Chapter 28
TWENTY EIGHT
WIND SIGHS IN the trees, and the distant cry of gulls replaces the city’s thrum. We settle on the curved stone bench. The view is a wide expanse of rippling water, anchored by the white dome of the Capitol on the far shore.
I bask in the sun’s warmth, cup between my hands. Matthew leans forward, elbows on knees, cup cradled in his palms. The breeze ruffles his dark hair. He gazes straight ahead, his expression thoughtful.
I nod at the paper bag between us. “You go there often?”
Matthew turns his head,, a playful light returning to his eyes. “Why?” He chuckles low. “Jealous?”
I roll my eyes. “Please.” I take a pointed sip. “My coffee’s way better, and you know it.”
His chuckle rumbles in his chest.
“Besides,” I add. “We haven’t even tried whatever is hiding in there.”
“Ah. Yes.”
He reaches for the bag. Foil rustles as he pulls out two packages. He peels one back, revealing a large, flaky croissant filled with fluffy omelette and strips of crispy bacon. The savory scent instantly makes my mouth water.
“Looks great,” I say, accepting the sandwich and a napkin. “Thanks.”
“No longer hating on Frost and Froth, I see.”Amusement dances in his eyes.
“Hate is a strong word.” I take a bite.
The flaky pastry gives way to the warm mix of egg and bacon.
Damn it. This is actually good.
I chew slowly, avoiding his gaze, fighting the smile that wants to break through.
I swallow and let out a dramatic sigh. “Alright. Fine.” I glance at him. “This tastes really good. Happy? You and your Frost and Froth win.”
Matthew finishes his bite, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Not trying to win,” he says softly. “I’m just happy you like it.”
“I do.” I nod. “In fact, I’m thinking of adding it to our menu. We already make the freshest croissants. It would be so easy to turn them into breakfast sandwiches. I know our customers would love it.”
“Happy to inspire a new breakfast item on your menu,” he says, sounding pleased. “Will you name it after me?”
I wrinkle my nose. “What, like Matt’s Croissant?” I shake my head. “I don’t know… doesn’t really capture how… filling and satisfying it is.”
Matthew chokes. He turns his head, coughing into his fist.
“That bad?” I tease. “Okay, I get it. Needs to sound crave-worthy. How about Matthew’s Morning Glory?”
Matthew splutters. A genuine cough wracks his frame this time. He fumbles for his napkin, pressing it to his mouth, shoulders shaking.
“Yeah, definitely not that one!” I laugh, heat rising in my cheeks as the double entendre hits me. “M.M.G. for short?”
“O.M.G.,” Matthew wheezes as his laughter dies down to a chuckle. “Let’s stick to Breakfast Croissant.”
“Safe choice,” I agree, giggling.
Laughter fades into comfortable silence.
We eat, the quiet punctuated by the gentle lapping of water below the bluff and the occasional rustle of leaves.
I sip my coffee, letting the simple comfort of good food seep into my bones.
The sun feels good on my face, the breeze a balm.
I relax into the moment, content to just be.
I lean back against the cool stone, leisurely sipping my coffee, and watching the distant skyline. “Of all the places I’ve lived,” I confess. “Madison is the first that actually felt like home. Like I could stay here and build a real life.”
I glance over. Matthew is watching me, his expression gentle. “That doesn’t have to change. Yes, you’re in a tough spot, but it’s not over yet.”
“It’s hanging by a thread.” I sigh, turning back to the view. “One person…” I shake my head slowly. “I fell in love with this one person and trusted him. I didn’t realize I was giving him the power to destroy me.”
“Love.” Matthew exhales hard. His jaw tightens, eyes fixed on the horizon with a hard intensity.
I look down at my cup, my thumb tracing the seam. “Have you ever been in love?” I ask, my question quiet.
The pause stretches.
“I’ve dated,” he finally says.
I wait.
He sighs heavily. “Never in love, no. It’s not for me.”
A sharp ache blooms in my chest. Disappointment, maybe. Or heartbreak. “So you think you’re immune.” Bitterness bleeds into my voice.
He hunches forward, eyes still on the water. “I don’t think I am. I know I am.”
His words land like stones dropping into the lake.
The finality of it chills me more than the breeze.
I watch his profile. His jaw remains tight, his gaze locked straight ahead as if seeing something far beyond the Madison skyline.
Something bleak and unchangeable. My own painful experience with James feels suddenly small compared to the profound, self-imposed isolation radiating from him.
“Sounds incredibly lonely,” I whisper. The words tumble out unchecked.
Matthew doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t turn. But his eyes narrow, hardening before softening again into that remote focus. The muscle in his jaw jumps.
