Evie walked toward the door, still avoiding my gaze. “Come on. I’ll show you out.”

Show me out? The hell she would.

You tell her.

She was going to talk to me whether she liked it or not.

And if talking doesn’t work, I have better ideas.

Chapter 15

~EVIE~

By the time we got to the front door, I’d erected a stone fortress, complete with battlements and a moat filled with crocodiles, around my silly, soft heart. Yeah, Mateo had told me he didn’t do relationships, but something about the way he said women never stand a chance with me doused the inferno that had combusted when he’d said I fucking love sex. I had to let go of the small inkling of hope that we could become an us.

There was always the option—after we broke this hex, of course—that we could have a purely sexual relationship for a few months. I could do that. Scorch-the-earth sex with Mateo, then…then what? Then he’d toss me to the curb like his other ladies so I wouldn’t get too clingy. Because let’s face facts, I was already getting clingy. Right now, I loved just hanging with him. If we let sex muddle it all up, we wouldn’t even have the friendship thing. And goddammit, I really liked him as a friend. But…hot, melty, lickalicious sex with Mateo?

“Did you even hear me?”

“What?” I snapped back to the man spinning my brain into mush.

Standing on the porch, he chuckled, but his expression was tight. I didn’t blame him. That shitshow in the study was pretty freaking intense.

“Come have coffee with me. French Truck Coffee makes a mean espresso.”

I glanced at my watch, not even reading the time. “Nah. I should get some more reading done. Looks like I have my work cut out for me with this hex of yours.”

“But we’ve still got two hours left.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Just kind of tired.”

“Tired? Or angry?”

“Why would I be angry?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“I’m not angry.”

“And you’re a shitty liar.”

“Well, now I’m angry.” I crossed my arms. “For your information, I’m a phenomenal liar.”

“Oh, yeah? Prove it.”

“Like how?”

He eased a step closer, his hands in his front pockets. “Pretend you’re happy and come have coffee with me.”

He was using that gentle tone with the vulnerable puppy dog look in his eyes. Damn, he played dirty. Even though I was stewing about his I’m-a-loner-bullshit, I really couldn’t resist him. So I raised the draw bridge, letting my hungry crocodiles snap in their moat, and said, “Fine.”

He held out his arm. I’d become accustomed to hooking my arm through his while we walked. Right now, I was staring at it like it was a poisonous viper ready to strike. He smirked, tilting his head. “Such a bad liar,” he whispered.

Inhaling and exhaling a deep breath, I slipped my arm through his and let him lead me down the walkway to the street. I could be an amazing actress when I focused, so I did just that. Strolling lightly alongside him like I usually did.

“So, dinner was pleasant, right?” I injected a bit more sarcasm than was necessary.

I felt a rumble of laughter through his ribcage to my arm but didn’t hear it.

“Lovely. I’ve never had a pre-dinner animal act. That was a nice touch.”

“We aim to please. Especially with such an illustrious dinner guest as yourself.”

We walked on, but he went silent for a second. I suppose I could’ve held back some of the bitterness in my voice. But okay! I wasn’t a good liar! Happy now?

“Evie. I upset you.”

YES! “No. Not at all.”

He grunted. “So the fact that I mentioned past girlfriends has nothing to do with this.”

“Mateo, what you do with other women is your business.”

“Mmm. Right.” He flexed his arm, tightening his hold on me. “Look. I know I sounded like a dick, but I was frustrated, all right? Your sister was onto the wrong lead. And I’d told you before I never stuck with one woman for long.”

“Yes. You told me. That’s fine.”

“I’m not a complete asshole, Evie. I’m honest and up front.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second.”

“So you’re just angry because what? Because I’m honest?”

I was being an idiot. He was right. I blew out a breath and pulled us to a stop, angling to stand in front of him as a troop of lady shoppers paraded by, their bags taking up most of the sidewalk room.

“I’m not mad at you.” And now it was true somehow. How could I be mad at him for being who he was? He was still the same Mateo. Honest, genuine, and maddeningly beautiful. I just had a much clearer picture where women stood in his life. This little hissy fit of mine proved one thing to me. I’d rather be his lifelong friend than his temporary girl. I smiled and held out a hand to shake. “Friends?”

