Page 16 of Five Days in July
He scans my face and seems satisfied that I’m not going to faint. He steps back a pace but keeps one of my hands in his.
I’m glad it’s darker now so he can’t see how badly my cheeks are flaming. This isn’t the first panic attack I’ve had in public, but the way this one snuck up on me feels like a betrayal. I’m both embarrassed that Matt saw what happened and comforted by his presence.
As we pick our way up the path, Matt’s hand slides to the small of my back and guides me forward.
“Don’t look now, but they’re making some assumptions.”
My head darts up to see Al and Annie crowded in the doorway. They’re watching us with the sappy smiles parents usually get when their kids do something they think is cute.
I dig a pointy elbow into Matt’s side and hear Al’s deep rolling laugh ring out.
“I think I’m going to like you, dear.” Annie steps outside and grabs me up into a strong hug.
I tentatively pat her on the back as she squeezes me tighter, confused by the friendly welcome.
“Let her up for air, Annie, and let’s eat,” Matt says from beside me.
“Oh yes. I left the lasagna in the oven. Should be ready by now.”
I can smell the cheese and tomato sauce from here, and I imagine this is what coming home must feel like to most people. My mom was not one to cook much, which explains my dining out habit. As I breathe in the aromas of a home-cooked meal, the last remnants of the panic attack fade away.
Annie ushers me into the back hallway, where I kick off my shoes. Matt steps in, carrying my groceries and putting them in the large chest freezer under a row of mostly coats in camouflage, plaid, and the distinct blaze orange of hunting gear.
I have a hunch Annie doesn’t need to buy much meat during the year.
“Hurry up, I’m hungry!” Al calls from the connecting kitchen. I hear the clink of plates and a cabinet shutting.
“I’m serious. If you want to get out of here, just scratch your nose or something.” The boyish grin is back on Matt’s face, and it sends a little frisson of attraction through my brain.
“Thanks for the escape plan.” How does this man, who has known me less than a day, read me so well?
“What do you want to drink, dear?” Annie peers around the doorframe.
“Just water is fine, thank you.”
“You want the usual, Matty?”
“Yes, please, Annie.”
She disappears from the doorway, and I hear her talking with Al. It seems like they’re working as a team, getting more plates down and pulling out extra silverware.
“What’s your usual?”
“Homemade Arnold Palmer.” He nods toward the kitchen. “She likes to try different teas and make me guess the flavors.”
“That sounds like it could be dangerous.”
He snorts. “Only when Al gets involved. Annie takes too much pride in her mixology.”
We step into a bright kitchen. Stark white cabinetry contrasts with lemon yellow floral wallpaper and modern stainless-steel appliances.
A large breakfast nook is filled with newspapers and piles of junk mail. I think I see a coffee mug hiding behind one of the towers.
The rest of the kitchen is clean and orderly. A fresh row of herbs is growing in small painted pots on the windowsill above the sink, and family pictures are on the fridge. There’s even one that looks like a younger Matt with another couple, who I assume are his mom and dad.
“Through here, dear,” Annie calls while bustling into the kitchen and heading to the oven.
I step through the dining room doorway into another brightly wallpapered room. This time it’s a mix of pink and yellow florals on the upper half of the wall and white woodwork on the lower. There’s a clear cottage trend in these two rooms, and I wonder how the rest of the house looks.