Scarred Beautiful (30 page)

Matt’s voice is a welcome interruption to my unpleasant walk down memory lane. “You okay, baby?”

I know he’s called me that before, but for some reason when he says it now, it gives me a fuzzy feeling in my stomach and sprinkles over me like a sun shower. He loops his fingers through mine and a shiver zaps me, starting with my head and ending at my toes.

“Hey, old man,” Matt calls out, and we turn the corner to find Caleb’s dad stretched out on the couch in front of the television. He looks so young in his matching blue Duke University sweats, a pair of black wire-framed glasses, and hair slicked back from an apparent shower.

“Hey, son!” he shouts, “two visits in a week. I’m likin’ it.” He peeks around Matt’s tall frame, sizing me up in a single glance. “And this pretty little thing must be Fran.”

“Jim!” Mrs. Brody yells from the other room, “keep it in your pants!”

“Hush, woman, that’s not what you said last night!” he counters with a deep, rich laugh.

Matt puts his hand to his head and shakes it, a lame effort to hide a smile while I make a gurgling noise and snort. He looks over at me with raised eyebrows and shrugs as if to say ‘I warned you.’

“Pops, this is Fran. Fran this is Mr. Brody.”

“Jim, call me Jim…we’re not that formal here, as you can tell.” He winks and offers his hand. “I’d get up but I’ve got this hip thing I’m recovering from still. Limited activity if you know what I mean.”

I walk over and shake his hand with a broad smile. “It’s so nice to meet you, Jim. I’ve heard wonderful things.”

“Eh”—he flaps his hand in a shooing motion—“never believe everything you hear.”

“Fran,” Mrs. Brody’s voice carries from the kitchen, “why don’t you help me put the cream on the pie.”

The smell of chocolate leads the way, tantalizing my nose, my belly stirring from hibernation, answering the call with a rumble.

The kitchen is tremendous, the size rivaling my entire living room and bedroom put together. With stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, a center island with seating for six, and glass cabinets, it looks a lot like something right out of a design magazine. What catches my attention though is the framed black and white print hanging above the table.
Your opinion is not in the recipe
. I think I love Mrs. Brody.

“Here, Fran.” She hands me a knife and a spoon. “Let’s get the whipped cream on this chocolate cream pie so we can dig in. It’s Matt’s favorite,” she says, and now
she
winks at me, too. There’s an awful lot of winking going on around here.

“So tell me how you know Matt?” We stand side by side at the center island, a silver bowl filled with freshly whipped cream ready to go. She lifts a finger in the air as if she’s about to say something of the utmost importance. “But first, we taste,” she instructs, and then both of us proceed to dip our spoons in and savor the cream swirling around on our tongues.

“Actually, it’s kind of funny. Brad’s fiancée is my best friend,” I say, still marveling at the irony of this whole situation.

“Ah, that’s right. Caleb mentioned that,” she recalls, before taking another spoonful of whipped cream and putting a finger to her lips. “Shhhh!”

Matt barges into the kitchen and plods straight to the cabinets, sticking his finger in the bowl of cream as he walks by, and Mrs. Brody lightly pinches his arm before he leans in, planting a loud kiss on her cheek. My throat goes thick with emotion at the affection they have for one another, showing me a whole different side of Matt, a glimpse into his world.

“Matthew James Dixon,” she says sternly with a hint of a smile, “fingers out of the whipped cream.”

He continues on his mission, rummaging through cabinets until he finally spins around holding a package of Red Vines. He rips open the bag and pulls a piece of licorice out, dangling it in front of me. “Red Vine?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

“No thanks.” I giggle, shaking my head with amusement.

“All right, Matthew, we’re having some girl time in here, so out you go. The bookcases are upstairs in the guest room and I just need them moved over to Tracy’s room.”

“You got it, Ma,” he sings, giving me a little swat as he walks by and I wave my spoon at him, casting a sharp look his way.

We put the finishing touches on the chocolate cream pie and I can’t help but think how nice this feels. With the exception of a handful of moments with Mom, she wasn’t around a lot to bake with me or teach me how to cook. I stare down at the spoon in my hand as it loses focus and becomes one big blur, just like my childhood.

Mrs. Brody plunks the spoon into the empty bowl, the sound pulling me back to the here and now, a now that holds so much more promise, and I have to remind myself of that.

