Life Reconstructed: Chapter Twenty-Seven

The next morning, a little more hungover than she wanted to admit, Cat took herself into the bathroom. Over an hour later, she re-emerged. Her hair was styled artlessly around her face, her fingers mussing the roots for more volume as she entered her bedroom, a fluffy blue towel tied tightly across her body. She’d spent longer than usual on her makeup, as well. Her eyes held just the smallest hint of smoky edges, the contours a combination of a dusky pink, coral beige, and just a breath of brushed grey for dimension. It felt both subtle but polished. Likewise, a dusting of blush gave her cheeks a nice glow and complimented the nice splash of color on her lips.

Now it was time to pick out an outfit. Standing in front of her closet, Cat bit her bottom lip as her eyes ran through her inventory. Black skirt? No. That’d be too obvious. What about that olive-green romper? Again, Cat shook her head no, her lips puckering. Totally inappropriate for a workshop.

“I want to look hot but casual,” Cat said, her lips twisting as her eyes canvassed her options. “And probably no to anything that showcases my legs,” she admitted begrudgingly, her stubborn eyes staring at a pair of blue shorts that emphasized their shapeliness.

Sighing, she tapped a finger against her chin. “What about that washed blue shirt—the chambray one,” she muttered, her fingers slipping through the hangers as quickly as she was speaking. “Aha, there it is,” she said, plucking it free.

Holding it up for final inspection, she nodded. “Yup. This is perfect. It’s both feminine but loose-fitting,” she considered. Then, as if she’d only just heard her voice at that moment, Cat cringed. “God, you really do need a dog. This is getting pathetic, and more than a little embarrassing.”

Shrugging into the blouse, she nimbly buttoned up the front of the shirt. Snapping a pair of skinny jeans out of her bottom dresser drawer, she tugged them up and over her hips. Surveying the finished result in the mirror, her hands coming to play nervously with her hair again, Cat felt her stomach knot.

She looked good. If only her hands would stop sweating.

 

 

 

“Knock, knock,” Cat called out weakly, her voice echoing softly against the high walls. Poking her head inside the back door of the hardware store, she let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting as she sought out Matt’s tall silhouette.

“In here,” she heard from the direction of his workshop.

Opening the door wider, she walked inside. The heels of her short brown boots clipped pleasantly against the concrete flooring.

“Okay, boss,” she said, sidling up to the table saw that she sort of considered to be his office desk. Matt was sitting on an rounded barstool before it, staring down at a piece of drafting paper stretched out across the base, a pencil in his mouth as he glared down at the sheet of paper. Pulled up beside him was another chair—the seat of which was splashed with an advertisement for a local brewery. Tossing her purse absently, Cat plopped down on the stool.

There would hardly have been enough light in the warehouse if it hadn’t been for the short table lamp Matt had jimmied beside him—it looked like a relic from the eighties with its orangish-red color and coiled cord. It shone a yellow light down on the large scroll of paper laid out on the table.

“Is this it?” Cat asked a little breathlessly, leaning slightly forward for a better view of the sketch. She’d never thought to consider the amount of work that went into designing and building a piece of furniture. Unwillingly, a stab of guilt ate at her sides. She’d never considered what she’d been asking him to do—and all so that she’d have an excuse to see him again.

Amelia had been right, yesterday. It was time Cat stopped pretending what this was. At least, it was time she stopped pretending to herself.

Bending over the table, Cat whistled appreciatively. “Wow, you’re a beautiful drawer.”

Once the words had been spoken, Cat felt her nose crinkle. That was probably a stupid thing to say. Certainly, it sounded stupid to her ears. Shifting her gaze to Matt’s, she cringed at the sardonic expression playing over his face.

“Yeah, well, it sort of goes with the territory.”

“To be good with wood it’s only natural that someone is good with a pencil?” Cat wasn’t sure she was buying that.

Matt shrugged. “Well, maybe not natural, but like any muscle, the more you use it…”

Cat let it go. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in being complimented. Still, she was smart enough to know, and bad enough an artist to realize, he was deliberately downplaying his talent. “How long did this take?” She asked, nodding toward the blueprint.

Matt shrugged. “Not that long.”

Strumming her fingers against the tops of her thighs, Cat waited for Matt to expand on that. When he didn’t, his eyes instead going back to the drawing in front of him, his mouth frowning down at what he saw, she rolled her eyes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a fantastic conversationalist?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, really Matt, we’re here to work and if you don’t shut up this very instant…” Cat continued, winking at him when he raised his head with slight impatience.

“Bored already?”

“Well,” Cat considered, dropping her eyes back down to the drawing. “I’m not sure what I’m looking at here, exactly? Care to explain what I’m supposed to be doing?”

Matt made a sound in his throat. Then his finger lifted, gesturing toward the picture. “I’m mapping a design concept for the closet. What are your thoughts?”

“Is it to size?” Cat asked inanely, turning her head this way and that. “And this is the top, correct?”

“I’d hardly be looking at it upside down, would I?”

Cat pursed her lips in a prissy fashion. “Well, I don’t suppose I’d know.”

“Yes, Cat, this is the top.”

She ran her finger over the detailing of the arched door, with its grooved lines. “It’s very…pretty.” Acknowledging that this was perhaps not all that helpful, she shrugged: “I mean, honestly, it looks almost, like, antique, with the scrolled lines and the layers in the wood.”

Matt squinted. “Is it too much?”

“No!” At the quick response, Cat only shook her head vehemently. “I love it. I mean…it looks beautiful. A conversation piece, really. Plus, it’s very feminine which Amelia will appreciate.”

