cleared her throat. “Are you going to audition for the summer musical? I mean, are you going to be in town for a while?”
“Yeah, I’ll be here at least three months,” he said. “I don’t know about the show, though. I saw the audition notice in the paper. It’s tomorrow, right? But the show was one I didn’t recognize.”
“It’s called Day Dreamer. It was written by this local team of writers. It’s not… It’s really funny. And the music’s good, too….” Maggie felt herself babbling in an effort to keep the conversation pointed securely away from the physical attraction that seemed to simmer between them.
But she lapsed into silence as he sat back in his chair, his eyes still glued to her face. As he moved, the muscles in his arms and chest moved, too. It was hypnotizing. With a motion that was clearly well-practiced, he tossed his hair out of his face, back behind his shoulders.
“I guess I’ll audition,” he said. “If you’re going to…”
“Matt, why do you wear your hair like that?” she asked. “I mean, it’s beautiful, but you always had short hair. In school, you used to make fun of the boys who wore their hair long….”
“It’s a complicated story,” he said evasively. He sat forward, pointing at her salad. “Are you going to eat that?”
She wasn’t very hungry. “Do you want it?”
“No, I want to get out of here,” he told her. “I want to take you to see something.”
He stood up, tugging down on the thighs of his jeans in a movement that was all Matthew. How many thousands of times had she seem him do that?
But going vegan and quitting drinking and smoking, and the new super healthy body…
As they left the café and walked down the stairs to the lobby, he caught her puzzled look and said, “What?”
It was remarkable, really. With his dazzling white T-shirt tucked into the top of his blue jeans, his long hair cascading halfway down his broad back, he was an odd mixture of her friend Matt and her fantasy jungle man. He looked sort of like Matt and he moved and talked sort of like Matt, but there was so much more that was different about him now. She could see so many changes in him, the most startling being his confidence, his solid, quiet strength.
Again, she found herself attracted to him, and that felt strange.
“I’m trying to figure out exactly who you are,” she said bluntly, “just who it is you’ve become.”
He looked startled for a moment, and then he laughed. “You know, Mags,” he said, “I really did miss you. You and your honesty.”
He opened the door leading out of the club. With a grand gesture, he motioned for her to go through.
Outside, the night air was cool, and Maggie shivered slightly. Matt casually draped an arm around her shoulders.
His touch was warm, and Maggie felt the urge to lean against him, to rest her head on his shoulder, wrap her own arm around his waist.
But he was just being friendly old Matt. Wasn’t he?
She pulled away. “Your car or mine?”
Matt turned around and gave her such a look that she had to laugh. “I assume that means you still have to be the driver, right?” she said.
He grinned. “I’ve got the old man’s Maserati. He never drove it anywhere. What’s the point in having a car like that if you never use it?”
“Do you remember when you stole it and used it to drive Angie to the junior prom?” That was one of the best times they’d had together and one of the worst.
He unlocked the front passenger side door of the gleaming black sports car and opened it for Maggie. “How could I ever forget? I spent four days in jail for that one. God, my father was such a bastard.”
Matt got into the driver’s seat and closed the door. He looked over at Maggie, real sadness in his eyes. “I was such a disappointment to him. Right up to the end.”
She didn’t know what to say, and then there was no reason to say anything because he put the key into the ignition and started the engine with a roar. “Oh, yeah,” he said, flashing her a smile. “This is a very nice car.”
Maggie wanted to ask about his father, but she held her tongue. Mr. Stone had died over a year ago, and even though he and Matt had never gotten along, she’d been surprised when Matt didn’t show up for the funeral.
She shook free of the thought, fastened her seat belt, and got ready to hang on for dear life as he pulled out of the parking lot. But he drove almost slowly.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Does it matter?
She loosened her fingers from her grip on the handstrap as she realized he was going to stay under the speed limit.
“Out to my father’s office,” Matt told her. “My office,” he corrected himself with a laugh. He shot her a look. “Can you believe I have an office?”
Maggie was confused. “You mean, over at the factory?”
“No,” he said. “The main office was in our house.”
Matt glanced at her.
Maggie’s face was lit in regular intervals by the street lights. The pale yellow glow made her seem unearthly.
She was prettier than ever. She still had the biggest, bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They were surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Her complexion was fair—a fascinating contrast to the dark brown of her soft, wavy hair. Her nose was small and almost impossibly perfect, her lips soft and full, and always quick to curve into a smile.
For the first time since he’d hit town, he was honestly glad to be back.
Very glad.
“I want to offer you a job,” he told her as they neared the house. “I’d like to hire you as my corporate attorney and business advisor—for three hundred thousand dollars a year.”
She stared at him.
She didn’t say a word as he pulled into the driveway of his father’s huge white Victorian house. All the outside lights were on, spotlighting it against the darkness of the night.
He’d grown up in this house, playing on the vast lawns that overlooked the Long Island Sound, scrambling on the rocks at the edge of the shore. It was a wonderful old place, full of nooks and crannies. It had rooms that weren’t perfectly square, windows that opened oddly, and closets that turned out to be secret staircases.
“What’s the catch?” Maggie finally found her voice.
After Matt’s mother died, his father had had the house renovated and restored. And although he knew his father hadn’t intended for it to happen, the renovations removed every last trace of her, every homey, motherly touch, leaving the house as impersonal
