Life Reconstructed: Chapter Thirty-Three

Crying in her car helped a little, though it made for a foggy view. Pulling up outside her apartment some minutes later, Cat reached for her phone. Picking it up, she told herself that she wasn’t upset to see that Matt hadn’t tried to reach her. Not even a text message. Then she told herself that again. Pulling up Amelia’s contact, she dialed.

“Hey girl!”

“Hey, are you free?”

“Are you alright? You sound…stuffy.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Cat assured her, the sleeve of one hand wiping away the last traces of tears. Looking out of her windshield, she said. “I actually wanted to talk to you…”

“Thinking about getting some new professional headshots?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Oh.” And then: “Really? That’s, that’s awesome!” There was the sound of papers rustling in the background. “Let me see—I’m guessing you’ll want to take them at your office.”

“The credit union? No. Definitely not.”

“No?”

“Conflict of interest.”

“Conflict of… what? What are you talking about?”

“…Plus, I always thought that space was so…beige. Plastic plants and bland prints on the walls.” Cat shook her head. “No, no, I want something more aesthetic than that, something that’ll showcase my personality more. God, that is, I hope I’m not beige. Thoughts?”

“Cat what the hell are you talking about?”

“Do you, uh, do you want to get dinner?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh, sure.”

“Meet me at Cranky’s in ten minutes?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yup.”

“Is this about Matt?”

“Nope.”

If Amelia heard the warning in those abrupt words, she heeded them wisely. With a quick nod, she said: “Ten minutes sounds good.”

Hanging up, Cat didn’t even bother to get out of her vehicle. Turning around, she took herself back into town, her eyes carefully staring straight ahead as she passed the hardware store, nor did she look back when she parked in the rinky parking lot catty-corner.

Walking into Cranky’s, Cat quickly nabbed a seat at a high-top table. When Amelia appeared at the front door five minutes later, she quickly flagged her over. Plunking down in her own seat, Amelia’s smile of greeting faltered when she saw the black binder, sitting beside one of Cat’s elbows.

Her eyes narrowed as they meet the gleam of excitement in her friend’s gaze. “Cat…” There was a loaded warning in that tone. “Come on.”

“No.” Laying her hand protectively over the cover, Cat shook her head. “No, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

Amelia pursed her lips. “Good, because what I’m thinking right now doesn’t look good for you.”

“It’s not about Matt.”

Amelia nodded slowly. “Proceed.”

Cat’s lips pulled apart in a tremulous smile. “You started your own business.”

“Yes.” Amelia cocked her head a little to one side. “As you well know.”

“So, well…” with a bush of her hand, Cat pushed the binder across the table toward Amelia. “I was hoping, you’d take a look at this. It’s just a mock-up example—”

“Something I well know,” Amelia couldn’t help reminding her.

“And just, you know, tell me if there’s anything I’m missing. And then.” Cat bite her lip. “And then I was hoping you’d run through exactly how you filled out the forms. I’ve been looking into it pretty extensively the past couple of weeks, but it’d be great to have a live example.”

“Whoa!” Holding up a hand to cut off the torrent of words pouring out of Cat’s mouth, Amelia blinked. “Want to fill me in here?”

Cat shrugged. “Well…”

“Is this for you?”

“Uh…”

“Oh my God, Cat!”

“Look, I’m not—I’m not sure yet. I’m just, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. To get a handle on things. See, what I want to do is…”

And finally, Cat started to realize her own dreams.

 

 

 

She didn’t hear from Matt the rest of the week. Then again, she didn’t bother trying to reach out to him, either. Even if she’d wanted to (and she did!), Cat found her evenings full to bursting as she researched different filing forms, networking groups, and website design functions. Her evenings were quiet but productive, the only sound accompanying the sip of her coffee, the click-tap-tap of the keyboard under her fingertips, and the scratch-scratch of her pen against applications.

Still, she thought about him. Wondered what he was doing. Wondered if he was missing her. She thought up myriad reasons to call or text, or just run down to the hardware store. All seemingly innocent reasons, but at the last minute she’d scratch the thought. She was done being the only vulnerable one.

She felt silly. Missing him so much. For all intents and purposes, she’d only just met the man. She’d only just recently become aware of the timbre of his voice, the cedar smell that seemed to cling to his skin, the taste of his lips—his breath.

