The Blush Factor (The Hawthornes of New York 2)

Shrugging a shoulder, I do my best to fake surprise. “Is that what you think?”

“That’s what I know,” he counters. “I told you once that you’re one of them.”

“I know, I know,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “I’m a studier, and a do-gooder, and someone who never has fun.”

He leans a shoulder against the wall next to his apartment door. “You’re a woman committed to becoming a doctor.”

“That’s a good thing,” I remind him.

“A very good thing,” he agrees. “But you can spare an hour or two to sample the best chicken cutlets in this building.”

“In this building?” I stutter out a laugh. “That’s not a ringing endorsement. You don’t mean in this city or state?”

He laughs. “I’m not about to set the bar that high, FU. I’m talking a decent chicken cutlet with something green on the side. Brain food. You’ll need it for this half-night study session you’ve got penciled into your schedule.”

I purse my lips. “I do need to eat.”

“Knock in an hour.” He moves to unlock his door. “I’ll have it ready and waiting for you.”

“The building’s best chicken cutlet?”

“I see word is already spreading.” He smiles. “Don’t lose track of time, or I can’t promise that I won’t eat it all.”

I wave my phone at him. “I’ll set an alarm so I won’t be late.”

He pushes open his apartment door. “I’ll see you later, FU.”

“Later, Dr. Hawthorne.”

With a slight tilt of his chin, he ducks into his apartment, leaving me with a smile on my face at the promise of more time with him.

“I hate showing up empty-handed,” I confess when Matthew opens the door of his apartment.

He gives me a quick once-over. I had every intention of changing my clothes, but my mom called just as I walked into my apartment an hour ago. We hadn’t spoken in a week, so she had a lot to say. It was all good news, including her admission that my dad has taken up cycling again. It was his passion for years, but as he was building the business, he let it fall to the wayside.

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes when she told me how much he misses riding his bike next to me. It was ‘our thing’ as I was growing up. I kept up with him for the most part, and it helped to cement a special bond between the two of us.

“All I requested was your presence, nothing more.” He offers me a kind smile. “Dinner is almost ready. I hope you’re hungry.”

I rub my stomach through the thin material of my blouse. “Very.”

His hand disappears under his sweater. I hear the pat of his hand against his rock hard abs. “Me too.”

My eyes trail up his body until they meet his. “Thank you for making dinner.”

“Thank you for showing up,” he counters.

For the briefest moment we stare at each other.

I can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind. Is he still trying to impress Professor Stein, or has this shifted to something else? Maybe he likes hanging out with me.

His gaze drops to my lips. “I’ll get dinner on the table. Why don’t you settle on your chair?”

My chair.

I smile, knowing that I have a set place at his table. If all I ever get out of this is a solid friendship with him, I’ll be happy.

I try to convince myself of what as I move to sit in my chair, awaiting dinner and more time with my secret crush.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Matthew

I watch Faith as her eyes trail over her phone’s screen. She draws in the tiniest breath as if something she’s reading has stolen a small part of her.

“Is everything all right?” I ask, not so much out of curiosity as concern.

I’m that guy that is always looking out for everyone else. I’d never openly admit it, but those around me know it.

If you need money, you come to me first. If I have some to spare, it’s yours.

The exception to that is Roman. He’s loaded but doesn’t flaunt it, and he’s generous too. He’s constantly proving that with random gifts, including the shoes on my feet now.

I dole out advice like I’m trained to do it.

I suppose, in some ways, I am.

That’s what happens when you’re forced to mature before your time. I was the caregiver of my siblings, and my mom, in many ways. I still am.

Faith’s gaze drifts to my face. “It’s this guy.”

This guy.

What guy? Based on the detail accountings in her diary of what she wants me to do to her, I assumed that another guy didn’t exist.

That’s in an abstract way. I’m well aware other men exist. I saw a number of them checking out her sweet peach of an ass on the subway ride home.

I just didn’t think she had another man on her radar.