Silence stretches. Then he speaks, his voice low and gravelly. “Better lonely than broken.”
I wince. “Yeah. Don’t I know it.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, head tipping back. Tension cords his throat. “That came out wrong,” he says, tone apologetic.
I shrug, studying the cup clasped between my hands. “It’s not a rule, you know.”
“Maybe not.” Matthew lets out a slow breath. “But it’s not worth the risk.”
A wall slams down between us. Solid and impenetrable.
The air grows colder. The sunlight, less warm.
I trace the rim of my empty cup, his verdict on love settling uncomfortably in my chest.
Tragedy.
Broken.
Risk.
It’s a bleak territory I don’t have the strength to explore right now.
The silence holds, heavy with everything we aren’t saying. Beside me, Matthew shifts restlessly. He draws a sharp breath, running a hand roughly through his hair, then scrubbing it down his face.
“Anyway,” he says, his tone deliberately lighter. “You have enough to worry about without having to worry about my views on love.”
I let out a sharp breath, my brows arching in exasperation.
Matthew crushes the empty paper bag into a ball. “How about a walk?” He stands, ready to move on.
I nod and join him.
We fall into step, walking deeper into Picnic Point.
The path narrows, winding closer to the water.
Lake Mendota laps against the shore to our right, sunlight shattering on its surface.
To our left, the woods are thick and quiet.
We walk in comfortable silence, enjoying the crunch of our footsteps and the whisper of the breeze.
Something tight loosens in my chest.
Out here, my bleak thoughts don’t feel quite so suffocating. Peace settles a little deeper.
A thick, gnarled root snakes across the dirt path in front of me. “I’m wearing the wrong shoes for this,” I murmur, stopping short of this obstacle.
I glance up. Matthew is watching me, a glint in his eyes. “That’s on me. Sorry.” He extends his hand, palm up.
I slip my hand into his. His fingers close around mine, firm.
He doesn’t pull, just offers balance. Holding onto his strength, I carefully step over the root, my heel sinking slightly into the soft earth before finding solid ground.
His hold lingers for a beat after I’m steady, a warm pressure against my palm.
When he releases me, the ghost of his touch remains.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” I say, watching our feet step in sync. “And keeping me away from the café.”
“You really needed it.”
“I really did,” I whisper. “I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water.” The admission burns, but it’s the truth.
Matthew wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his side, slowing his pace to match mine. His warmth is immediately grounding. Hesitantly at first, then with a weary sigh, I lean into his support.
Suddenly, a blur of brown fur darts out from the undergrowth. It shoots across the path inches from my boots before disappearing into the bushes.
My heart leaps. A startled gasp escapes me. I jump, stumbling, clutching the front of Matthew’s shirt while my other arm tightens around his waist.
“Whoa!” Matthew tightens his hold, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “It was just a chipmunk.”
I let out a shaky laugh, relief mixing with embarrassment. My hand loosens its death grip on his shirt to cover my face.
Matthew’s laughter subsides. His body goes still. His arm tightens, sensing the tremor still running through me.
“Hey. Do me a favor.”
I look up hesitantly.
“Take in the deepest breath you can,” he instructs gently, eyes holding mine. “And let it out real slow.” He waits a beat. “Just focus on the fresh air. Forget everything else for a second.”
Forget everything else?
If only it were that easy.
I draw in a breath, but it catches high in my chest, doing nothing to ease the frantic energy still humming beneath my skin. I let it out in a defeated rush.
“Gotta be slower than that,” Matthew says, shaking his head.
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to pull away.
“Close your eyes.”
“What? No.”
“Just close your eyes,” he insists.
I hesitate.
“Trust me,” he adds, voice calm.
I let my eyelids flutter shut, plunging myself into a darkness scented with pine, lake water, and him.
“One more time,” his voice guides me softly. “Breathe in deep and slow. Feel the air filling your lungs. That’s it… Hold it. Now, let it out through your mouth, even slower. Just let it all go.”
“Again.”
I draw in a long, slow breath. This one reaches deep, expanding my ribcage. I hold the stillness for a heartbeat, then release it in a warm sigh.
I open my eyes slowly. They land on Matthew’s green gaze. Clear, deep, and etched with compassion. The way he looks at me, like I’m something precious, makes my heart skip. The air stills in my throat. He leans closer, pressing his lips tenderly against my forehead. Calm pools deep in my core.
My eyes drift shut again.
He pulls me fully against his chest, enveloping me. My cheek finds the soft fabric of his shirt, my body anchoring itself to him. My arms wrap around his waist, holding on tight.