Page 26 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

She mumbled something, and he had to pull back slightly to hear her properly.

“My mom,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. “She tried to reach out.”

His heart thudded painfully. Julia’s mom—Rebecca—had been persona non grata for over seven years now. He remembered her vaguely, like an aunt who had been an infrequent visitor or an old teacher from elementary school, but he had impressions and shadows of who she’d been more than theconcrete image of the person herself. Tall, almost as tall as Julia’s dad. Wheat-blonde hair with feathered bangs. The same perfume always, some flowery scent. Soft-spoken. She’d rarely laughed, but would often smile shyly, as though the smile itself was an intrusion on some other, more prevalent emotion she was constantly experiencing. Julia had told him once that her parents would fight horribly, but it wouldn’t be evident through yelling or breaking things, the way Ethan’s parents fought. Instead, it would be subdued yet fierce. Violence in the softest of tones, coming through only in the gestures her father made or the heated redness of her mother’s cheeks.

Eventually, the fighting had stopped, never to return again. Instead, her parents barely spoke. Her father had tried to overcompensate with a sort of disingenuous friendliness, like the host of a children’s show who actually couldn’t stand children. Her mother became even more withdrawn, her smiles gone. Until one day, the family had woken up to find Rebecca’s half of the closet empty and a note that simply said, “I’m sorry. Don’t look for me.”

Julia’s retelling stopped there, so Ethan had never really known the family’s true reaction. Whether she had cried or begged her father to go find her. How they managed to cope in their day-to-day as a family. Her father wasn’t the type to look for someone new, to try to fill the gap her mother had left.

So they’d moved on. Stoically, some might say courageously, and withdrawn in a way that both encompassed and excluded the entire family unit that was left.

Ethan didn’t judge, because it wasn’t as if his relationship with his parents, or their establishment as a unit, was any better or less dysfunctional. His parents just happened to still be together, despite having been relatively checked out for yearsafter all their own losses, even through Ethan’s attempts to keep their relationship alive. Ultimately, though, there was nothing he could do except allow them their separate interests—his dad focused on Ethan’s hockey while his mom focused on her wine. There was stability, at least—somewhat. He could rely on either or both of them for some semblance of support, emotional, financial, or otherwise. He knew he probably had it better than Gem. But still, he couldn’t help wondering sometimes, What would things have been like ifhismother had left? If hers had stayed? They had been so close, the two moms, once upon a time. What had they known about each other?

“What did she say?” he asked, still holding her tightly, clasping one hand in her hair and resting the other on her back.

“I don’t know,” she said, sniffling again. “I refused to speak to her.”

“Did she call?”

A nod.

“Who answered?”

“Dad.” Her voice cracked.

“What did she say to him?”

She shrugged. “Asked him to talk to me. How he was doing. What I liked in school. Stupid shit.” A beat, and he could feel her shuddering breath as she tried to compose herself. “He didn’t tell me much. I could tell he was rattled.”

“You didn’t want to talk to her?”

Another shrug. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“You could have said hi?” he said gently, not wanting to make her feel bad, and not believing she’d needed to say anything, really, to the mother who had abandoned her. “But it’s fine if you didn’t.”

“Yeah.” She pulled back and looked up at him, eyes wateryand silver in the moonlight, nose red from the cold and her tears. “I didn’t.”

He knew it wasn’t the right time. He knew he was a total shit for even thinking it. But in that moment, holding her tightly against him, her chin tilted up and her face lifted toward his, he couldn’t help himself.

He looked down at her mouth.

Cherry-red lips, full and soft. He felt a dull ache in his chest with the need to taste her.

It was so wrong,so fucking wrong, but he couldn’t get the thought out of his head.

He could feel her breath catch, as though she, too, realized their proximity and the awkwardness of their predicament. Or maybe she was having the same thought as him, about how kissing felt like the only option in that moment, better than any other available to them.

She was vulnerable and sad, she had just divulged a monumental and traumatic moment in her life, and he was subtly pulling his lower body back so she wouldn’t be able to feel just how much of an asshole he actually was.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, though he wasn’t sure if he was speaking about her decision not to speak to her mom or reassuring her that he wasn’t going to try anything repulsive. Instead, he just repeated it: “It’s okay.”

Julia continued to look up at him, trusting and soft and all the things he didn’t deserve. Now she looked like she might kiss him, her eyes glancing down at his mouth as well, and then back up to his gaze.

He could do it, he realized. She would allow it, even briefly, perhaps due to some sort of curiosity or hormones or a vulnerability around revealing too much of herself and her emotions.And a part of him wanted to do it, so badly, despite the millions of reasons why it was a bad idea.

She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward him infinitesimally, the gesture so subtle it could be misconstrued as something else if not for her closed eyes. And he—

Stepped away.