Chapter 2
“I saw that old man with the walker dunk you at the fair Friday afternoon.”
“He had a mean fastball.” Lindsay’s fingers slid over Matt’s when she took the dirty coffee cups he was handing her. “A regular Randy Johnson at the plate.” She hid the sexual jolt zinging through her by placing the coffee cups in the top rack of the dishwasher. “But it was for a good cause and we raised a lot of money.”
“Your nose is pink. I told you to use sunscreen.” He moved sideways, reaching for a stack of plates on the far end of the counter.
Their hips bumped.
Lindsay gritted her teeth.
In the field, she was a pro and acted accordingly without fail. But working alongside Matt at the fire station always put her on edge. The inadvertent brushing of various body parts during seemingly mundane chores sent her system into overdrive, leaving her flushed, breathless, and highly agitated by the time they were finished.
“And you were right. It’ll probably peel.” Lindsay ignored the TV blaring in the other room and focused all her energy on making small talk with Matt. She refused to let him know how much he affected her, not for anything in the world.
Why didn’t Joey’s proximity do funny things to her voice and wreak havoc with her system? He was certainly nice looking, and his muscular physique set plenty of female hearts aflutter. Just not Lindsay’s. She did like him. A lot. They’d been friends since she, he, and Matt attended the training academy together. But they’d only been dating the last three months. Lindsay kept hoping for sparks to fly between them, but so far, zip.
Maybe if she could just quit thinking about Matt all the time...
“I’m heading to Tucson later this morning to visit my parents and won’t be back until tomorrow,” he said, using the scouring pad to shove food scraps into the garbage disposal.
“Special occasion?”
“No. Family emergency. My mother called last night,” he said with a lack of concern.
“Is everything okay?” Lindsay suffered a small stab of guilt. Here she’d been totally absorbed with herself and all the while Matt was dealing with a crisis.
He shrugged. “Dad’s having chest pains and refuses to see a doctor. Mom’s worried, so she’s calling in reinforcements, namely me and my sister. I don’t know what she thinks we can do.”
As he talked, he rinsed dishes and passed them to her for loading into the dishwasher. Another man with Matt’s towering height and rugged build might have looked silly scraping food from plates, but not Matt. He handled a kitchen faucet water sprayer with the same skill he did a one and three-quarter inch fog nozzle.
Chores at the fire station were customarily divvied up among the crew. Emilio Chavez, the veteran among them, had cooked breakfast. While Matt and Lindsay cleared the table and washed the dishes, Dennis Bigelow tidied the common rooms. Cleaning of the bedrooms was left to each individual. Cleaning of the community bathrooms was shared.
In another thirty minutes, crew members from the next shift would begin arriving. Shortly thereafter, they’d be debriefed by the outgoing crew. At precisely eight a.m., the fire station would officially change hands.
“Why won’t he see a doctor?” Lindsay talked as she unplugged the coffee maker and emptied the basket of used grounds. There was talk of buying one of those single-serving models with the plastic cups, but their budget wouldn’t allow it.
Matt scowled and shook his head. Steam from the running hot water mingled with his perspiration and dampened the front of his uniform shirt. “He’s too busy.”
“Too busy to take care of his health?”
“Too busy for anything except work.”
Lindsay thought she saw a flicker of pain cross Matt’s face. If so, it vanished the next instant. “If your mother asked you to come down for a visit, it must be serious.”
“Maybe.” He gave her a crooked grin which more closely resembled a frown. “Or maybe it’s a ploy to assemble the family. With both kids out of the house and Dad working sixty plus hours a week, Mom’s alone a lot.”
“Would she really do that?”
Lindsay didn’t know Matt’s parents. Occasionally, he discussed his family life, and she had the distinct impression the Callahans weren’t close knit by any stretch of the imagination.
She sympathized, but only to a degree. Matt at least had a father. In Lindsay’s case, her dad had stuck around only long enough to see his baby daughter take her first steps, then left her and her mother for a commune outside Albuquerque, New Mexico. Lindsay’s mother said she always knew Jeremy Carpenter wasn’t the marrying kind. He’d lived up to Adelie Pfeiffer’s expectations and then some by not being the parenting kind either.
No great loss. Things eventually turned out well. Lindsay adored her stepfather and his care and concern for her almost made up for her real father’s abandonment. Almost.
