Page 62 of When We Are Old

“He’s not rude! He’s lovely.” Did I just say lovely? He’s not a bloody puppy. “And he had reasons for being less than friendly.”

“Hm.”

My shit detector beeped. “Come on. Tell me what’s going on.”

He hesitated and then met my gaze. “I’ve been offered a partnership at another firm.”

“A partnership? Jesus, we aren’t lawyers.” I tried not to scoff—tried and failed.

“It’s an investment in my future. You know, I want to settle down. Having a stake in my own company would help that. Right now, I can’t even get a mortgage.”

My lips bunched up and my nose wrinkled. “I know. It’s not easy to be young these days.”

“Young! Ronnie, why do you always make yourself sound so old? I’m a handful of years younger than you.”

He reached across the table and grasped my hand. “I want to stay, I do. I can’t imagine working anywhere else apart from with you, but I need to know there’s a commitment. I mean you could go to Scotland and not come back.”

“Not going to happen. Hannah has her school here. I can’t move her; she’s got friends.”

“I hope you know you’ve got friends too. All these years I thought you were mourning your husband.” He inched closer. “If I’d known you were on the market…”

“Fred! Please, don’t say anything. This is making me feel awkward.”

He hesitated, his hand still on mine and then he sighed, falling back in his chair. “So, what do I do, Ronnie? Do I stay, or do I go?”

Ugh. It’s one of those questions where no matter what I say, it will never be right. How many times had I heard questions like this over the years; the first one on a doorstep? My answer caught in my throat—did people not realise I had issues talking?

“You. Ugh, you have to do what’s right for you.”

He nodded, slowly. He really was pretty, with his olive skin and pale hair. Why hadn’t someone snapped him up yet?

“That’s not you telling me you want me to stay.”

A cough broke the tension and I darted my attention to the side finding six foot four of beautiful thunder glowering at Fred’s hand being a hairsbreadth from mine.

“Matthew.” My chest thudded. I’d done nothing wrong, but my skin tingled with moisture straightaway.

His face wore a murderous mask. “My apologies, Ronnie, for interrupting.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” I cleared my throat. “Fred and I were just discussing the future of the company.”

“Yes, I see.” The eyes of heaven and slate closed, no dancing stars in their depths.

“Matthew.” I pushed from my chair, my legs working too slow.

“No, please.” His palm lifted as a stop sign. “I came to tell you I have to go back to Scotland.” How could he make his voice that curt and distanced? I met Fred’s stare; a smile curled his lips.

“Stop smirking.” I snapped, knowing too late that it made us sound informal, too close. Fred shrugged and settled back in his chair and I shot him a ferocious glare, deflecting the one Matthew shot at me.

Matthew turned without another word and strode for the door. After a beat, I chased after him.

“Matthew! Please?” I caught his arm, my fingers on the wool of his overcoat.

“It’s fine, Ronnie. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

My fingers wove into his jumper, trying to hold him still. My chest heaved with a tightening band. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

He paused, his shoulders dropping. “It’s fine. I need to go back to Scotland. I’ll be out of touch for a few days.”