“Do you think it looks big enough,” he asked, his hand sweeping toward the draw-in back wall of Amelia’s studio. “She sent me measurements of the studio this morning. This wardrobe is considerably longer than the piece that’s currently in there…”

Bending to the task, Cat considered the image. “I’m not sure…again, I think this would be a better question to ask Amelia.”

“You’re right. And I intend to, I’m only trying to gauge your response so that when I send the mock-ups to her, she’ll have a couple options to choose from.”

“And you think I’m the best person to ask?” Cat returned, lifting her head to look at him. For the first time since they’d met, Cat felt like perhaps she had the upper hand. The excuse was weak. If he wanted input, he’d ask someone who knew something about this kind of thing.

“I think this was your idea,” Matt said.

“Well, sure, but…”

“And I also think this is what you had in mind.”

“Being on the design team?”

“No,” Matt returned, his hand reaching up to turn Cat’s head toward him. “This,” he whispered, leaning forward until his lips brushed against hers. Feeling her stomach muscles jerk at the surprising speed of his movement, Cat’s lips trembled under the weight of his.

Pulling back just a hair, Matt’s brown, brown eyes looked into hers. “Or maybe I was wrong?”

“No,” Cat admitted, her breath coming in soft gasps. He was so close to her. Right there. Her hands went up to reach for the collar of his shirt. “No, you weren’t wrong.”

 

 

 

Lounging in her apartment later that evening, Cat’s stomach still knotted up in memory of that kiss. Throwing her pajama clad legs up on her coffee table, she let her eyes wonder down to her lap. They hadn’t managed to get in much more work on Amelia’s wardrobe that afternoon. In fact, as she recalled, by the time she’d left, the drafting paper had floated unnoticed to the floor.

What had started as a simple kiss of exploration had quickly ignited. Flooded with the newfound confidence that despite his sometimes-deadpan expression, Matt felt something for her too, Cat had sunk into their second kiss, her arms winding around his neck, her fingers playing with the short hairs at the base there.

Hearing his muffled groan, she’d slipped off the bar stool, her legs bringing her inside the space between his splayed legs. Letting one hand move from his neck to the side of his face, her fingers had pricked against the stubble of his unshaven face.

“God, Cat,” he’d groaned, and that’s when her feet had been lifted off the floor. In one smooth movement, Matt had stood up, his hands grabbing the backs of her upper thighs to twine her legs around his waist.

Moaning at the sensation—the rough feel of his jeans, the soft flannel of his shirt pressed tightly against her chest, Cat hadn’t stopped to think. She’d only opened her mouth wider, her lips melding against his own.

When he’d moved, she hadn’t thought to wonder where he was going, had only felt the cool material of Formica underneath her, the cool weight of the warm-water faucet nudging against her right side. It was only then that she’d realized he’d taken her to the makeshift countertop. Just as soon as the thought materialized, it was vanished, replaced by the sensations of his fingers on her waist, his hands slowly sliding up and down her ribcage.

“Cat?” he asked, his voice breaking into her mouth. Her name was traced with a question as he hands slowly, tantalizing moved just a little higher.

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. Arching her back, she answered: “Yes.”

That’s when she felt his fingers flick open first one and then another of the buttons on her shirt. When she felt the cool air of the warehouse settle over her shoulders, Cat forgot to notice anything else, her body blindly following his lead.

“Well, he’d been right about one thing,” Cat giggled to herself. “I definitely some sawdust on me.”

She’d been all but bared to the waist, the only remaining clothing her bra when Cat had felt Matt slowly break away from her clinging lips. Breathing heavily, Matt had leaned his forehead against hers, his mouth hovering temptingly just above hers.

 

“Matt?”

In response, a rueful smile just graced his lips. “Your dangerous.”

Glancing up at him, she smiled lazily. “You too.”

“Yeah—” Moving suddenly, Matt reached forward, his fingers clamping down against her waist. In one fluid motion, he hoisted her up off the counter and, stepping back, set her gently down on her feet once more. Then he let his hands go down to his sides. “That’s why I think it’s time for you to go.”

“Go?” Reaching blindly for her shirt, which he was now holding out for her, Cat tugged her arm in one sleeve. Then the other.

Matt watched her with patent amusement, and more than just a hint of desire. “Cat, I’m not about to seduce you in my warehouse.”

That had effectively slowed down her hurried pace. Pausing over a button, she’d lifted her eyes up to his. “But you do want to seduce me.”

When she didn’t seem interested anymore, Matt’s fingers quickly did up the rest of the buttons, his movements almost frenzied in their haste. “I think that’s pretty obvious.”

She caught her breath, a gleam entering her eyes. “When?”

But Matt only laughed—it had been a big sound, a rough release of pent-up frustration. Leaning down, he placed his hands on either side of her upturned face, giving her a quick kiss. “How about dinner first?”

Staring up into his eyes, Cat nodded. The most contrary feelings bubbled for attention: regret and frustration that he’d ended things when he had, appreciation that he hadn’t let things go too far (and in a warehouse—really, at least the man had more sense than her); and pure and unadulterated excitement over his proposal.

He could have done anything he wanted to her two minutes ago. She’d not only have let him, she’d have eagerly helped him. But he hadn’t wanted to do that, not here. That had to mean something special.

“When?” She asked again, her voice a little husky, a little breathless with it.

“Tomorrow?”

“Do I really have to go?”

Matt let his gaze sweep over her disheveled appearance, her hair wild where his fingers had splayed into their depths. There was something so complimentary in the tautening of his features when he nodded in affirmative. “If I want to get any work done today.”

 

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