Chapter Seventeen #2
Where Mary, Helen, and I used to sit after locking up, sharing a bottle of Merlot and laughing about terrible dates and difficult customers. Helen perched right where Matthew is now, Mary behind the counter across from me.
Sitting here now, with Matthew beside me instead…
A bittersweet ache blooms in my chest.
“Everything okay?” Matthew asks, pulling me back.
“Yes, sorry, all good.” I give him a weak smile.
Matthew puts his fork down. “What is it, Amy? That dumpling has been sitting on your fork for the last couple of minutes.”
I inhale deeply and stuff the entire dumpling in my mouth in one go. Cheeks puffed out, I manage to give Matthew the biggest smile, making him throw his head back in laughter. But then my palm flies to cover my lips, struggling to chew.
“I’m so glad we didn’t stay to eat at the Statehouse last night.” He shakes his head, lips quivering and shoulders twitching as he holds back laughter.
My eyes widen. I press my palm tighter to my mouth, almost spitting out my food.
“My gosh!” I exhale in relief after finally swallowing. “You’re horrible,” I tease, my shoulders shaking with light laughter.
Matthew laughs and plops another dumpling onto my plate.
“Oh no, I don’t think so.” I shake my head and pick up the box of noodles. “I’m sticking to noodles for now.”
“Good idea.” He beams playfully, popping another dumpling into his mouth.
“I thought you would have had dinner a long time ago,” I say, studying his face, “and that you’d be busy boxing off the calories by now.”
It’s too late to take my words back. Suddenly, knowing he boxes feels like a secret I shouldn’t have. A strangely intimate detail.
He just chuckles, twirling more noodles onto his fork. “I don’t box to burn calories.”
In his quiet admission, the air shifts. It thickens, charged not just with attraction, but with a deeper connection. The invisible thread between us tightens, pulling us closer, connecting us in a way separate from everyone else who just sees the Senior Counselor.
The counter feels smaller. The silence less empty.
“I can see the appeal,” I offer quietly, mindlessly shuffling the noodles with my fork. “Punching away your frustrations. Must feel great.”
“It sure helps,” he confirms with a sympathetic smile. He places a dumpling on my plate and splits it in half with his knife.
I shake my head, an appreciative smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “You know he didn’t even bother calling to check up on me, not even a quick text. Yet here you are cutting my dumpling for me, so I don’t choke.”
“Purely self-serving believe me,” he teases, but his smile doesn’t reach his solemn eyes. “Wouldn’t know what to do if you choked.”
A short, humorless chuckle, more like a dry cough, escapes me.
“So I take it your fiancé doesn’t mind you working late.”
I point my fork at him, pressing my lips in a thin line. “Can’t call him that anymore.”
Matthew frowns, pointing at my ring finger. “But…”
“Yeah. This goes back tomorrow night,” I declare, holding my hand up. “It’s over.” Speaking the words out loud chokes me up a little, but not as much as before.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, putting his fork down.
“Yeah, well. Just pray he plays nice.” I let my fork fall to the plate with a clatter. “I need a drink. Care for some wine?” I slide off the stool and walk behind the counter to the back room. “I’m pretty sure Mary has one stashed somewhere in here.”
Certain I am out of sight, my hands shoot out, gripping the edge of a shelf on the tall storage unit. I take a deep, shuddering breath, locking my arms straight as I drop my head between them.
“Amy…”
My head shoots up. He speaks my name like a gentle caress. Straightening quickly, my eyes dart around the space. “I know it’s in here somewhere…”
I don’t turn around when I hear him sigh. I just keep hunting for that bottle.
And as luck would have it…
“Here it is!” I wrap my fingers around its neck and turn to face Matthew.
He isn’t buying it. He crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, blocking my exit.
“Sorry, but paper cups will have to do. I don’t have wineglasses—” I step toward him, hoping he will move. He doesn’t.
“What?” I ask, looking up into his unfairly handsome face, now unnervingly close to mine.
“You tell me,” he replies calmly.
It takes every ounce of willpower not to step back and shrink under his penetrating gaze.
“Wisconsin, remember? The golden lady facing forward against all odds.” I try again to pass, but he doesn’t budge.
I take a couple of steps back.
“She’s a statue. You’re human,” he reminds me.
“And?” I challenge, my frustration growing by the second.
