kind of work do you do, Amelia?” His deep voice was still easy. Probably meant to be soothing. He reached across the table for the portion of muffin she hadn’t mutilated. “Do you mind?”
“I know who you are,” she blurted.
He merely plucked the muffin from her napkin and began peeling off the paper wrapping still stuck to the side of it. “What about family? Other than your sister and her kids, I mean. Parents?”
Feeling utterly ineffectual in the face of his nonreaction, she sat there, staring at him. “Mr.—”
“Matt,” he supplied smoothly. “Remember?”
Her lips tightened. He polished off the muffin. Her muffin. Even if she hadn’t been eating it.
Oblivious to her squirming discomfort, or uncaring about it, he continued in that smooth, deep voice. “I don’t have any sisters. Just brothers. Half brothers, to be accurate. I have an honorary aunt with four daughters. Probably around your age. They’re the closest thing to cousins that I’ve got.”
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