Life Reconstructed: Chapter Eighteen
Cat had just kicked her door shut that evening when her phone buzzed. Glancing down at it, she assured herself she wasn’t disappointed that it wasn’t from Matt, that it wasn’t like she’d been expecting a text message from him.
AMELIA K.
Drinks?
KITTY CAT
Can’t tonight. Sorry! I’m starting on a big project for the weekend.
AMELIA K.
Need help?
At the offer, Cat stopped to consider the words. A warmth of comfort spread over her chest and, in reaction, her fingers closed around her phone more tightly. It was amazing how good that felt—to have a friend again. Still, looking around her apartment, Cat frowned. The carpet really needed a good vacuum and she should probably plump up the couch cushions, and she definitely needed to get the dishes done—not to mention sweep and mop and…
KITTY CAT
It would be cruel and unusual punishment. But thanks for the offer. Maybe tomorrow?
Almost as quickly as she hit send, Cat’s fingers hit her phone’s keyboard again.
KITTY CAT
Or maybe Sunday?
AMELIA K.
Okay. Keep me posted.
Pocketing her phone with a feeling of belonging, Cat walked over to her kitchen closet. Opening the pantry-style doors, she allowed a small groan to escape her mouth. Reaching inside, she grabbed out a bottle of disinfectant. Did she realize it was stupid to clean her apartment, top-to-bottom, before tearing it all apart tomorrow? Of course, she did. But she needed something to occupy her time. (And she didn’t want Matt to think she was a slob or anything.)
Two hours later, sweaty after her deep-clean, Cat put her mop away. Her face was flushed and her wrists and fingers ached from the level of scrubbing and grubbing she’d performed. Turning in a small circle, she nodded, at last content. It had been worth it though. The floors sparkled, the pictures gleamed in their frames, and her couch had never looked more…fluffy.
Ripping off her rubber gloves, she brushed the sweat off her forehead with one arm. “Okay,” she said to the quiet house. “Now it’s time to get the real work started.” With that, she retrieved her screwdriver from her junk drawer. Biting down on her lip, she cautiously moved from door to door, carefully taking off the hinges and setting each cabinet, one on top of the other, on her kitchen table.
It was a little after eleven when she was finally finished. Brushing her hands against her worn jeans, she surveyed her work. “Girl, you got this,” she realized, her eyes scanning the disaster zone that currently doubled as her kitchen—but it was a clean disaster zone. It was an important distinction. Every cabinet and cupboard stared back at her, inviting the eye to see every can of soup and packet of rice, every kitchen appliance, and jars of preserves she usually kept hidden behind closed doors.
“It’s ready,” she decided, but only after taking a couple of minutes to organize the arrangement of her dry storage. Then, without a backward glance, lest she should find yet one more item to clean or organize, she headed for her bedroom. Pausing only long enough to strip out of her jeans and t-shirt, she landed with a plop on her bed. She fell asleep, face-down, on top of her comforter.
When her alarm clock woke her the next morning, Cat groaned into the watery light filtering through her thin window curtains. Pulling herself up and off the bed, she grumbled toward her bathroom.
“Welcome to the great weekend waste,” she muttered, ignoring the flop in her stomach when she remembered that Matt would be at her door in less than two hours. With that, she flicked on her shower.
By eight o’clock, she was just pouring herself a cup of coffee when her apartment buzzed. Since she was standing right beside her intercom system—she hadn’t wanted to make him wait outside, after all, Cat hit the ADMIT button almost as quickly as the bell pealed. Throwing open her apartment door, she poked her head out into the hallway just as the front door opened. Raising up her hand, she waved in greeting.
“Morning Matt!”
In an incredibly more normal tone of voice, Matt responded: “Hey Cat.” Hoisting a canvas bag over one shoulder, a toolkit slung over the other, Matt walked forward to greet her.
“Need help carrying anything?” She asked, moving out into the hall to allow him entrance into the building. “Just follow the hall to the end. Kitchen’s on the left,” she called after him.
“Thanks. I’m good. I just have the brushes left.”
Nodding idiotically, she rushed after him, her stockinged feet padding hastily in his wake. “Okay. What can I do to help set up?” Slowing her pace, Cat cringed. The brightness of her voice had only increased since Matt’s arrival. When she was nervous, she tended to get chatty. And her voice tended to rise—like an octave.
Dumping his bag on the floor, Matt thankfully hadn’t seemed to notice her sharp pitch. Instead, his hands on his hips, he nodded to the floor. “Help spread out the drop cloths?”