Matt furrowed his brow in concentration. “It’s possible,” he said in answer to Lindsay’s question. “Mom’s good at pushing the right buttons. I’ll find out what’s going on with Dad for sure when I get there.”
“Take a nap before you leave. We were really busy last night.”
The crew had responded to four calls between the hours of ten at night and five in the morning; eight altogether for the entire twenty-four hour shift. None of them had managed more than a few snatches of sleep here and there.
Matt wiped his forehead with the back of his arm in a tired gesture. The effort mussed his hair. “I think I’ll crash first. Take off after lunch.” He handed her a frying pan. “What are you doing the rest of the weekend?”
“Not much. Going shopping this afternoon with my stepsister. If it doesn’t rain, that is.” Lindsay peered out the window at the overcast sky before turning away from Matt to load the frying pan. When she turned back, she misjudged her step and came face to face with a navy blue cotton tee-shirt pulled tight across rock hard pecs.
Startled, she reached behind her for the counter and much needed support. Matt gazed down at her, a me-Tarzan-you-Jane possessiveness in his eyes that set off enough sparks inside Lindsay to light up an entire city. At almost five-foot-eight, she was no midget. Yet, Matt had a way of making her feel small and dainty and gloriously female.
The moment passed as quickly as it came. Might never have happened at all. Matt stepped back and nonchalantly threw a dishtowel over his shoulder. Appearing not the least bit affected by what had just transpired, he reached into the sink and scooped up a handful of silverware, then passed the bundle to Lindsay, an almost apologetic smile pulling at the comers of his wide mouth.
She stared, suppressing the urge to smooth the short brown locks poking every which way on his head, her mind wandering. What did his hair feel like? Was it soft and smooth, or thick and coarse? She pictured the strands parting as she tunneled her fingers through them. Pictured herself cupping the back of his neck and pulling him down to her level as she stood on tiptoes, straining to meet him halfway.
He abruptly turned, holding out a spatula. Their gazes locked and the smile on his lips died. Whatever emotions he read in her expression prompted an immediate reaction. He stepped closer, lowered his head, and fixed his attention on her mouth.
“Aw…fuck it,” he said.
Lindsay went weak all over and dropped the forks and knives she’d been holding. The ensuing loud clatter brought her to her senses.
She knelt, more to escape Matt’s unsettling scrutiny than anything else. Her reprieve didn’t last. He followed her down, sandwiching her between the cabinet and the solid wall of his muscled torso. They were so close she felt his breath, heavy and rapid, on her cheek. She sensed the tightly coiled tension vibrating through him, smelled the faint odor of smoke and chemicals clinging to his clothes. With fumbling fingers and a pounding heart, she began retrieving the scattered forks and knives.
“What are you two doing in there?” Dennis Bigelow called from the other room. “Making a mess?”
“Making something,” Matt answered in a cheery voice that contradicted the dark intensity blazing in his eyes. He leaned in until their foreheads touched, and said in a seductive voice only she could hear, “What that is exactly depends on you.”
Lindsay jerked back, startled not so much by his brash challenge—Matt was a notorious flirt after all—as by the fact his flirting had obviously progressed beyond the harmless stage.
Reeling from the revelation, she stood on legs steady as cooked spaghetti noodles. Matt also rose. His legs, however, didn’t wobble, and he loomed over her, sure, strong, and determined.
Hot water poured from the faucet, sending a cloud of steam into the air. He didn’t seem to notice and watched her with unwavering concentration, reminding her of a predatory animal stalking its dinner. What was he waiting for? A reaction from her?
Unless…he really was interested in her and she’d been mistaken all along.
Could that be possible?
Seeing her own lust-induced symptoms mirrored in him, she thought the answer might be yes.
Deciding to test her newly discovered theory, she propped an arm on the edge of the counter and gave her head a saucy, take-that shake.
“Aren’t you going to put those in the dishwasher?” Stone faced, Matt motioned to the forks and knives still clutched in her hand.
“Uh, yes. I am.”
All right. Cheesy fashion model poses didn’t work. But Lindsay refused to quit just yet. She hadn’t succeeded in a profession where countless others failed by giving up at the first bump in the road. Present her with a challenge, and she’d rise to meet it.
