Page 96 of When We Are Old

“That he liked you. Maybe more.”

“No. Don’t be disgusting.”

Matthew laughed and stood from his chair, leaning over to kiss my mouth with a gentle press of his own. “It’s cute. I know; it’s written all over his face.”

“I thought you,” I also finger pointed for good measure, not wanting to be left out, “were a jealous guy?”

He laughed loudly and sipped his wine. “I have nothing to be jealous about. He’s not your type.”

“Oh really? What’s my type?”

“Me.” His eyes danced, and I fell under their wordless spell, nodding slightly without even wanting to. “Paul wasn’t your type either. I might have only seen him a few times, but I knew.”

What? “What?”

He held my gaze, totally serious. “The Anglers Arms wasn’t the one time I stopped by. I might as well tell you, I found out where you lived and whenever I was in London I walked past. I never planned to see you, or to talk to you. But I just liked to know where you were.”

“Oh my god. And you accused me of being a stalker?”

He chuckled and took another sip.

“That’s not fair. I couldn’t find you anywhere. Believe me, I searched.”

“I made it that way.” For a moment, his face dropped, shadows from the candles on the table stretched across his face. “I made it that way. I knew you’d look. I hated the thought of you seeing me like that.”

“Depressed?”

“Miserable.”

I held his gaze, my mouth dry. “So you thought Paul wasn’t the right man?”

“Lassie, I knew he wasn’t. But I was a dick. I know I was a dick. I should have fought harder, not lurked in the shadows like a tool without purpose.”

“A big one.”

His lips quirked.

I swallowed, unsure if I could speak the truth out loud, but then I figured, secrets should be a thing of our past. “I think he was having an affair.”

Matthew’s face stayed impassive as he waited for me to continue.

“I never found out, but the weekends away got more frequent. He never did anything with Hannah.” I shivered. “He never did, even from the start. I don’t think he wanted her,” I whispered.

Matthew reached across the table, asking for my hand which he held in his, brushing his thumb across my skin. “You deserve better than that, and so does she.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was all in my head?”

He didn’t answer.

“So what am I going to do about McDougall? Am I going to call Fred and lay down the law?”

“Why don’t you come up with some ideas you can share with Fred and then maybe he won’t be so cross at starting all over again.”

“I’m not in the mood for drawing.”

“I can have a go?”

“Businessman Matthew?”