“Absolutely.” Biting down on the word, she forced herself to speak more slowly, lowly. “Uh, any particular way you’d like me to lay them out?”
Lifting his gaze, Matt gave her a level look. Actually, it was a little more impatient than that. “No. Just cover the floor and anything else you don’t want to be splattered with paint.”
Okay. Point taken. It was a stupid question. Feeling her face flush, she lowered her gaze as she walked over to the bag. Ignoring him, she reached inside for the cloth.
She’d almost completely covered the floor by the time he returned with the paintbrushes and cans. Glancing up from her position on the floor, she watched him place the brushes on the counter. “So, uh, not to sound like a total newb or anything—”
“Never.”
Ignoring his overt mockery, Cat continued. “But, um, what should we do first?”
Matt gave her a hopeful glance. “Coffee?”
“Oh!” Jumping to her feet, the drop cloth slip-sliding loosely underneath her, Cat felt her legs buckle at the sudden shift. Reaching out, her fingers grabbing the counter, she just managed to stay on her feet.
“Easy there.” At the words, Matt reached out to grab onto her upper arm. The weight of those long, lean fingers brought her gaze skipping up to his brown eyes. She surprised a look of concern and something else…something darker, in his expression for just a second before it was suddenly gone, replaced by a look of wry amusement.
“Yeah. I, uh…” but his hand, still wrapped around her arm, was distracting. Slowing pulling herself completely upright, her legs firm underneath her once more, Cat shot him a teasing glance. “No sudden movements. Got it.”
The fine lines around his brown eyes crinkled a little in response. When he spoke, his voice seemed lower, gruffer than normal. “All good now?”
There was something in that look that sent a shiver down her spine, a tingle up her stomach—but all the same, Cat managed a jerky nod. “Yeah. I’m, ah, I’m steady.” Her breath rattled loudly in her ears, and she feared the telling sound was filling up the small space in the kitchen.
But his only reaction was a wink as he let his hand go from her arm.
“Right then,” Cat said, clearing her throat. “Coffee. Let me get you a cup.” Turning with exaggerated care, she reached for a coffee mug. “Cream or sugar?”
“No. Black is fine.”
As she poured the coffee, the rich aroma of hazelnut flavor filling the room, she watched him sling the leather toolbelt across his hips. God, as if the man needed an accessory to make him even hotter?
Putting the pot back on the warmer, she held out the mug. “Okay. What’s next?”
“First, I drink this.”
She glanced down at her feet, mostly because she wasn’t sure where else to look. Staring directly at Matt seemed dangerous. No, scratch that. It seemed all too transparent. “Right.”
“Then we tape.”
She scrunched her nose. “Ugh. I hate that part.”
“Everyone does.”
“Okay.” Walking timidly over the cloth underfoot, she brought herself up to the table where the brushes sat. Beside them, in that universal blue of a day spent painting, was the roll of tape. “All right. Any strategy to this?”
Leaning back against her counter, he grinned at her over the pottery mug. “Have you ever painted before? Anything?”
Pouting, Cat held out the tape. “No teasing, remember?”
He held up the hand not holding the coffee. “No mockery. Just incredulity.”
She narrowed her gaze. “I feel like we’re splitting hairs, here.”
Straightening up, setting his cup on the counter, Matt approached her. There was something predatory in the silent way he moved, in how close to her he came before finally stopping. Cat’s head was forced to tip backward as his body come up to hers. Then, holding her breath, she felt his fingers lift, grazing hers as he slid the tape out of her grasp.There was something suggestive about the motion.
Cat felt her chest constrict at the moment.
Her eyes, guarded now, watched as he slowly ripped a long piece of tape off the roll. “Just stick it to the border of the area to be painted and stretch it taut. Pretty simple.”
Swallowing, she took the piece of tape he held out for her. She wasn’t sure what was happening. But something was, and it didn’t have a whole hell of a lot to do with painting. Grabbing the edge of the tape, she set it across the top edge of the backsplash. Then, pressing down with her thumb, she pulled it across the length.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “Pretty simpl—”
Hissing to a shocked close, she felt her hand being lifted once more. She felt her hand being lifted once more. Holding her wrist, Matt pressed his thumb over hers, running them back and forth over the blue line of tape. The pad of his thumb pressed firmly against hers.
She held her breath as sensations flooded her system. The wall stared back at her absently as she let him led her movements.
“The tape needs to be flat. Paint will find its way inside it, otherwise,” he said, leaning forward so his voice was little more than a whisper in her ear.
She didn’t hear one damn word he said.