Remembering Cassandra Hughes from training academy and her flouncing fanny, Lindsay spun around on the balls of her feet. She bent over and wiggled her bottom as she deposited the utensils in the bin. From behind her came a hissing sound. Matt sucking in air.
Now that’s more like it. She glowed with self-satisfaction. Just for fun, she tried the move again, this time putting a little more swing in her gyrations. She waited, ears straining, for a low grunt of male appreciation or some other indication Matt liked what he saw.
Nothing.
Had she rendered him speechless?
She wiggled her bottom a third time, putting everything she had into it.
“What’s the matter, Pfeiffer?” Dennis Bigelow’s booming voice filled the kitchen. “Ants in your pants?”
Lindsay jackknifed to a standing position and turned sharply, slamming her right shin into the open dishwasher door. Pain radiated up her leg, but she didn’t care. She was alone in the kitchen except for Dennis. Matt had disappeared and worse, Dennis had witnessed her idiotic behavior. She’d never live this down, not in a million years.
He broke into laughter, his beefy shoulders shaking like an erupting volcano. “That was some show. Wish I’d recorded it. Where’s my phone when I need it?” He wiped imaginary tears from his eyes. “I swear, Pfeiffer, you should have seen yourself.” He bent over and swiveled his large posterior from side to side, puckering his face into an unflattering female parody and making kissing noises.
Lindsay burned with mortification and fury. Fury at Dennis Bigelow for being an unqualified jerk; fury at Matt for abandoning her; and fury mostly at herself for behaving like a fool. Matt attracted to her? Obviously not! No doubt her pink nose was now indistinguishable from the rest of her complexion.
She slammed the dishwasher door shut and flipped off the faucet, anxious to retreat to the sanctuary of her bedroom where she could recover and regroup before their relief arrived. The story would be repeated for their benefit and reach all levels of the department by noon tomorrow. Lindsay needed to steel herself for the barrage of teasing headed her way.
“Cute, Bigelow.” She breezed past him, knowing if she showed one sign of weakness, he’d harass her unmercifully, like a schoolyard bully who picks on the littlest kid in class. Her only defense was a strong offense. “Wear a dress and maybe some poor slob will ask you out. How long’s it been since you had a date anyway? A year?”
His belly laugh followed her down the hall and to her bedroom. She shut her door seconds before angry tears filled her eyes. Heaving a bed pillow into the wall was a poor substitute for screaming out in frustration.
~~*~~
MATT WINCED AT the sounds of Dennis Bigelow’s laughter and Lindsay’s bedroom door slamming shut. He’d overhead enough before his hasty exit to his own bedroom to piece together what had transpired between his two coworkers. The thought of that unpleasant scene countered the very visible side effects of Lindsay’s little hip swinging dance back there in the kitchen. Whatever game she’d been playing, Matt had been up for it. Literally.
Lucky for him, Dennis had been so enamored with Lindsay’s finer asset waving in the air he hadn’t paid much attention to Matt. Not so lucky for Lindsay. Dennis was a topnotch firefighter, but he had his faults, one of them being a warped sense of humor. With a loud groan, Matt sat on the edge of his bed and scrubbed his face. He was a lowlife of the worst kind for running out on Lindsay and leaving her alone with Dennis. But he’d had no choice.
Their full body contact dishwashing had pushed his control almost to its limit. When she’d looked at him like she wanted nothing more than to crawl up his shirt front to get to his mouth, he’d reach that limit. The butt-shaking exhibition threw him over the edge. Only by exercising superhuman willpower was he able to resist pinning her to the counter, nudging her legs apart and fusing his hips firmly with hers.
That, of course, wasn’t an option.
If he hadn’t left when he did, both their jobs would be in jeopardy. There were rules to abide by, policies to which they must adhere. And just because Matt had been ready to break every one of them, didn’t mean Lindsay was too.
Not to mention the potential loss of Joey’s friendship, something Matt valued greatly.
How did his roommate do it? How could he be with Lindsay, not plant his hands all over her, and still keep his sanity? Matt felt his own grip on reality slipping daily. It was probably a good thing he and Lindsay were off work the next couple days. He needed to clear his head. The trip to Tucson to visit his family—and the inevitable disagreement he and his father got into any time they spent more than three seconds in the same room—should do the trick.