“Did you like to bake when you were little?” she asks, almost as if reading my thoughts.

“I liked it but my mom worked a lot and wasn’t around much,” I reply, trying to plaster a happy smile on my face, and she lays a hand on mine. It’s such a simple gesture yet it means so much. “I do remember this one time, though. My mom had the day off and we were going to make chocolate chip cookies. She had these two glass jars on the counter, one with sugar and the other with salt, and when we went to make the cookies she accidentally put salt in instead of sugar. It ended up being the cookie disaster of the century.”

Mrs. Brody wrinkles her nose and laughs before placing the bowl in the sink and running hot water in it. “I guess you didn’t bring those cookies in for the teachers,” she says, as she scrubs and dries the bowl before placing it back in the cabinet.

“Nope. The only place they went was right in the garbage,” I recall, giggling, and she laughs again, too.

“Well, the kids did a lot of baking, and with six of them, they made a lot of messes. Actually, make that almost nine with Matt, Brad, and Clara,” she declares, her lips curled up, her eyes smiling.

“Come sit.” She motions to the table and puts the pie in the fridge before coming to join me. “Can I make you some tea or would you like something to drink? Juice, water?”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” I feel completely at ease with Mrs. Brody and the words begin to flow without apprehension. “Matt speaks so highly of you and Mr. Brody and I think the fact that you were there for him when his mom died is pretty spectacular. You helped him make it through,” I say quietly, watching her face and her eyes shine with so much admiration and love that it takes my breath away.

She lets out a sigh that is happy, yet somehow tinged with a morsel of sadness. “Brenda was such a wonderful woman,” she begins, grabbing onto the table with one hand as if needing to brace herself for this conversation. “She was always there for them—playing, watching their games, encouraging and supporting them, talking them through the tough times…and when she passed….” She pauses and releases a breath. “They were devastated. I think Matt got it the worst because he saw how Clara and Brad were handling it and felt like he had to make it better for them.” She smiles and it lights up her eyes. “He’s such a good boy, well, good man. Do you know that when Caleb was still living in New York and my husband was traveling for business, Matt would come by here once a week to check that we were all okay and see if the kids needed any help with their studies, or really anything at all. He wanted to make sure we were taken care of.”

I smile at his thoughtfulness and my heart warms at her words.

“Even with all of his struggles, he’s grown into an amazing man and I’m very proud of him.” She stares at me and my cheeks flush in response. “You care about him.” It’s a statement not a question and she taps a finger to her lips as she waits for an answer.

“Yes, I do care about him…a lot. We’re having a nice time together. But, well, I go back to New York in eight days…back to my life.” The words leave my mouth and I feel as if I’ve eaten something rotten.

“Right. Matt mentioned that to me.”

He did?

She pats my knee with a warm smile, the kind of smile that tells you everything will be okay, the kind that makes you feel it, too. “One moment at a time, sweetie. Because in the end, that’s all we’ve got. So make the most of each and every one.” She stands up and heads to the fridge, looking over her shoulder at me. “I like you, Fran. You’re like a breath of fresh air. Matt hasn’t brought too many girls here over the years, but the ones that he has brought.…” She grimaces and shakes her head. “Well, they weren’t like you and me.” She winks like she just told me some big secret and holds the pie up in the air. “Let’s go eat pie!”

We trot back out to the living room just as Matt is coming down the stairs. He purposefully bumps into me and grins.

“Watch it, Dixon,” I warn, my lips quirking up into a teasing smile.

He grabs hold of my arm and pulls me close, his warm breath filling my ear. “When you say my name like that it makes me hard, and when I get hard I think about how much I want to fuck you. I’m
so
ready to be inside you, Fran, and if you’re not careful I might take you up to the guest room and spread you open right there. So choose your words carefully, baby.”

I let out a gasp I’m praying no one heard and shoot him a warning glare. “Mr. and Mrs. Body are right over there,” I whisper, and sure enough when I look up, Mrs. Brody is watching us with a pleased smile. Clearing my throat and willing away the desire unfurling between my legs, I link hands with Mr. Sex On a Stick and we plop down on the couch across from Mr. and Mrs. Brody.

