Chapter 92

After seeing Matthew off, my thoughts were a mess for a good while before I managed to pull myself back together.

Joanna came back from walking him out and dragged a chair next to my bed with a grin on her face. "Mr. Griffin is so thoughtful. I heard he turned down work overseas just to fly back — how sweet is that?"

She gave me a playful look. I knew exactly what she was doing. I reached over and pinched her on the elbow. "Keep it up."

Joanna winced and pulled back, rubbing the spot. "Ouch, that was mean. But I'm just saying it how it is. I think Mr. Griffin's really good to you — way better than Michael. Plus he's richer, better-looking, and actually pays attention to you."

I glanced down, keeping my voice light. "He seems great right now. But who knows how things turn out?"

Joanna stared at me like I'd just said something unhinged. "You're in your twenties and you're already this jaded? Okay, yes, Michael was a jerk, but you can't let that stop you from going after something better."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "You're one to talk. You seemed pretty thrilled walking Mr. Tudor out just now."

That got her. Joanna dropped her gaze, suddenly fidgeting with her fingers. "I mean... he is really good-looking. I don't know how I didn't notice before. And after everything he did to help with the family situation, it just kind of hit me." She glanced up at me, a little hesitant. "You don't think he's a good guy, Claire?"

I smiled. "Who am I to judge? He seems great. Although—"

I stopped myself. The rest of the sentence stayed in my throat. I didn't want to hurt her feelings.

From what I could tell, Ryan didn't seem interested in dating anyone.

"Claire. You were about to say Ryan doesn't like me, weren't you?"

Joanna didn't even look bothered. She plucked a grape off the bunch and popped it in her mouth, completely unbothered. "I already know he's not into me. He probably thinks I'm just a kid."

There was a faint trace of annoyance in her voice.

"He's eight years older than you," I said. "Of course he thinks of you that way."

Joanna wagged her finger at me. "Claire, that's where you're wrong. Eight years is nothing — people get together with way bigger gaps than that."

"And besides, I like him. Not his age or his background. I just think he's great."

That surprised me a little. I'd always known she was upbeat and open about what she wanted, but I hadn't expected her to be this clear-headed about love too.

"So what are you going to do about it? He really doesn't seem interested."

Joanna stood up, hands on her hips, practically buzzing with determination. "I'm going to go for it."

I blinked. "Seriously?"

She nodded. "I like him, so I'm not just going to let it go. Claire, do you know how rare it is to actually meet someone you like? I'd rather put myself out there and have no regrets than sit around wondering."

She made it all sound so simple — but feelings were never that clean.

"You're not scared he'll turn you down?"

"Please, that's such an old-fashioned way to think about it. Even if he rejects me, that doesn't change how I feel. I just want to be honest with him. If he doesn't feel the same way, that's on him. At least I'll know I tried."

Something about the way she said it felt like it was aimed at me.

Joanna caught me staring and made a face — eyebrows wiggling, eyes practically screaming that yes, she was absolutely talking about me.

I didn't say a word. I just slid down under the covers and pulled the blanket over my head. "Alright, I'm tired. I want to sleep. Go hang out with Mom."

Joanna clicked her tongue. "Claire, you can't just hide every time a question gets too real. Personally, I think Mr. Griffin is really good for you."

I didn't answer. I stayed buried under the blanket.

She muttered something under her breath, then got up, pulled the door shut, and left.

I threw the blanket back and stared at the ceiling, breathing slowly.

If I were Joanna's age, maybe I'd have that same nerve — just diving in headfirst. But I had too many things to weigh now.

I don't even know how I eventually fell asleep.

---

When I woke up, the lights were off. Pale light filtered in through the window, just enough to see by. The world outside was full of noise, but in here it was quiet — like I'd been sealed off from everything. A hollow kind of loneliness settled over me.

"You're up? I'll get the light."

A low, calm voice came from somewhere in the room. I startled and looked up.

A tall figure was sitting by the window. When he saw me looking, he seemed to smile — then pushed off the wall, one hand sliding into his pocket, and walked over to flip on the light.

The room lit up, and I could finally make out his face.

Matthew.

How long had he been here?

He hadn't even woken me up.

"You looked like you were out cold, so I didn't want to disturb you. I dozed off a little by the window myself. Sorry if I scared you."

I shook my head. "How long have you been here?"

"Not that long." He was already opening the insulated food container as he said it.

The smell hit me first — rich, golden chicken broth rising in soft curls of steam, filling the whole room.

I reached for my phone and checked the time. I'd been asleep for six hours.

A proper broth like that took at least two hours to simmer. He'd been waiting here a while.

I felt a little sheepish. "You could've woken me up, you know."

I started to sit up, and Matthew reached over to steady me, then tucked a pillow behind my lower back.

"The doctor said rest is the best thing for you right now. And the best rest is sleep."

He hadn't even been back that long — and he'd already talked to my doctor. Of course he had.

I was still turning that over in my head when a bowl appeared in front of me. I looked up and met Matthew's eyes — dark and deep, with something almost luminous behind them, his mouth curved in a quiet smile.

"Drink up. I brought some for your mom too. Good for recovery."

He really thought of everything.

I thanked him and reached for the spoon — but before I could get there, Matthew picked it up himself, scooped out a spoonful, blew on it gently, and held it out to my lips.

I froze. "My hands still work fine."

I said it, but my eyes drifted sideways. Anywhere but at him.

This felt a little too intimate.

Matthew watched me with that almost-smile. "Can't I feed you if I want to?"

"I mean, technically, but—" Before I could finish, the spoon was already at my lips.

The broth was warm and rich, and it spread through me all at once.

My eyes lit up.

He caught my reaction and smiled, already scooping another spoonful. "My housekeeper is an incredible cook. You'll see for yourself next time you come over."

He wasn't wrong. It was every bit as good as the restaurant we'd gone to last time, maybe better.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking about whether any of this was too intimate.

I just let Matthew feed me, spoonful by spoonful.