Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Sloan was late.
“I’m so sorry. Traffic was backed up—a broken-down bus on Jarmin Street. I had to loop around via Woodington,” she said, slipping off her jacket and kicking off her heels. She poked her head into the lounge. Her mother’s chair was empty.
“In the kitchen!” Matty called.
Sloan changed direction, still talking as the aroma of garlic and tomato hit her nose. “It was absolutely solid out—” She came to a full halt.
Her mother was in the kitchen, at the stove, stirring a pot.
“We’re making pasta. Nothing exciting, but Mrs S fancied it, didn’t you, Mrs S?” Matty said.
Gloria rolled her eyes. When she was done stirring, she sat back down on the chair Matty had placed nearby for her to rest.
“I did the chopping. Her Ladyship supervised.” Matty winked as she tidied up the chopping board and peelings.
“Someone needs to instruct you. Otherwise, God only knows what slop you’d create,” Gloria said.
Matty grinned. “Fair point, Mrs S.”
Sloan ran a finger over her brow and blinked, as though the scene might change if she looked again.
“So…bus broke down?” Matty said, not giving her a chance to overthink it.
“Yes. Blocked Jarmin Street and then that backed up all the way to the high street. The only way out was to go the long way and head towards Woodington.”
“Well, you’re here now, but I’m betting that bus has delayed mine as well.” Matty pressed her lips together. “Looks like it’s the long skate for me.”
“I thought you always skated home?”
“I do.” Matty grinned. “Not going home straight away, though... I’ve got plans.”
Sloan felt the words hit like a steam train. “Oh, that’s...”
“I’m kidding.” Matty laughed. “I usually go to the roller rink and meet some friends for a bit of roller derby.”
“I’m sorry. I know we had an agreement for five o’clock.”
“It’s fine.” Matty glanced at the clock on the microwave. “They won’t miss me. I’ll get out of your hair, though.”
“Stay,” Sloan blurted. “I mean, you’ve cooked dinner every night. You should...have dinner with us.”
“I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”
“Lay the table, then,” Gloria said. “Before we all starve.”
“What she said,” Sloan said, smirked.
Matty grinned. “Looks like I’m staying, then.”
“If we’re having a guest, we should use the dining room,” Gloria decided.
“I suppose we should,” Sloan conceded.
Matty followed Sloan out into the hall and through a door she hadn't yet had reason to open. It wasn't as big as the lounge, and the large table in the centre took up most of the space. Six high-backed chairs were pushed in, perfectly set apart.
“Not quite my taste,” Sloan said as she opened the curtains. “My parents loved entertaining in this room.”
“It’s beautiful,” Matty said. “Not my style either, but I can still see why they loved it.”
Sloan moved towards the old dresser and opened a drawer. “She’s not been in here since her stroke.”
“Really?”
Sloan nodded. “I have the cleaner dust it every week, but she’s never asked to use it.”
“Then this is a big moment. For both of you.”
“Both?” Sloan turned to her.
“You don’t think this is an opportunity? Something she’s choosing to share with you?”
“I think she’s more impressed by you.” Sloan chuckled, then turned more serious. “Actually, I think we both are.”
Heat crept up Matty’s neck.
“Well, I am flattered.”
Sloan passed the placemats, their fingers brushing—brief, unmistakable.
“I asked her about you coming on full-time and she said you were better than nothing, which I think is her way of saying she’d love you to.”
“That sounds very Gloria-like.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Sloan’s eyes lingered and held Matty’s a second too long. “So…what do you think?”
“I mean...” Matty let out a small breath, half laugh, half nerves. “It’s the best-paid, easiest job I’ve ever had.”
“There’s a ‘but’, isn’t there?”
Matty’s gaze dropped to Sloan’s mouth and then flicked back up, as if annoyed with herself for giving anything away. “Okay, so this might be a bit forward and probably inappropriate, but I’m really attracted to you, Sloan.”
Sloan didn’t move—not at first. Her face stayed composed, but something in her eyes sharpened.
“Alright,” she said quietly.
Matty took a step closer anyway, seeming to decide she’d rather be brave than comfortable. “I kind of had the impression you might be attracted to me too.”
Sloan’s arms, which had started to fold, fell back to her sides. “And that would be a problem if you’re working for my mother?”
“Is she the one paying me to work here?” Matty asked. There was a challenge in it—gentle, but real.
Sloan’s gaze didn’t leave her. “No.”
Matty moved closer still. Her fingertip traced the edge of the table first—slowly, deliberately—before it found Sloan’s wrist. Bare skin. A light touch that asked a question without words.
It wasn’t a grip. Nothing like the one Sloan had put on her at Art. It was Matty, choosing to touch—testing the boundary and watching to see if Sloan would let her.
Sloan’s breath caught, almost inaudibly.
Matty leaned in.
The first brush of her lips against Sloan’s was soft and tentative, giving Sloan every chance to pull away. Warm. Careful. A kiss that asked, not took.
Sloan didn’t pull away.
Her hands rose and framed Matty’s face—thumbs at her jaw, fingers steady at the nape of her neck—guiding her closer with a control that didn’t feel like force, but more like permission.
“If you want me to stop,” Sloan murmured, voice low, “say so.”
Matty swallowed, eyes on Sloan’s. “I kissed you,” she said, almost dazed by her own courage, then a quieter, “Don’t stop.”
Something in Sloan shifted.
She kissed Matty again, deeper this time—slow at first, then certain.
Not rushed, not sloppy, but like she was choosing every second of it.
Matty made a small sound into her mouth and Sloan greeted it, tasting it, letting her tongue slide in and press—not taking, but meeting—testing the edges of what Matty would give, and finding her willing.
Matty melted into it, hands coming up to Sloan's waist, holding on as if she'd been waiting for that moment without even knowing it.
Sloan pulled back first.
Not because she wanted to. That much was written all over her—breath tight, pupils blown, the faint tremor she refused to let reach her hands.
She stepped away, creating space as if she could build a wall out of air.
“We can’t,” she said, and the words came out sharper than she meant them to. She glanced towards the hallway, then the lounge, as though she could already hear Gloria shuffling closer. “Not like this. Not here.”
Matty blinked, still flushed, still open. “Sloan...”
Sloan moved to the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, looking like she needed something solid. She looked back at Matty, and for a second the ice slipped, fear showing through the control.
“You’ve gone cold,” Matty said softly. It wasn’t an accusation. It was hurt. “Why?”
Sloan’s jaw worked, like she was grinding the truth down into something she could say out loud.
“Because I want you,” she said, voice low, “and I can’t...I can’t do that.”
Matty’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.” Sloan’s eyes flicked towards the lounge again. “My mother is calmer with you. She listens to you. And if this goes wrong—” She broke off, jaw tight. “I need you here.”
Matty’s expression softened, the hurt shifting into something like understanding. “So that’s it, then? This only works if I stay useful?”
Sloan flinched. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It is,” Matty said quietly. “You kissed me back, Sloan. And now you’re acting like it has to mean nothing because you’re scared I’ll walk.”
Sloan’s fingers curled against the doorframe. “Yes,” she said, then, more honestly, “because I can’t go back to how it was.”