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Authors: Sarah M. Anderson
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animals no one else wanted. But that was not how it came out. “How many animals have you fostered?”
She shrugged again. “I’ve lost count.” She flicked the screen again and a strange-looking animal appeared.
He held the phone up so he could get a better look, but the squished black-and-white face stayed the same. “What is
that
?”
“That,” she replied with a giggle that drew his gaze to her face, “is Gater. He’s a pug-terrier-something.”
Hands down, that was the ugliest mutt Matthew had ever seen. “How long have you had him?”
“Just over two years. He thinks he rules the house. Oh, you should have seen him when Jo and Betty stayed with me. He was furious!” She laughed again, a sweet, carefree sound that did more to warm him than the sun ever could.
“What happened?”
“He bit Betty on the ankle, and she kicked him halfway across the living room. No broken bones or skin,” she hurried to add. “Just a pissed-off dog and donkey. Gater thinks he’s the boss, and Fifi doesn’t care as long as Gater stays off her cushion.”
Whitney leaned over and ran her fingers over the screen again. A photo of some cats popped up, but that was not what held Matthew’s attention. Instead, it was the way she was almost leaning her head against his shoulder, almost pressing her body against his arm.
“That’s Frankie and Valley, my barn cats.”
“Frankie and Valley? Like Frankie Valli, the singer?”
“Yup.” Without leaning away, she turned her face up toward his. Inches separated them. “Frankie was a...stray.” Her words trailed off as she stared at Matthew’s face, his lips. Her eyes sparkled as the blush spread over her cheeks like the sunrise after a long, cold night.
He could lean forward and kiss her. It’d be easy. For years, he’d thought about kissing Whitney Wildz. He’d been young and hormonal and trying so,
so
hard to be the Beaumont that his father wanted him to be. Fantasies about Whitney Wildz were a simple, no-mess way to escape the constant effort to be the son Hardwick Beaumont wanted.
Except he didn’t want to kiss that fantasy girl anymore. He wanted to kiss the flesh-and-blood woman sitting next to him. She shouldn’t attract him as she did. He should see nothing but a headache to be managed when he looked at her. But he didn’t, damn it. He didn’t.
Matthew couldn’t help himself. He lifted the hand that wasn’t holding her phone and let the tips of his fingers trail down the side of her cheek.
Her breath caught, but she didn’t turn away—didn’t look away. Her skin was soft and warmed by the sun. He spread his fingers out until the whole of his palm cradled her cheek.
“I didn’t realize you were such a fan of Frankie Valli,” she said in a breathy voice. Her pupils widened as she took another deep breath. As if she was waiting for him to make his move.
“I’m not.” The problem was, Matthew didn’t have a move to make. Phillip might have once moved in on a pretty woman without a care in the world about who saw them or how it’d look in the media.
But Matthew cared. He had to. It was how he’d made a place for himself in this family. And he couldn’t risk all of that just because he wanted to kiss Whitney Maddox.
So, as much as it hurt, he dropped his hand away from her face and looked back at the screen. Yes. There were cats on the screen. Named after an aging former pop idol.
He could still feel Whitney’s skin under his touch, still see her bare back...
Something outside the window caught his eye. He looked up to see two women in their mid-twenties standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. One had her phone pointed in their general direction. When they saw that he’d noticed them, they hurried along, giggling behind their hands.
Dread filled him. Okay, yes, Whitney was recognizable—but she wasn’t the only woman in the world with an unusual hair color, for crying out loud. This had to be...a coincidence.
He turned
She shrugged again. “I’ve lost count.” She flicked the screen again and a strange-looking animal appeared.
He held the phone up so he could get a better look, but the squished black-and-white face stayed the same. “What is
that
?”
“That,” she replied with a giggle that drew his gaze to her face, “is Gater. He’s a pug-terrier-something.”
Hands down, that was the ugliest mutt Matthew had ever seen. “How long have you had him?”
“Just over two years. He thinks he rules the house. Oh, you should have seen him when Jo and Betty stayed with me. He was furious!” She laughed again, a sweet, carefree sound that did more to warm him than the sun ever could.
“What happened?”
“He bit Betty on the ankle, and she kicked him halfway across the living room. No broken bones or skin,” she hurried to add. “Just a pissed-off dog and donkey. Gater thinks he’s the boss, and Fifi doesn’t care as long as Gater stays off her cushion.”
Whitney leaned over and ran her fingers over the screen again. A photo of some cats popped up, but that was not what held Matthew’s attention. Instead, it was the way she was almost leaning her head against his shoulder, almost pressing her body against his arm.
“That’s Frankie and Valley, my barn cats.”
“Frankie and Valley? Like Frankie Valli, the singer?”
“Yup.” Without leaning away, she turned her face up toward his. Inches separated them. “Frankie was a...stray.” Her words trailed off as she stared at Matthew’s face, his lips. Her eyes sparkled as the blush spread over her cheeks like the sunrise after a long, cold night.
He could lean forward and kiss her. It’d be easy. For years, he’d thought about kissing Whitney Wildz. He’d been young and hormonal and trying so,
so
hard to be the Beaumont that his father wanted him to be. Fantasies about Whitney Wildz were a simple, no-mess way to escape the constant effort to be the son Hardwick Beaumont wanted.
Except he didn’t want to kiss that fantasy girl anymore. He wanted to kiss the flesh-and-blood woman sitting next to him. She shouldn’t attract him as she did. He should see nothing but a headache to be managed when he looked at her. But he didn’t, damn it. He didn’t.
Matthew couldn’t help himself. He lifted the hand that wasn’t holding her phone and let the tips of his fingers trail down the side of her cheek.
Her breath caught, but she didn’t turn away—didn’t look away. Her skin was soft and warmed by the sun. He spread his fingers out until the whole of his palm cradled her cheek.
“I didn’t realize you were such a fan of Frankie Valli,” she said in a breathy voice. Her pupils widened as she took another deep breath. As if she was waiting for him to make his move.
“I’m not.” The problem was, Matthew didn’t have a move to make. Phillip might have once moved in on a pretty woman without a care in the world about who saw them or how it’d look in the media.
But Matthew cared. He had to. It was how he’d made a place for himself in this family. And he couldn’t risk all of that just because he wanted to kiss Whitney Maddox.
So, as much as it hurt, he dropped his hand away from her face and looked back at the screen. Yes. There were cats on the screen. Named after an aging former pop idol.
He could still feel Whitney’s skin under his touch, still see her bare back...
Something outside the window caught his eye. He looked up to see two women in their mid-twenties standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. One had her phone pointed in their general direction. When they saw that he’d noticed them, they hurried along, giggling behind their hands.
Dread filled him. Okay, yes, Whitney was recognizable—but she wasn’t the only woman in the world with an unusual hair color, for crying out loud. This had to be...a coincidence.
He turned
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