~~*~~
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?” Mahina Lauas’ lovely dark eyes blinked in astonishment. “Joey’s never tried anything with you? Ever?”
“Speak a little louder, please.” Lindsay glowered at her stepsister with exaggerated annoyance. “Not everyone heard you.”
Despite Mahina’s outburst, Lindsay doubted they’d drawn much attention. One nice thing about a mall, private conversations could be carried on in public and nobody broke rhythm long enough to listen.
“I’m sorry. I’m just so…surprised.”
“I know.” Lindsay let out a long breath. “Me, too.”
They wove their way through the Sunday afternoon throng of sale-inspired shoppers. Best friends since meeting as freshman in high school, the two matchmakers had become related by marriage mid-sophomore year. It didn’t require much maneuvering on their part. Adalie Pfeiffer, former child of the seventies turned successful entrepreneur, and Sam Lauas, retired Navy Commander, were polar opposites. Yet it took only one look at each other for them to fall head over heels in love. Lindsay couldn’t have been happier. For the first time in her life, she had a real family.
“Okay.” Mahina pushed back a long strand of jet black hair from her face. “I knew you two weren’t sleeping together, but I figured you were, well, building up to it. You’re not building up to it?”
“No,” Lindsay replied dismally.
“But you kiss.”
“Of course.”
“French kiss?”
“Be serious.
“Just checking.” Mahina gave Lindsay a silly, sideways glance. “Is he any good?”
“Not bad.” Lindsay tipped her head from side to side.
“No sparks, though?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Not like with Matt.”
“What!” Her stepsister’s remark halted Lindsay dead in her tracks. “I have never kissed Matthew Callahan.”
“Maybe not in real life.” Mahina grinned impishly. “But what about in your fantasies?”
“You’re so far off base, it’s not funny.”
“I don’t think so,” she said airily. “I’ve watched you two together.”
“When?”
“At the station. When I’ve stopped by to see you.”
“You haven’t seen squat,” Lindsay scoffed.
“Face it. You’re hung up on him.” Mahina wagged a finger at her. “And he’s hung up on you.”
Memories of that morning’s potential internet sensation moment returned and with them, renewed feelings of hurt and frustration. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more, Dennis walking in on her or Matt walking out. Four hours of fitful sleep that morning hadn’t dulled the negative emotions, but rather honed them to sharp little pinpricks.
Pinpricks that had her itching to do something—anything—to counteract them.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “Very wrong.”
Mahina stepped closer, her expression and tone softening. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Then why haven’t you slept with Joey?”
“One doesn’t have anything to do with the other,” Lindsay objected, but recognized a hollow argument when she heard one.
“Come on.” Mahina motioned with her hand. “I promise I won’t talk about Matt anymore.” The two no sooner resumed their stroll, when she said, “Let’s talk about Joey.”
Lindsay groaned.
“Why do you go out with him?”
“I like him.”
“Of course you do. He’s a nice guy. But he’s not the love of your life. If he were, you’d be sleeping with him by now.”
“Sex isn’t required for a satisfying relationship.”
Mahina did a theatrical double take. “Says who?”
Grudgingly, Lindsay had to agree there was some truth to the point her stepsister was making in her typical blunt fashion. Dating came hard for Lindsay and not because of her shyness. Male firefighters attracted admirers by the dozens. The same couldn’t be said for their female counterparts. Lindsay didn’t exactly understand why, but she intimidated a lot of men. All that leaping through walls of flames and jumping from third story windows, she supposed. Pretty tough on the old male ego.
Some of Lindsay’s friends met eligible men at their workplace. Not so with her. While dating a coworker wasn’t against regulations, it was probably unwise. Blurring the line between personal and professional had damaged more than one firefighter’s career.
Six month ago, Mahina had convinced Lindsay to try a dating app. The results were a disaster. Despite being clear on her profile, most guys who’d contacted her had only wanted a quick hookup.
The thing was, even if she found someone special, maintaining the relationship over the course of time presented a whole new set of problems. There was the stress factor associated with the job, the lousy hours, the risk to life and limb. Not many partners were willing or capable of tolerating the demands put upon them.
Joey, however, understood, having once pursued being a firefighter himself. He remained on the outskirts by working as a superintendent for a fire sprinkler company and having a firefighter for a roommate. For Lindsay, he was safe and comfortable. They shared common interests, if not an undying passion for each other.
