Matthew's Choice. Patricia Bradley
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another refill on their coffee. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“You can ask. Don’t know if you’ll get an answer.”
“What did you ever see in Matt Jefferies?”
“I can’t believe you asked me that.”
He shrugged. “I just never understood why you dated him. He wasn’t good enough for you.”
Suddenly Peter’s interest in her became clearer. Allie blotted her mouth with her napkin. A memory from high school. Peter losing a math competition to Matt. Peter telling Matt he’d never be anything but the kid from the wrong side of town. Surely that wasn’t what Peter referred to. But she had to know for sure.
Allie fingered the handle of the porcelain cup, and on cue, the waiter appeared and refilled it with coffee. After he left, she stirred cream into her cup. “You’re not still competing with Matt, are you?”
“Compete with Matt? Of course not. I’m glad to see him doing well. I just always thought you belonged with someone more like me.” He smiled, exposing perfectly even white teeth.
“And not the kid from Beaker Street?”
A red flush started at his neck and ended at his ears. “That was a stupid remark I made a long time ago. I never should’ve said it. I didn’t like that he always beat me in everything. Math, quarterback position, you.”
She eyed him over the cup’s rim.
“Honestly,” he said, “I’ve always regretted saying that.”
What was it she’d always heard about people using the word honestly?
Peter’s cell phone rang, and he slid it from his belt. He frowned. “I can’t believe I’m getting another call from the office. Excuse me.”
He stepped away from the table. When he returned, his face was pinched and the muscle in his jaw twitched.
“That case from last night?” She’d been trying to figure out how to bring up the subject without being too obvious. Now the problem was solved.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “The kid’s run away.”
“Last night you said the child was a nine-year-old boy. He may be in my reading class. Maybe I can help. It’s possible I know the family, or where he might’ve gone.”
“Oh, I know where he’s gone. The hospital to check on his OD’d mother. Sarah at the shelter said that’s all he talked about.”
Protective son, overdosed mother. Don’t let it be— “Is the mother’s name Mariah Connors?”
He stared at her. “How do you know Mariah Connors?”
She swallowed the bile that rose up her throat. Poor Noah. “I’ve counseled the boy, had parent-teacher meetings with Mariah, so I know the situation. She’s Matt Jefferies’s sister.”
* * *
MATT TOOK ONE last look at the diamond engagement ring and closed the box. He’d locked the wedding band away in his wall safe until the wedding. Wedding. He liked the sound of the word.
A tiny flicker of regret pierced his memory. He’d asked Allie to marry him once, and she’d turned him down. Looking back, it was probably for the best. Allie never approved of his bold plans to get ahead, and she wouldn’t fit into his present lifestyle. Besides, she was his past. Jessica was his future. A future that was within his grasp, one he had worked hard to get. Jessica wanted the same things he did. But it was more than wanting the same things. She was kind and caring.
His heart tendered at a memory of Jessica in the park last summer. She’d set up her easel at the Memphis Zoo to sketch the snow leopards, and a small girl had wanted to “help.” Without hesitation, Jessica flipped to a new sheet in her sketch pad and spent the next fifteen minutes letting the child try her hand at drawing.
The kitten mewed, and he glanced at the cardboard box. The kitten had surprised him when he returned home with it, lapping milk from a bowl. It mewed again. “Shh,” he said as he knelt by the box. “You need to be quiet. Jessica will be here soon and if she hears you, she’ll want to hold you and that will make her sneeze. Are you hungry?”
Matt had cleaned the closed eye, and now the kitten stared at him with two good eyes. It mewed again, and he frowned. He’d barely gotten a little more milk poured when the doorbell rang. He settled it gently on an old T-shirt in a corner of the box. “Be quiet,” he said and closed the door to his bedroom.
“Happy New Year, love.” Jessica swept into the room and wrapped her arms around his neck.
He tilted her face toward him and gently kissed her as the strains of “Clair de Lune” played softly in the background. Matt kissed her again, and she leaned into him, returning his kiss. “Happy New Year to you, too,” he said when they broke apart. “Are you hungry?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. This is nice.” Her stomach growled, and she giggled. “I guess that ruined the mood.”
“Right this way, m’lady.”
“What’s this?” She shifted her gaze from the table set with his best china and back to Matt.
“Just setting the mood,” he replied. “You look great, as usual.”
And she did, in boots and black leggings and a short, hunter-green dress that brought out the green in her hazel eyes.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” She stroked the red cashmere sweater he wore, a Christmas gift from her. “So, what have you made me?”
He pulled out her chair. “Eggs Benedict—I just have to cook the eggs, but we’ll start off with fruit, and caramel coffee.”
An hour later, Matt refreshed their cups. Everything had gone off without a hitch, even the eggs. Jessica smiled.
“Thank you, Matthew. I don’t know when I’ve ever had a better New Year’s celebration. Last night and now this morning.”
His heart thumped faster as he looked into her eyes. The velvet box was in his pocket, waiting for him to bring out at the right moment. He took her hand. “Jessica, we’ve talked about marriage before, and you know how much I—”
A yowl from his bedroom made him flinch.
“What was that?” She looked over his shoulder toward the bedroom.
The kitten. Not mewing, but sounding exactly like it had in the parking lot. Loud. Pitiful. It was a noise that could not be ignored. “Uh...”
“Matthew, do I hear a cat?” She cocked her head. “It is. But...but you know I’m allergic.”
“I know. It’s a kitten, and I thought I ran over it. You stay here while I go check—”
The doorbell rang, and rang again. And again.
“I’ll get the door.” Jessica pointed toward the bedroom. “You see about that poor kitty.”
The kitten howled again, and Matt huffed a sigh. It probably needed milk again, and he grabbed the carton. “Be right back. Entertain whoever it is.”
The kitten stared plaintively at him when he opened the door and immediately hushed its crying. He picked up the bowl and refilled it. Voices came from the other room. Women’s voices. Matt placed the bowl beside the kitten and guided it to the milk. “You’re on your own, kiddo,” he said and went to wash his hands.
Then he stepped into the living room and stopped. “Allie?”
Jessica’s gaze went from Allie to him. “You didn’t tell me Clint’s sister was stopping by.”
Something was wrong. Bad wrong. It was stamped in the way Allie stood, in the slump of her shoulders, in her face. “What’s going on?”
“Matt, I don’t