn, “lead on.”
When they got to the car, he placed the little boy in his car seat and expertly buckled him in. He turned to find her staring at him.
“You’re very good at this.”
Matt shrugged. “I don’t see them as much as I would like, but I have seven nieces and nephews and then there’s Henry, Nick’s son, he’s been the honorary sixth member of Storyhill pretty much since his birth. Since it seems they need some sort of car seat or booster until they’re fifteen, you get pretty good with the contraptions. Plus, it’s good practice for when I have my own kids.”
Her eyes skittered toward him as she rounded the front of the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. “You want kids?” she asked while buckling her belt.
His eyes narrowed. “Not everything has changed since we last discussed our future. At least not for me.”
She nodded, three lines appearing between her brows—a sure sign the gears were moving in her head.
“Go home,” Wyatt chirped, breaking the moment. “Matt,” Wyatt added, making them both laugh.
“Yes, sir,” Matt said, turning to Amy-Lynn. “You heard the man.”
She turned the car toward home. “So Nick is a single dad?”
He ran his hands down the length of his thighs and nodded. “Yes. He has sole custody.”
“What happened to Henry’s mom?”
Matt let out a sigh. “She disappeared shortly after Henry was born. She had some substance abuse issues.”
Amy-Lynn tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. One. Two. Three. “Were they married?”
Matt nodded. “Still are.”
She signaled into the alley behind her house. “What?”
“Nick doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Her lips twisted and she exhaled a sputtering breath. “Relationship fails are difficult to discuss.”
“But you and I are going to change that today, right?”
She killed the engine. “I hope so,” she whispered.