Page 11 of When We Are Old

I snorted and clutched him close, laughing into his warm skin. “Pretzels?”

His smile stole all the air in the room. “It’s a desperate secret of mine. I rely on pretzels the way some men rely on alcohol. I didn’t want you to find that out for a while.”

“Matthew.” A creak on the bottom stair had us jumping out of bed, a tangle of cream cotton and limbs. “Where are you?”

My pulse raced in my chest, the familiar band of tightness wrapping itself between my ribs and muscles. Sweat prickled my palms, until Matthew dissipated it with one easy smile.

“I mean, I could not be here heartbroken.” He grumbled under his breath as he yanked his jeans on, not bothering with his boxers. I am only human, and I took a good moment to stare at the curve of muscle bunching across his back as he buttoned his fly. “Heartbroken, my ass. Stupid family,” he grumbled some more, not even noticing my gratuitous ogling of his arse.

“I don’t know what to wear. My clothes from yesterday are disgusting.” I cast my glance to where the other day he’d had spare sweats lying on a chair; not that I wanted to meet his mother in tracksuit pants, ones rolled at the ankle too. I might as well write ‘I’ve just fucked your son’ using a plane in the sky.

“Top drawer.” He nodded at the dresser.

Frowning, I reached for the dresser and slid open the drawer. There, folded neatly, were the clothes I’d left behind in my suitcase before I'd run away. I’d left them thinking I’d never see them again, a small price to pay for protecting my heart. “What? You cleared a drawer for me?”

He shrugged, his grin epic. “More of a shrine, but whatever.” Turning, he made for the door, unleashing his thunderous scowl in its direction. “I’m going to fend them off. Bloody interfering idiots.” His grumbling made me smile.

“Matthew?”

He turned at the door expectantly, pushing a hand through his hair and making it stand on end.

“Do your family always turn up with single malt and pretzels when they think you’re upset?”

For a moment his face opened with bashful sincerity as he contemplated his response. “Sometimes.”

I nodded slowly but then grinned. “See! I knew my mother was useless. She doesn’t even bring me a cup of tea when I’m having a minor crisis, let alone decent whisky and a snack.”

Matthew opened his mouth to speak, but the loud thud of footsteps echoed on the stairs. “Bloody hell.” His eyes widened and he shot me a beautiful, almost secret smile before pulling on the door. “Okay, Okay. I’m here.”

He pulled the door shut softly behind him and I sat back on the bed, falling onto the mattress for a moment as I listened to his footsteps and his continuing grumble. I grinned.

I was really here.

Like really and truly here. In Matthew's house, with Matthew. My clothes were folded in a drawer—in his house.

That meant something.

Something huge that I couldn’t comprehend.

“Well, where the fuck have you been? We’ve been trying to call you for hours. We thought you’d launched yourself off a bridge in despair.”

“That’s not even funny. You’re such an arsehole, Ryan.” A scuffle followed, with someone saying “Ouch,” after a noise that almost sounded like a skull hitting plasterwork.

“Git.” Ah, that was definitely Matthew.

Tucking my knees up and wrapping my arms around them, I grinned to myself.

“We weren’t to know she was the one you were always obsessed with.” Ryan wasn’t moving. “If you spoke to us more, we wouldn’t keep putting our feet in it.”

“Your size elevens could fit in any gap no matter how small. Anyway, I’m fine. So sod off.”

Their voices pitched to a whisper followed by a low deep sigh that I’d recognise from Matthew anywhere. “What was she saying?”

I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but that didn’t stop me stepping closer to the door.

“Lennie said she was mouthing off on the playground again. Just the usual shit, the fact you’d see sense soon and that now you were broke you’d be back.”

My blood ran icy.