“Sex may not be necessary, but it sure as heck is natural.” Mahina pointed to a miniature grandfather clock in a storefront window, and they paused to consider its gift potential.
“Can we please drop the subject?”
“We could, but what fun would that be?” Mahina’s impish grin returned. “Look, do you want to sleep with Joey or not?”
I want to sleep with Matt, Lindsay thought, but didn’t say. If nothing else, that morning’s disaster demonstrated she should forget about him once and for all. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“I want Joey to want to sleep with me.” Lindsay tripped over the words. It was difficult admitting her insecurities, even to her stepsister. She constantly felt the need to prove herself. Prove to her feminist mother that she was the equal of any man. Prove to a long-absent father that his rejection didn’t matter. And prove to her male coworkers that she was just as competent as them. What she hadn’t done was prove to herself that she could attract a man. “Does that make any sense?”
“Yeah, it does. Women like feeling sexy and desirable. It’s a major turn-on seeing that out of control lust in his eyes, sensing it in his touch. Knowing he’s so hot for you he’s ready to explode. That’s pretty serious stuff.”
Lindsay had thought Matt was hot for her, but she’d been terribly wrong. Well, what’s done was done. Now all she had to do was purge him from her system. Be proactive instead of reactive. Take charge. Become…a siren.
“Mahina. Say a girl were interested in taking her relationship with her boyfriend to the next level. How might she go about it?”
Her stepsister’s face lit up. “Are you thinking of seducing Joey?”
“Let’s just say I’m considering the possibility.” Three months was long enough, Lindsay mused. Either she and Joey were going somewhere in their relationship, or they weren’t. Sink or swim. Make it or break it.
“That’s an excellent idea!”
“Matt left for Tucson this afternoon.” Lindsay’s mental wheels started turning. “He won’t be home until late tomorrow.
“So you and Joey will have the house all to yourselves!” Mahina threw an arm around Lindsay. “Let’s go. I know just the place.”
Two minutes later, they stood in front of a small display window in a side wing of the mall. The marquee over the adjacent doorway read ‘Naughty But Nice’.
“This is a sex shop,” Lindsay blurted out. She’d heard of Naughty But Nice but had never considered shopping there.
“No it isn’t. They don’t allow sex shops at the mall.”
“What would you call it, then?”
“A place for people who, like you, want to make the most of their physical relationships.”
“Same thing.”
“Naughty But Nice is classy and tasteful. Not some dump down on Van Buren Avenue.”
Stylized mannequins posed in the window, hairless and faceless. They were garbed in sleepwear, lingerie, and casual clothing that, while undeniably sexy, couldn’t be described as tacky. The center mannequin wore a yellow string bikini one-half inch shy of indecent. It made Lindsay’s utilitarian one-piece look like a flour sack. On the back wall hung posters of various couples kissing and embracing. Rainbow confetti dotted the floor and covered the mannequins’ clothing. All in all, the display projected an air of romance and playfulness rather than depravity.
“I’ve heard they sell,” Lindsay groped for the right word, “marital aids.”
“You mean vibrators?” Mahina laughed. “Don’t I wish. But they do have lotions, oils, candles, books, movies.” She fluttered her eyes. “Novelties.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been here before,” she answered smugly. “Last year a bunch of us got together and hosted a theme bridal shower for one of the girls at the office.”
Lindsay hated to ask, but couldn’t help herself. “What kind of theme?”
“Games.”
“Not the Scrabble variety, I take it.”
“Actually, yes. The board game I gave her was called Dirty Talking. Same idea as Scrabble. You spell out words with lettered cubes, but the trick is to—”
“No need for a detailed description. I get the picture.”
Mahina marched into the store. Lindsay followed at a crawl. They wound a path through circular racks of clothing which appeared harmless enough.
“Hey,” Mahina said over her shoulder. “Let’s buy Mom and Dad’s anniversary gift here.”
Lindsay shook her head vehemently.
“Why? You think that just because they’re in their fifties, they don’t have sex anymore?”
Lindsay placed a finger to her lips and shot her stepsister a murderous look. “Shh. Someone will hear you.”
They rounded a freestanding fabric wall to which were tacked a variety of outfits, including a micro miniskirt and matching spider web halter top, a unitard refugee from Cat Woman’s closet, and peek-a-boo lounging pajamas.
