Chapter 29 Matt
matt
So tomorrow’s the big night,” Jillian said.
She’d just dropped the girls off from ballet lessons, and they were thundering up the stairs behind me.
I stood at the front door, trying to block Jillian from coming in.
Hope was upstairs painting and I was eager to rejoin her.
I’d gotten home from work early today, and Hope had been telling me the latest installment of her grandmother’s tale.
“Tomorrow?” I echoed blankly, not sure what Jillian was referring to.
She nodded. “The fete.”
“Oh, yeah.” I’d bought tickets from Jillian three weeks ago—an entire table, because it was a good cause and Jillian was on the organizing committee. In the few days since I’d invited Hope, I’d been looking forward to my date with her like a teenager anticipating the prom.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to meet you there,” Jillian was saying, “because I have to go early to help with the setup. But I’m catching a ride with Annie, so you and I won’t be in separate cars at the end.”
“Wait.” I pulled my brows together. My thoughts had been wandering upstairs, and I figured I must have missed something. “So . . . you’re saying you’ll need a ride home afterward?”
Her head tilted at a weird angle and she looked at me funny. “Of course, since we’re going together.”
I stared at her, confused.
Her forehead creased in consternation. “I invited you to be my date.”
A pit opened in my stomach area. “Oh, God. You thought . . .” I ran a hand across my jaw. The hurt in her eyes made it hard to look at her. “I, uh . . . I thought you just wanted me to come and support the cause.”
I could see she was trying to smile. The effort she put into tugging her mouth into that uneven, wobbly curve made me feel like the lowest kind of vermin. “Well, yes, of course. And it was generous of you to buy a whole table. But . . . I specifically invited you to be with me.”
“Oh.” I shifted my stance and wished I could somehow disappear.
“Well, the thing is . . .” Oh, man—this was brutal.
This moment belonged in the Painfully Awkward Hall of Fame.
I raked both hands through my hair, shoved them in my pants pockets, and racked my mind for something not too awful to say.
“The thing is, I misunderstood. You’re family, so I wasn’t thinking of you . . .”
. . . that way. I never had. Surely she could get the drift.
“There’s a first time for everything,” she said in what I imagined was her cheerful, elementary-school-teacher voice.
“The thing is,” I continued, “I’ve, uh, invited Hope.”
She rocked back on the heels of her flats, as if she’d taken a blow. After a horrid moment of silence, she lifted her chin. “But I asked you. When someone invites you to something, you don’t just invite someone else along.”
“I—I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.” I swallowed, looked away, then glanced back.
My ears were burning, which meant they probably looked like someone had boxed them.
I wished someone had; I deserved to have my ears boxed.
“I misunderstood. I didn’t know it was a .
. .” Aw, hell. Better not use the d-word!
“. . . a specific invitation. I thought you were just asking for me to participate and donate like you were asking everyone else.” I shifted uneasily.
“It’s not like we’re seeing each other.”
“Maybe you’re not ready to start dating again yet,” Jillian said carefully.
For the first time since Christine’s death, I was sure I was, but I didn’t want to rub salt in her wounds. I lifted my shoulders. “Look, I’m really sorry. You’re welcome to join us at our table. And if you need a ride home, Hope and I can give you one.”
Tears gleamed in her eyes. She put up her hands, palms out. “No. No need. I’ll just take my own car.”
She turned and headed to her car, walking stiffly. With a heavy heart, I closed the door.
I found both girls upstairs with Hope, excitedly telling her about their day. Hope took one look at my face, gave me a worried little frown, then turned to the girls. “Zoey, Sophie—do you have any artwork from school you can show me?”
“Yes!” they both exclaimed.
“I’d love to see it.”
They raced from the room. “What’s up?” Hope asked as their feet pounded on the stairs.
“Jillian thought I was going to be her date tomorrow.”
“Oh no!”
“Yeah. I missed that part when she asked me to buy tickets.” I blew out a long breath. “She tried to play it cool, but she was pretty upset.”
“I can imagine.”
“What should I do? Should I call Peggy?”
Hope looked thoughtful. “No. If I were Jillian, you calling my mother would just make it worse. I think this is one of those cases where the best thing to do is nothing.”
“I feel really bad,” I confessed.
“It was an honest mistake. She has to know that.”
I nodded, but making the mistake honestly didn’t make it any less hurtful.
“There’s never an easy way to learn your feelings aren’t reciprocated. It’s best, though, to find out sooner rather than later—before you get over-invested.” Hope’s smile was rueful and self-deprecating. “And I mean that in every sense of the word.”
I felt a flash of anger toward her ex. What a jerk, deliberately taking advantage of her.
The girls burst back into the room, waving artwork from preschool. Hope turned her attention to them as I watched from the doorway.
Hope was so open and easy and kind and . . . lovely. The thought kind of startled me, because it was a girly word, not one I would usually say out loud, but it fit her.
She caught my eye over Sophie’s head. I remembered kissing her, and a whomp of attraction hit me right in the solar plexus. She gave me a soft smile that left me light-headed and happy and kind of buzzed.
Unless my radar was really off—and it could be; I was admittedly out of practice—the attraction I felt for her was a two-way street. I couldn’t wait to get Hope alone tomorrow and see where it led.