10. Matt
Matt
T he villa was quiet, save for the sound of eggs sizzling and the soft hum of cartoons drifting from the living room.
Zach was curled up on the couch under his favorite blanket that he’d insisted we bring with us, totally absorbed in a show about time-traveling dinosaurs.
He was still in his pajamas, hair a disaster, one sock on and the other missing, half a banana in his hand.
My kid, through and through.
I slid the egg off onto a plate before cracking another into the pan, flipping it a moment later with practiced efficiency. Cooking grounded me — it always had. And God knows I needed it. It was something easy, something I could focus on with understandable inputs and predictable outcomes.
Unlike my brother's wedding, or the woman sleeping at the end of the hall.
The soft pad of bare feet on tile told me she was awake as I slid another egg onto the plate. I didn’t turn immediately — just listened, waited until she was close, heard her as she stepped into the kitchen.
“Morning.”
I looked over my shoulder. It hit me like a freight train.
She wore a loose t-shirt, one that was clearly thinned from years of use, that hung around her upper body and hips with an ease that shouldn’t have excited me — but her fucking nipples were jutting into it whether she knew it or not.
Her shorts were tight, spandex little things that barely peeked out of the bottom hem of her shirt, her hair still a little messy from sleep, and there wasn’t a speck of makeup on her face — just a faint flush on her lightly tanned skin.
She was beautiful. Not stunning in the way she’d been dressed last night in red silk and prepared for war, but real , unfiltered, and effortless.
Comfortable. That was the word pinging around in my brain. She looked comfortable , here, with me and a five-year-old she hadn’t even met yet.
“Morning,” I said in return, my voice far steadier than I felt.
She moved toward the kitchen counter, eyeing the eggs on the plate. “Christ. Who are you, Gaston ? That’s a ton of eggs.”
My lips quirked upward. “They’re not all for me.”
Her brows knit. “Are you trying to bulk up your kid?”
“Zach’s got bananas and cartoons,” I smirked, dropping the skillet into the sink and pulling another plate down from the cabinet. “These are for us.”
She bit her lip, clearly trying to hide the slow grin creeping across her cheeks. “Do you cook for all of your fake girlfriends?”
I stabbed the edge of a couple of eggs and shifted them onto the other plate, popped a slice of buttered toast beside it, and held it out for her. “Only the ones who lie convincingly under pressure.”
She stared at it for a second, blinking, before taking it with a half-hearted chuckle. God , her laugh was pretty. “Thank you,” she said, setting it down at the breakfast bar.
“Coffee?”
“ Please. ”
I poured her a mug and slid it across the counter to her. “You want creamer? Milk? Margot had some groceries delivered last night,” I said, opening the fridge. “I don’t really take either, but Margot might collapse if she doesn’t have her Coffee Mate.”
“Black is perfect, actually,” she grinned, wrapping her fingers around the mug and pulling it toward herself. “Didn’t realize you were a man of taste, too.”
I flashed her a grin as I leaned back onto the counter, cutting an egg with the side of my fork. “What was it you said last night? Life’s full of surprises ?”
She huffed a laugh into her mug of coffee as she lifted it to her lips. “Definitely hadn’t been rehearsing it in my head the whole car ride down,” she said, her cheeks heating just a tad. “So, what’s the plan today? More awkward small talk? The wedding isn’t until tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, it’s tomorrow.” I shoved a bite of egg between my teeth and leaned around the edge of the wall, checking on Zach.
Still engrossed, still a quarter of a banana left.
I turned back to her. “I was supposed to go on some kind of golf outing with the groom and the rest of his entourage. Apparently, he thought I’d enjoy that. ”
“Ah. Bonding time with Ryan. That sounds delightful .”
I snorted. “Yeah, well, Margot’s not feeling great, so I’m not entirely sure what the plan is anymore. She’s lying low. Might take him with me.”
She picked up a piece of toast and popped part of her egg on top. “I can stay with him.”
I blinked at her. What? “You don’t have to do that.”
Sienna shrugged as she took a bite. “I know. But he sounded sweet on the phone. And you’ll probably only last, what, ten minutes with Ryan before fantasizing about golf cart homicide? So, I’m an out.”
I should have laughed, should have joked back with her, but I was just confused . “You’re offering to babysit my son?”
“Mhm,” she said around a mouthful of toast before swallowing it down. “I teach twenty feral preteens every weekday. One kindergartener with a good vocabulary who hasn’t made a peep this morning is practically a vacation.”