On the other side of the wall, they came face to face with a condom display.
“Whoops.” Lindsay’s knees locked.
Mahina propelled her forward. “You’ll need some of those.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re the one seducing him, remember? You want to be prepared.”
“Good afternoon.” A conservatively dressed saleswoman of indeterminable age greeted them warmly. “May I help you?”
Lindsay didn’t answer because the speech center in her brain had short-circuited. The sales woman looked exactly like Mrs. Albertson, her math teacher from seventh grade. But that was impossible. Or was it? Lindsay turned her head and nonchalantly chewed on a thumbnail.
When a jab in the ribs failed to rouse her, Mahina spoke on Lindsay’s behalf. “My stepsister here would like to buy some condoms.”
Lindsay tried to slink off. Mahina snagged her by the shirt collar before she got two feet away.
“Certainly. We have several different products on sale this week.” The woman lifted various boxes, explaining the types, styles, and features without so much as batting an eyelash.
“Do you still carry flavored condoms?” Mahina asked.
“One of our best sellers.” The woman pointed to the top rack.
Lindsay found her voice, though it came out a full octave higher. “Still? You’ve bought them before?”
“And if I have?” Mahina selected a box with a large strawberry on the front.
“Those are on special,” the woman said. “A second box is half off.”
Mahina plucked another one off the shelf.
“Mahina!” Lindsay’s cheeks burned. She hated being so inexperienced.
“What?”
“For beginners, we usually recommend these.” The woman presented Lindsay with a blue and orange box. “Ultra- thin with extra ribbing. They come with a money back guarantee.
A trio of college-aged girls joined them at the condom display. In loud, high-pitched voices they discussed the merits of different styles.
“Fine. I’ll take them.” Lindsay would buy a case of condoms if needed. Anything to get her out of there.
“Will there be anything else for you today?” the saleswoman asked.
“No. But thanks.”
“Yes,” Mahina cut in, glaring at Lindsay. “She’d also like to see some lingerie.”
Lindsay went along only because the trio of girls were giving her strange looks.
“Do you have something particular in mind?” The saleswoman led the way to a different part of the store.
“Something appropriate for a seduction,” Mahina replied.
Lindsay coughed, nearly gagging on her own spit.
The woman paused and gave Lindsay the once over. “With your height and build, I’d suggest a bustier. It will give you,” she made cups out of her hands and held them in front of her bosom, “more up here. And something to show off your legs.” She pinched her chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps a v-string panty. Very flattering on tall, thin silhouettes like yours.”
It took five minutes to select the outfit, then another five minutes of coaxing and cajoling on Mahina’s part before Lindsay consented to try it on. Inside the changing room, she dallied, undressing slowly while avoiding the mirror. The v- string bottom took some getting used to. The back thong nestled uncomfortably between her buttocks. Slipping the short cropped bustier over her head, Lindsay tugged, pulled, and adjusted until it settled into place.
“Let’s get this over with.” Drawing a deep breath, she pivoted slowly and confronted the full length mirror.
At the sight of her reflection, shock rippled through her. She pressed her palms to her belly, stared down, then up again at the mirror. “Mahina. Come quick. Hurry!”
Her stepsister yanked open the dressing room door, her expression knotted with worry. “What’s the matter?”
Lindsay’s dim smile blossomed into a radiant one. “Look at me.” She then did something almost unheard of for her. She giggled girlishly. “I have breasts. I really, truly, have breasts.” With a sense of awe, she touched the soft, billowy mounds spilling from the top of the bustier.
Mahina gave a low whistle. “I’ll say. Feel better?”
“Are you kidding? I feel great.” Lindsay struck a sexy pose.
“I take this to mean you’re buying the outfit.”
“Two, if they have them.” On impulse, she added, “And the yellow bathing suit in the window.”
“I’ll check if there’s one in your size.” Mahina buzzed away like a wood sprite.
Lindsay studied herself again in the mirror, reaching her hand out until her fingers came in contact with the cool glass. A twinge of sorrow, unbidden and unwanted, crept in, dampening her soaring spirit.
“This could have been yours, Matthew Callahan,” she whispered. “If only you hadn’t left me alone in the kitchen.”