It’s quiet for a minute as we all dig into the pie, Mr. Brody’s voice being the one to interrupt the silence. “So Fran, Matt tells us you’re in design, also.” And for the second time tonight I realize Matt’s been talking a lot about me and I grin internally at the thought.

“Yes, I work at Hudson & Mathers in New York. They’re an advertising firm, heavy into consumer branding and marketing campaigns. I like it a lot.”

“It’s interesting that you’re both in the creative field,” he says, his salt ‘n’ pepper eyebrows raising on a grin. “Quite a coincidence, I’d say.”

Mrs. Brody jabs her elbow into his side and he scowls, then takes a dollop of whipped cream and smashes it onto her cheek. She wipes it off and licks her fingers, and the way he’s eyeing her doesn’t go unnoticed, not by me anyway.

“Well,” Matt coughs rather loudly, as if that was a cue they want to be alone, “we should probably get going. It’s kinda late.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Brody says with a glimmer of disappointment as she glances at the clock behind the sofa, “I didn’t realize how late it was.”

I walk over to Mr. Brody and bend down to give him a hug. “It was so nice to meet you, Jim, and I hope you’ll be all healed up soon.”

“It was great meeting you, Fran, and I hope to see you again,” he says, tilting his head and glancing over at Matt with an approving smile, and my heart does a tiny pitter-patter in my chest.

We collect the plates and forks from the coffee table and I help Mrs. Brody bring them into the kitchen while Matt says goodbye to Mr. Brody. She stacks the plates on the counter and turns to me, her gaze wrapping me in a warm hug as she takes both of my hands in her own.

“I’m so pleased to have met you, Fran, and like Jim said, I do hope we see you again.” She looks down at our hands in hesitation and I can tell she wants to say something else. “Be good to our Matt. He’s one of a kind.”

She’s caught me a bit off guard and I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I reply with the only thing I have…honesty. “Yes, I’m starting to see that.”

My answer must have satisfied her because she nods her head and we wander back out to the living room where Matt’s waiting for us by the door. “Ready, sunshine?” he asks, and I catch the smile on Mrs. Brody’s face.

“Yup.”

She envelops Matt in a huge hug and then lathers me with the same affection. “I’ll see you soon, sweetie. Thanks again for helping with the bookcases,” she tells him before walking us outside. “We’ll see you soon. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” we both say, as Matt puts his arm around my waist and we make our way to the car, turning back to see Mrs. Brody standing in the doorway with yet another huge smile on her face.

“Matty!”

I hear a high-pitched scream and watch a petite, willowy silhouette bound toward us in the darkness, throwing her arms around Matt, nearly knocking him over and making me take a step back.

He returns the hug immediately, engulfing her small frame, lifting her off the ground. “Hey! Trace! I’m so glad to see you!” he says with excitement, finally setting her back down.

“I’m just here to pick up something. I’m off to the club with some friends.”

He glances over at me and brings me close to his side. “Fran, this is Tracy, Caleb’s sister, Tracy, this is Fran, my.…” He pauses, and I wait for the label. Friend? Girlfriend?
Fling
?

“Friend,” he says finally, but then adds, “a very special friend,” and I blow out the tiny breath I’d been holding.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, her eyes roving from Matt to me and back again.

“So how’s school?” he asks, and while they’re chatting I take her in, noticing how much she resembles Caleb with her dark hair and her almond-shaped brown eyes.

“It’s good. Studying hard as always.” She winks and Matt chuckles.

“Anyone’s ass I need to kick?”

“Not yet.” She laughs, playfully punching his shoulder. “But I’ll let you know. Okay, I gotta run. Brooke is waiting for me at her house. Nice meeting you, Fran. Bye, Matty.” She kisses his cheek and skips into the house, turning around to wave before plundering through the door.

Matt waves back and gets me settled before he climbs in, revs the engine and takes off down the road.

“I love them,” I say immediately. “They’re so incredibly sweet and it’s great how laid back they are. His sister, too. I see where Caleb gets his fun-loving spirit…and I see why you love them so much. They obviously adore you.”

“What’s not to adore?” he shoots back, and I let out a laugh, toeing off my sandals and tucking my feet under my legs.

“I learned some things about you tonight, Matt Dixon.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” he asks, rolling to a stop at a red light and angling his head so he can better see me.