But she did miss him. His dry sense of humor, the tingle of his fingers against her skin, the way he’d poke fun of her until she found herself laughing along with him. She wanted to reach out to him, but she wasn’t sure if he’d even care. He hadn’t seemed to when she’d walked out of his warehouse. Certainly, he hadn’t come up with myriad reasons to reach out to her. She wanted him to make the first move, to answer her insecurities with his own.

Because she’d always been the one trying—she’d always been the one seeking him out, requiring his help, popping in and out of his store. This time, this time she wanted to be chased.

“Anyway, he was right,” she murmured up at her ceiling one night. “It’s time that I focus my attention on me.”

Of course, that was easier said than done, and by the following Friday, she’d lost a couple of pounds and more than a few hours of sleep. Sitting behind her desk at the credit union, she waited. Waited for the clock to reach closing time—though none of that showed on her face; she met her scheduled clients with a professional demeanor and her full concentration. Still, it drained her. By four o’clock, she felt like a limp ragdoll as she punched in some data reports.

The last thing she wanted was another knock on the door, another meeting, another round of conversation across her desk. But it was exactly what she got.

“Cat?” Poking her head around the door, Marge, one of the front tellers, smiled tentatively. “Got a spare minute?”

Cat swallowed back her instinctive reply. “Uh, sure, what’s—” but before she could finish her sentence, Marge’s head disappeared, only to reemerge sections later, followed closely behind the tall length of Matthew McBoy.

Cat’s mouth dropped open just the tiniest bit.

“Here you go, sir,” Marge said, motioning him inside. With a quick smile at Cat, she retreated back into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

A beat of silence spread across the office. By now Cat had carefully pressed her lips back together. But her hands, clenched against the side of her desk, gave her nerves away.

“Matt? What, what are you doing here?” She felt her eyes grow larger in her head when, in response, he casually pulled out on the chairs across her desk and took a seat.

“Well,” he said, crossing one ankle over his thigh. “You came barging into my place of work, I figured it was only fair that I returned the favor.”

The words would have been threatening had it not been for the gentleness amusement in his voice. Cat felt her hands pressing more sharply against the faux-wood of her desk. She nodded. “Okay.”

Another beat of silence passed. His habitual baseball cap was slung especially low over his forehead, shadowing his eyes. Still, Cat waited. This was her territory. She felt comfortable here. Being a loan officer, she was used to silences. Awkward, tough silences. She could play this game all day…

“You were right.”

Cat leaned forward when the words, softly said, suddenly floated into the room. “I was?”

Matt smiled, his gaze flicking up to catch hers. “Going to make this hard on me?”

“Not deliberately.” Cat licked her lips. It was just the surprise of seeing him, especially after radio silence. She’d thought for sure…well, no matter about that now. Fighting to keep a smile off her face, she waited.

“I was still mad. Or maybe not, I don’t know,” Matt confessed, his eyes lowering to her desk. “But I, I didn’t want to fight that look that enters your eyes everything time woodworking gets mentioned. So I, well, wait—”

“What?”

“Is that the binder?” Reaching forward, Matt’s fingers slid toward the damned thing.

“God,” Cat grumbled, “I should really switch it over to a blue folder or something. Just to make everyone shut up.”

“Huh?”

Blushing at the hot tone of her voice, Cat shrugged. “Yes. Yeah, it’s the binder. But I promise—” holding up both hands, she stared Matt down. “I promise, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

He was still leaning forward, his fingers splayed across the front of it. “What am I thinking?”

“That I should have destroyed it already. I promised to do that but I didn’t. And you’re thinking that I’m, you know…”

“Just waiting to attack me with it again?”

“Something like that,” Cat mumbled at the humor in his voice. Taken aback, she wasn’t sure how to respond. “But I’m not. I learned my lesson.”

Nabbing the binder up, Matt settled back with it on his lap. “Then why do you still have it.”

“It’s for me, actually.”

“You?” Glancing up at her, his eyes twinkled. “Thinking of getting into woodworking? Am I going to have some competition?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” she cried. “Besides, how could I possibly compete with someone who doesn’t do woodworking?”

Matt pursed his lips, but instead of answering he opened the book. Flipping absently through the book, he said: “I was actually hoping you still had it.”

“Why?”

“So I could maybe have it back.”

 

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