“And you have feelings.” He gestures, incredulous. “And you’re allowed to feel them.”
“Shitty advice,” I say, blowing out a harsh breath while unscrewing the wine bottle cap.
“Excuse me?” he asks, a dangerous low note in his tone.
“Given everything, statue mode is my only valid option,” I counter, raising the bottle to my mouth.
But just as the rim touches my lips, Matthew’s hand darts out, fingers closing firmly around its base. Shock shoots through me as he easily plucks it from my grasp.
“No, it’s not,” he says. His quiet tone holds an undeniable command. He turns and stalks back into the main area.
“Hey!” I follow him out. “This is not your fight!” I yell after his back.
He spins around, slamming the wine bottle down hard onto the nearest table.
I glare at him, chest still heaving from my outburst.
He stands rigid for a second, his jaw tight. But then, something shifts in his eyes. The flash of his own anger recedes, replaced by that unnerving, intense focus.
“I’m not really the one you’re angry with, am I?” he asks, closing the distance just enough to hold my attention.
His quiet question hangs in the air, probing too close to the raw nerves exposed by this entire day. The image of James leaning over me, his foul breath, his blatant dismissal, the weight of the café’s future… it all presses down, threatening to crack me open right here under Matthew’s steady gaze.
“I can’t… I don’t have time for this now.” The plea bleeds into my voice. “Thank you for dinner, really, but I should get back to work.” My voice cracks on the last word, betraying the emotion I’m trying to suppress.
He takes another half-step closer. I retreat instinctively, my eyes pleading. “I really need to finish that statement.” My lips part softly in an unspoken appeal, and I gesture pointedly towards the paper on the counter.
For a fleeting moment, Matthew’s eyes follow my hand, then return to read my face.
Just as I think I can’t take anymore, he breaks the stare and strides past me. When he gets to the counter, he flips over the piece of paper, grabs the pen, and starts writing.
“What’s Mary’s last name?” he asks.
“Alston.” I approach hesitantly, watching the intense concentration etched on his profile. He moves the pen across the page in neat, determined lines.
“Spelling, please,” he says firmly, without looking up.
“A-L-S-T-O-N.” I watch the sheer speed and confidence radiating from him.
Charged silence settles between us, interrupted only by the scratch of pen against paper.
He smacks the pen down.
“I didn’t get around to it today because his schedule was packed, but I managed to convince Harold to meet with me first thing tomorrow,” he informs me. “My plan is to tell him about your petition and that he should seriously reconsider his approach.”
I barely process his words before he adds, “This is very much my fight.” His eyes fix on mine, a thin smile touching his lips, jaw set hard. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He snatches his jacket from the counter.
Already moving toward the door, he calls back over his shoulder. “Try not to stay too much longer. Get it printed and get some rest.”
“Matt—” I start, stunned.
He’s already at the door, hand on the lock. “Good night, Amy,” he interrupts without turning around.
He slips out into the night.
The bell chimes overhead, the sound reverberating through the space before silence swallows it whole again.
Curiosity gnawing at me, I pick up the paper and start reading:
For years, Maddy’s Place Café has served as more than just a coffee shop.
It has been a vital heartbeat in our Madison community.
Continuing the welcoming legacy established by Mary Alston, Amy Beckett has maintained Maddy’s Place as a cherished space where neighbors meet and the simple comfort of connection is always available.
It is an essential part of our neighborhood’s unique character and daily life.
Now, this beloved local establishment faces an uncertain future. Maddy’s Place is at serious risk of closure because of circumstances concerning its lease renewal. Losing Maddy’s Place would be a significant loss, diminishing the vibrancy and close-knit feel of our community.
We, the undersigned customers, neighbors, and friends, strongly believe Maddy’s Place is invaluable.
We urge the property owner, Harold Bancroft, to recognize the immense community support for this café and to work in good faith with Amy Beckett to find a fair and sustainable solution that allows Maddy’s Place to continue serving us all for years to come.
My jaw drops. I stare at the door he just walked out of.
The paper shakes in my hands as I reread his words.
He didn’t just help. He gave this fight a voice.
A brilliant legal voice that speaks for the entire community.
He understood my struggle and gave me a gift I didn’t even know how to ask for.
“Shit.” The word tumbles out on a breath. A knot of dread twists in my gut.
I messed up.