Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
I had the foresight to have my dog walker keep Murphy for the night. Turns out I wasn’t the only one hoping to stay the night together. Lisa lives in my building, and Murphy loves her desperately, which does wonders to alleviate the guilt I feel from leaving him overnight. By the time I get back to my apartment, Lisa has returned Murphy, and he is spinning and twirling, begging to go on a walk.
I check my watch; I have some time to kill before I meet Meredith for lunch at the farmer's market. We have a standing date most Saturdays so long as we are both in town and the weather cooperates. We walk, buy fresh produce, sample the new food trucks, and catch up. My plans with her are the only reason I was able to drag myself out of Matt's bed. I've been away from him for only an hour, and yet I still feel like I'm under his gaze. I can't stop smiling.
* * *
I stroll up to the market with Murphy, and it takes me a few minutes to spot Meredith's freshly highlighted blond hair as she sorts through a bin of peaches. The market is bustling today, filled with peak summer produce.
“Did you find a new facialist? Why do you look so glowy and dewy? Hi, Murphman,” she says in greeting.
“No, just mind-blowing sex,” I say casually, with the hope of catching her off guard. It works.
“ What? Tell me. Now.” We find our way to one of the small bistro tables set along the sides of the market.
“I may or may not have had the best sex of my entire life last night. And this morning.” I can't help but gush. I cannot stop thinking about Matt. My brain is on an endless loop of his lips, his fingers … his dick.
Meredith sits slack-jawed as I fill her in on the overview of my night. I am purposely vague about the identity of my mystery man, but Meredith does not let it slide.
"Tell me who he is. Now."
“The son of one of my patients,” I settle on. "It's not unethical—at all. I actually looked it up because you know I’m paranoid. I am in no way, shape, or form treating him.”
She arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“First of all, you know I don’t give a shit about ethics. Second, is this a one-time thing or will you see him again?”
“I hope I'll see him again.”
“Color me shocked.” She fans herself. “Here I thought you were wasting away, building up walls, never going to put yourself out there again, and you’re actually seeing a person long enough to having mind-blowing sex, without so much as a hint of any of it to me.”
At that moment, Murphy starts whining and pulling on his leash. A hush falls over the tables surrounding us, and I notice people elbowing each other and pointing. I look up, delighted to see none other than Matt Johnson walking toward me.
I push my sunglasses up off my face and let go of Murphy’s leash. He takes off, dodging people and chairs as he beelines toward Matt. Matt sees him coming and turns around, looking for me. When our eyes meet, we’re both smiling the same wide, disbelieving smile. Matt kneels to give Murphy a full rubdown and talks to him in a ridiculous voice. Murphy spins and whines and makes a scene as Meredith watches the whole thing unfold with her jaw dropped. She looks at me, then Matt, then back at me, realization slowly registering on her face.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she says under her breath.
Matt walks over to our table, ducking his head, trying to be inconspicuous, clearly aware people are watching.
“What kind of person lets an unruly beast terrorize a neighborhood farmer's market?” He gives me an easy smile.
He is wearing classic black Wayfarer sunglasses, shorts, a familiar well-worn black T-shirt, and a colorful silk scarf tied around his head, holding back his hair. Even if he wasn’t famous, he’d be impossible to miss. His height and his hair, his unmistakable sleeve of tattoos—he is stunning.
“What kind of person wears a silk scarf in their hair outside of a Guns N’ Roses concert? Who do you think you are? Bret Michaels?”
His eyes twinkle with delight. He lifts his sunglasses and takes me in, his eyes raking over my tank top and jean shorts, like he knows exactly what is under them. He does.
“Meredith, this is my friend Matt. Matt, this is my friend Meredith.”
Meredith, for once in her life, is speechless. Good manners prevail, and she stands to shake his hand. “Not sure we're the same type of friends , Jules. But nice to meet you, Matt.”
“Nice to meet you too, Meredith.”
“What brings you to the Union Square farmer's market?” she asks, looking at me suspiciously.
“I’m on a reconnaissance mission, looking for Amish baked goods, or something as close to them as possible, to take over to Dad’s.” He continues petting Murphy.
