Page 31 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

“Okay, let’s meet upstairs in five.” He gestured to his pants and sweater, which were now wet from helping her. “I’ll change again. The stairs, can you—?”

“I’ll be fine,” she croaked out, nodding for good measure. “Just go.”

He gave her a single nod in return, color high in his cheekbones, and left to fulfill his promises in the bathroom.

Julia slowly began to dress herself, careful not to apply pressure to her sore ankle as she tried not to think about the mess she was quickly and involuntarily getting tangled up in.

12

“Oh my god.”Julia leaned back in her chair with a deep, contented sigh. “This was heavenly.”

“Honestly,” Ethan chimed in, pushing his bowl away and putting his hands on his stomach with a groan. “I don’t know how you normally do this, but I feel confident in saying you’ve outdone yourself.”

The four of them—Ethan, Julia, Maggie, and Norman—were sitting in the formal dining area of Donwell Cottage after finally enjoying the evening meal that Maggie had made.

“Why, thank you,” Maggie replied, cheeks turning slightly rosy with the praise. “Julia’s bread was the perfect accompaniment.”

“Very true,” Ethan agreed, sending her a sideways grin. “That, I can say with experience, was as delicious as ever.”

Julia, to her chagrin, felt pleasure course through her at his compliment. That damn specific words-of-affirmation love language that she’d tried so hard to overcome was always causing her grief and embarrassment at the most inopportune times.

Norman had been doing his slow nod the entire time they’d been talking, and Julia had to double-check to make sure he wasn’t actually, literally nodding off to sleep. But no, he appeared to simply be in contented agreement with the rest of the table.

“Julie is the best baker,” he said eventually in that slow, drawling way of his. Even though they were about a thousand miles or more from anyplace that could be considered the Deep South—and Norman himself had been born in New Jersey—there was something about the tempered, melodic way he spoke that Julia found soothing. It didn’t even bother her that he called her Julie.

She caught Ethan’s expression as Norman spoke, something akin to amusement without any of the understanding or compassion that Julia normally reserved for Norman. She understood the old man was an acquired taste, but she still made a mental note to have a talk with Ethan about Norman’s contribution to Donwell Cottage and how he should be considered—and treated like—family.

All the time she had known Ethan, he had been compassionate to a fault. But he rarely suffered fools. If he felt there was someone holding him back in any way, shape, or form, he left them in the dust.

It had never been one of his greater qualities, and it was even more of a bitter pill to swallow now in hindsight.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t realize she’d been shamelessly, openly staring at Ethan, long after Norman had finished talking, until Ethan said, “Do I have something in my teeth?”

Blinking to clear her head, she looked away quickly. “Probably.” Addressing the rest of the table, she added, “Anyone interested in dessert?”

“Oh yes,” Maggie said quickly, with Norman nodding enthusiastically beside her. “But you sit right down, missy, and don’t get up again. You need to rest that ankle. Norman and I will take care of the coffee and dessert. Just give me a min—”

She cut herself off as Ethan sheepishly stood from his chair.

“Actually,” he began, “as tempting as that sounds, I have a few emails to go through in preparation for the arrival of our guests tomorrow.” He picked up his plate and looked around awkwardly. “Where do I…?”

“Here.” Julia took the plate from his hands, which Maggie then took swiftly from hers before she could attempt to stand or do anything with it. Julia shot her a look—which she got back twofold—before she turned back to Ethan. “You never really told me what to expect with those two tomorrow…Did you want to go over it now? While Maggie and Norman are”—she gestured to the table, only to find that Maggie had swiftly disappeared with the dirty dishes and Norman was nowhere to be seen, either, making it the first and only time she had witnessed him move at anything other than a snail’s pace—“here.”

“You can fill them in after,” Ethan said. “No point in dragging them back in here now. Like I said, I do have to check some emails.” Was it her imagination or did she see him wince at the idea? “But then I can meet you in your room in like fifteen or twenty minutes. We can go over everything then.”

Herroom?

She opened her mouth to tell him he was more than welcome to come back to one of the main rooms, including the office, if he wanted to talk, but weariness overcame her at the thought of once again being contrary. Not that she wanted him in her room; she was just tired of arguing about every little thing.

Julia let out an inaudible sigh. She supposed he was still a guest. Perhaps she needed to be respectful and not so demanding.

If he wanted to meet in her room—highlyunorthodox and borderline unprofessional for a real guest, mind you—but if that was where he wanted to meet, then that was where she would be.

At the end of the day, it was just Ethan, after all. She knew nothing was actually going to happen. She would have simply felt more comfortable in common areas where there were witnesses (and alibis). Her ankle throbbed then, a reminder that she might do well being settled for the evening as opposed to hobbling all over the house.

“All right,” she reluctantly acquiesced. “But I’m having dessert first.”

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