He stared with such intensity I thought he’d zoned out. His lips parted to speak but nothing came out. After a slow blink, he took my hand and pulled me against him in a semi-hug, wrapping his other arm around my waist. His voice was rough, his mouth close to my ear. “Friends.”

I let myself lay my head against his shoulder for a few seconds, knowing good and well I was going to need a double-moat. Before I could sink into the warmth and scent of perfection, I pulled away. We walked on without touching but in a more contented silence.

A cool breeze swept down the street, raising goosebumps on my bare legs. I crossed my arms, realizing the weather was finally taking a turn for fall. Good thing since October was almost over.

Before long, we were stepping up to the bright yellow café, French Truck Coffee. He held the door open for me, and we slipped in.

“Dinner was on you so coffee is on me,” he said. “Anything in particular?”

“I love their Crosstown Espresso.”

“Got it.”

While he stood in line, I found a two-top and settled in. Because I was too busy people watching, I didn’t notice when Mateo started talking with a woman in line behind him. She spoke animatedly with one hand, her other arm loaded with an oversize Saint Laurent handbag and a Pilot and Powell shopping bag. I’d stumbled into that store once when Livvy was looking for something to wear to a Mardi Gras ball. We stumbled right back out after looking at one of the price tags.

The woman was probably in her forties, well-styled blond hair just past her shoulders, and the mannerisms of someone with good breeding. Someone accustomed to money and all the wonderful things it could bring. I glanced down at my T-shirt and shorts as he waited with her for their, I mean our, coffees to be ready. I squirmed in my seat, not happy with how natural he looked next to a woman like that. I then had the awful feeling that maybe she had been one of his lovers that he’d let go.

No. I was being paranoid. Ridiculous. He smiled at her with genuine fondness.

He walked over to me with her at his side. She carried her coffee in a to-go cup.

“Evie,” he said, setting our espressos on the table. “This is Sandra Blake, one of the artists who exhibits in my gallery.”

I was a total idiot. I held out my hand with a smile. “Do you paint the abstract landscapes?”

She took my hand and gave it a genuine shake, not a feeble, girly one. That made me like her and feel even more like an asshole.

“Guilty, I’m afraid.” She wasn’t just a lovely-looking woman as I’d thought from afar, but was stunning. To-die-for bone structure and a flawless complexion that was just downright sinful on a woman past thirty. “I wish I had more originality like Mateo here, but I’m one of those who paints what she sees.”

“Like the impressionists,” I added.

“Yes. You know your art.” She gave me a kind smile.

“Well, I know my artists.” I glanced at Mateo, then said to her, “Your work is beautiful.” And I meant it. She’d painted the silhouettes so familiar to Louisiana but in brilliant colors and with bold, intense brush strokes.

“You’re too kind, Evie. But thank you.”

“You must have a beautiful home.”

“I do, but I owe it all to my Gene, God rest his soul. You and Mateo should come and have tea with me sometime.”

I laughed to myself, thinking of Clara and her weekly book club where they had a high tea and broke down their latest historical romance. Her book club members were all human women over sixty. She’d love Sandra Blake.

“That would be nice, thank you.”

“Well, I won’t keep you.” She turned to Mateo. “So I can send Missy my commission request?”

“Of course,” he replied, a soft smile curling his lips. “But Sandra, let’s just make a deal on gallery rental space. I don’t feel comfortable invoicing you.”

She waved a diamond-befingered hand. “Please. You’ll invoice me the full amount, and that’s all there is to it. Your time is valuable.” She leaned in, and he bent for the perfunctory kiss on the cheek they both seemed familiar with. “You two kids enjoy your Sunday. Pleasure meeting you, Evie.”

Then she was off out the door, and Mateo settled across from me.

“Wow,” I said. “I’m not sure what I was expecting of your fellow artists in the gallery, but it sure wasn’t her.”

“How’s that?”

I froze a minute, trying to find the words.

“Don’t tell me,” he teased. “You’re expecting them all to be Bohemian, tattooed, and pierced to the nth degree. Like your best friend, Scotty.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but—” I sipped the espresso. “Mmm, this is delicious. Better drink it up before it gets cold.”

He chuckled, taking a sip and eyeing me from under his dark lashes before he set his cup down and said, “I do believe you’re an artist bigot, Evie.”