“Grab a coffee and join us,” Meredith decrees.
“No, no, no, I wouldn’t want to impose....”
“Are you kidding? This is the most interesting afternoon I've had in a while. Please do. No, wait, I’ll go get you something. I need another. Coffee? Latte? Cappuccino?”
“Iced coffee. Just black is great, thank you.” She jumps up and walks over to the coffee truck.
Matt and I sit at the table silently, waiting for Meredith, both of us smiling at each other like idiots.
“Did I tell you I was coming here today?” I ask.
“No, not that I remember.”
"There are eight million people in this city."
“Yes.” He reaches for my hand under the table. “Though it is a pretty popular spot,” he adds, glancing around.
" Sliding Doors ,” I whisper.
He shifts in his seat to move closer to me.
"I have not been able to stop thinking about last night,” he says, eyes on my mouth.
“Me, too.”
“You felt so good. You tasted even better. I need more.…” He trails off as Meredith rejoins us with an iced coffee. My body flushes from the tips of my ears down to my toes.
This fucking guy .
“So, Matt, Julia was just filling me in on the details of how she met you. How serendipitous.”
“Very,” he answers. “What’s life in New York like for you?" he asks her. I love how he never asks the run-of-the-mill questions, the what do you do types.
“Life in New York is fantastic. There’s nowhere better.”
“Meredith was born and raised here,” I add.
"Where do you live?" she asks.
"Mostly LA, but I have an apartment here. Probably a seventy-thirty split. Though, depending on what I'm doing for work, I'm here, there, and everywhere."
"LA? Sorry to hear that." She cringes. Meredith is staunchly anti-LA and immediately judges anyone who chooses to live there. "And what is it you do for work?"
I glare at her. She is generally unimpressed with celebrity and status, but this, acting like she doesn’t know who he is and what he does, is too much.
Either way, Matt humors her. "I'm a musician. Guitar mostly. Piano. Harmonica. I sing and write songs, too."
She stares at him, cocking her head to the right. "What's the career trajectory for someone in your field?" she asks bluntly.
Matt laughs, unfazed. "You mean like how long till I burn out and am just strumming a guitar and singing at family barbeques?"
"Yes. Isn't there a shelf life for musicians?"
"Mere," I say harshly.
Matt is unruffled. "Yes. Most of the time, yes. And depending on who you ask, I might be expired. I kind of hit it big early on and there was a ton of pressure to keep up the pace. To produce hit after hit. But it doesn't quite work like that, for me, at least. I floundered there for a while. I still might be—the jury's out. But I've managed to figure out what works for me and make a pretty good go of it. It pays the mortgage, at least. I've got a tour coming up in the fall."
This is news to me.
"That's gotta be cutthroat," Meredith says. "I've always admired that about artists. The skill and courage it requires to take something from inside of your brain and bring it to life. It's impressive. Even more so because your work is created to be consumed—and critiqued. I imagine you've got a strong stomach."
Matt gives her a genuine smile, and his eyes soften as he realizes she isn't here to interrogate him—this is just Meredith's way of getting to know someone.
"My stomach isn't as strong as I'd like it to be. But I've found some ways to make most of the noise more digestible."
"You know my best friend here”—she gestures to me—"has one of the strongest stomachs around. Nothing rattles her, and if it does, she has me at her disposal. And I assure you, absolutely nothing rattles me," she says sweetly, issuing a warning.
"Except for that blood-needle phobia thing, right Jules?" Matt asks.
Meredith looks impressed that he knows something like that about me. Already. She lightens up even more.
"So, how's your dad doing?" she asks.
We sit there for another half hour, me watching Matt and Meredith go back and forth, getting to know each other. He fields her questions with grace, ease, and his signature honesty. He asks her more of his pointed questions, and I can see her getting a bit dazzled by him. It's hard not to be. He eventually excuses himself, giving Meredith, Murphy, and me a quick hug and promising to text me later. As we watch him walk away, Meredith turns to me with a wary smile.
"Damn, Jules. You're fucked."