I studied for a second, egg stuck in my mouth like sand.
Not because I didn’t believe her, but I just hadn’t expected that from her — it didn’t fit into the sharp-edged version of Sienna I’d built in my head.
But she meant it. And the idea of watching her spend a whole afternoon with Zach, relaxed, soft, real …
I didn’t want to pass that up.
“I’ll stay,” I said, swallowing down the egg that tasted like ash now. “We can hang out by the pool. Unless you have other plans.”
“You’re going to skip golf?” she asked, her brows raising.
“I hate golf anyways.” I shrugged. “Consider it self-preservation. Besides, a masseuse is coming in…” I checked the time on the stove, “…twenty minutes, so you’ll be preoccupied for the next hour.”
She blinked at me. “What?”
Play it off . “Comes standard with this villa. You might as well use it,” I lied.
“Oh,” she said, her fingers wrapping loosely around the mug again. “You don’t want to?”
“Honestly? I had a massage two days ago in preparation for this weekend. You could probably use it more than me,” I lied again, taking a bite of toast and crunching it between my teeth. “If I change my mind, I’ll just request another one later.”
“Thank you?—”
The sound of urgent little footsteps pattering across the tile had me crouching down on instinct, toast forgotten. A second later, Zach rounded the corner at full speed and launched himself straight into my arms with a “Daaaaddddy! ” so loud it echoed off the villa walls.
I caught him in time to keep us both from going down, wrapping an arm around his legs and the other across his back as I lifted him clean off the ground. My grin stretched wide, automatic, and unstoppable. “Hey, bud. Finished your banana?”
“Uh-huh.” He nodded and held up the empty peel in front of my face like it was a medal before carefully laying it on my shoulder like a sacred offering. “Can I have another?”
I plucked it off my shoulder and dropped it in the trash can. “Manners?”
“ Pleeeeease ,” he drawled.
I pressed a kiss to his tiny, too-soft cheek and pulled another banana off the bunch before depositing it in his eager hands. “Of course.”
“Thank you,” he grinned, one little tooth missing from his bottom row from when he lost it last week. “Also, also, also, the dinosaurs ended, and I don’t know how to do the buttons here.”
“Sounds dire,” I chuckled, straightening and shifting his weight to my hip instead. “Want to meet someone?”
I flicked my gaze to the breakfast bar, where Sienna sat frozen, halfway through a bite of toast like she wasn’t quite sure if she should interrupt. Zach followed my line of sight, perking up immediately.
“This is Sienna,” I said. “Sienna, this is Zach.”
Zach blinked at her, his head tilting slightly like he was deciding whether or not he approved.
“You’re pretty,” he said, finally , like he was letting her off the hook. I rolled my eyes as he wiggled in my arms. “Can she fix the TV?”
Sienna laughed, a genuine one and not one of the for-show ones from last night, and set down her toast before sliding off her stool. “I might have some experience with pesky remotes. I can try.”
“Okay!” He wiggled again, his legs kicking out on either side of my body—his way of requesting being put down—and I let him slide down my body before his little feet landed square on the floor.
He clutched his banana in one hand and rounded the corner of the breakfast bar, taking her hand in his other like it was the most casual thing in the world.
“It was on T-Rex Time Jam and then it stopped and now it’s on boring people. ”
“Tragic,” she said with a completely straight face, letting him lead her toward the living room. “We can’t let that stand.”
I watched them go, my son chattering non-stop and Sienna wholeheartedly listening like every word was important, and tried not to let the itching feeling in the back of my head take over at all.
————
The sun burned harsh and golden overhead, filtered through palm trees swaying and the occasional cloud.
The villa’s private pool sat beneath a pergola covered in vines and white gauzy curtains that fluttered in the soft breeze, and Zach splashed happily in the shallow end, his floaties strapped to both arms, squealing every time he managed to send a wave high enough to hit the tiled edge.
Poor kid didn’t get to play in a pool nearly as much as he wanted to.
I made a mental note to get a quote on getting one installed at home as I sat back in the lounger, sunglasses on, some kind of fruity mixed drink in my hand that Sienna had insisted on making a batch of after her massage for “sun time.”
Zach started to inch his way toward the deeper end, one hand trailing along the edge of the pool like that somehow made it safer, and my stomach knotted.
“Hey, bud,” I called, sitting up a little. “Let’s stay in the shallow end, okay?”
His head flopped back in exasperation. “But I got floaties ,” he whined. “I won’t sink.”