As I finish brushing Dolly, Matthew goes to retrieve a bale of hay. I watch him carry it into the open stall, pull out a pocketknife, and cut the cording. Pocketknife?
He glances up and gives me a sheepish grin. “Never leave home without it.” Clearly, I spoke that out loud.
When he has the hay tossed into the feeder, he grabs the hose, filling up the water bucket with fresh, cold water. Only then does he come back out to where I stand with Dolly and help lead her back to the stall. She goes straight to the food, while Matthew makes sure the door is secure and she’s set for the day.
“Well, now that she’s taken care of, how about some lunch?” he asks, keeping his eyes trained on the animal in front of us.
“Oh, uh, that sounds lovely. I’ll just need to run home and freshen up.” I glance down at my blue jeans and boots and wince, knowing I probably even smell like horse.
“No need. We can go as we are.”
My eyes widen as I look his way.
“What?” he asks, setting his boot on the bottom rung of the wooden gate.
“I’ve just never known you to go out looking so…casual.”
Matthew takes in his own appearance before shrugging his broad shoulders. “Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow and live your life on your own terms.” He gazes into the stall, watching Dolly move from her food to the water, but doesn’t elaborate. Something tells me there’s much more to Matthew Wilder than anyone—myself included—suspected.
“I know of a great little café not too far from here. We’ve ordered sandwiches and soup from there many times,” I suggest.
“Sounds great,” he replies, pushing off the gate and turning to face me. He shoves his hands in his pockets, the action pulling the groin of his jeans even tighter. I avert my gaze before he can see me ogling him, but barely.
“Let’s go, Cowboy,” I state playfully, heading out of the barn, Matthew hot on my heels.
***
“This place is pretty great,” Matthew says between bites of his grilled ham and cheese sandwich.
“Isn’t it? Whenever anyone suggests we place an order, I’m the first one to write down what I want,” I tell him, taking a small bite of my homemade tomato and basil soup. It pairs perfectly with the grilled cheese on wheat with a slice of tomato.
“I can see why,” he replies, wiping his mouth with a napkin. After he eats a few potato chips, he asks, “So, why don’t you have a place with a dozen cats and dogs and a horse?”
I swallow the food in my mouth and reach for my lemonade, trying to find the right words to give him. The last thing I want is to sound ungrateful for what I have. “My penthouse was a gift from my father. The building has a strict no-pets policy.” I leave out the part about feeling obligated to stay there, since I’m all my father has left.
He cocks his head to the side, as if considering my words. Instead of asking more questions I’m not sure I want to answer, he switches gears. “Well, if you could have animals, what would you have?”
A small smile instantly plays on my lips. “Easy. I’d adopt Ringo the cat and Archie the mixed bulldog and golden retriever. And if I had a barn, I’d take Dolly in a heartbeat.”
Now it’s Matthew’s turn to grin. “A mixed bulldog and retriever? How’d that happen?”
“I hope that’s a rhetorical question, and I don’t really have to explain the birds and the bees to you,” I tease.
His brown eyes seem to smolder and darken almost instantly as he holds my gaze. “No, I’m very well versed in the birds and the bees.”
My throat is suddenly too dry, and the apex of my legs is…well, not.
“I just meant that’s an unusual mixed breed,” he says, pulling my focus from how my body responded to his statement.
“It is, but not completely uncommon. We’ve seen a lot of strange combinations in the last few years,” I state with a small shrug. “I mean, animals aren’t nearly as picky as humans when it comes to…that.”
Matthew snorts a laugh. “I’ve known my fair share of humans who aren’t nearly as picky as they should be when it comes to…that.”
I glance down at the remains of my lunch to hide the light burn on my cheeks. Just the thought of sex has my mind on the man across from me. Even though we’ve never gotten to that part in our relationship, I can’t stop thinking about his hands, how big and strong they are. About his arms and the way the shirts he wears hugs them. Then there’s the thickness I saw in his jeans last night when we finished our kiss. Suddenly, all I can think about is what it would be like to take things to the next level with Matthew.
Considering I wasn’t even sure about the status of our relationship yesterday at lunch, the one-eighty I’ve experienced in my own head is shocking.
Clearing my throat, I place my napkin on the table. “I suppose you’re right. I’ve known a few people who think more with their bodies than their heads when it comes to the opposite sex.”
I don’t tell him I’ve always heard that very sentiment more often than not when it comes to the man sitting across from me. However, in less than twenty-four hours, I’ve come to learn there’s a lot more to Matthew Wilder than meets the eye.
And frankly, I really like it.
I like him.
After lunch, we start walking toward the shelter and my hand slips within his. It’s so very foreign to me, to hold his hand, but so natural and comforting at
