Until I Saw Your Smile (28 page)

Angela blinked rapidly. “You're quite entertaining. You're better than cable any day.”

“Thank you,” Matthew said. “Do you have a DVD player and some movies?”

Angela shook her head. “I never got into that.”

“Well, I could run home,” Matthew said, “get my DVD player and some movies, we could hook it to your TV, and you could make more garlicky, buttery popcorn. It'll be like a snow day.”

“A what?” Angela said.

“A snow day,” Matthew said. “You know, no school because of inclement weather.”

Angela rubbed her cheek against his chest. “I went to public school. I don't remember having any of those.”

“Oh yeah.”
She had a raunchy childhood.
“Well, what do you think of my incredible idea?”

Angela sighed. “I think you're crazy to go out in that.”

“You could go with me and share in the insanity,” Matthew said.

Angela pulled his hand off her hip and tightened it around her stomach. “Matthew, I . . . I have a problem . . . with all that snow.”

“I'll be with you, Angela,” Matthew said.

“I know that,” Angela said. “It's just . . . that night . . . I couldn't find anyone to help me because of... because of the blizzard.”

“What happened that night, Angela?” he whispered.

Her body shook.

“It's okay, it's okay,” Matthew whispered. “You don't have to tell me.”

“No,” Angela said. “You need to know.” She sighed. “And I need to tell it to someone. Lucky you.”

He smiled. “Lucky me.”

She glanced back to the kitchen. “He . . . he got in . . . somehow... through the back door. I always lock it, I always,
always
lock it, you know I do, but that night I forgot. And he was . . . on my stairway . . . waiting for me.” She closed her eyes. “And I . . . I ran out into the snow . . . and couldn't find anyone . . . to help me because there was so much snow.”

“No police, no emergency vehicles, not even a snowplow driver,” she said. “No one. Just me in all that snow. I . . . I pounded on doors, but no one could hear me because of the wind, no one came to their door to help me. And when I finally came back inside, and after I looked everywhere, I pulled the refrigerator in front of the back door and locked myself in.” She opened her eyes and looked up at Matthew. “I spent the next thirty hours locked in my bathroom. I heard customers knocking on my door downstairs, but I couldn't move. And all I had was a hammer.”

He stroked her hair. “You're a dangerous woman.”

“I only had a hammer to defend myself, Matthew,” she said.

“You were hoping to nail him,” Matthew said.

She sighed. “It was the only real weapon I could find in the apartment. I forgot about all my knives downstairs in the kitchen. I didn't even have a screwdriver. I fell asleep in the bathroom. My back hurt so bad the next morning. It's not a big bathroom.”

“When I woke up at four o'clock the next day,” Angela said, “I opened the store and went about my business.”

As if nothing ever happened.
“Did you ever call the police?”

“I thought about it, but they had their hands full that night and for many days afterward. It was a blizzard, right? This city shuts down during blizzards.” She shivered slightly.

Matthew covered her with her blanket. “Did he . . .”

Angela shook her head vigorously. “He tried, but I got him good. I think I might have maimed him for life.”

“I wore long sleeves for a while. I had bruises everywhere. On my arms and on the back of my neck. My heel took longer to get better.” She smiled. “He came up behind me . . . and . . . and I kicked back like a mule.”

“And then I ran out.” She sat up slowly and held her knees. “When we went down to Mezza Luna, that was the first time I had been outside in over four years, Matthew.”

“That's why I was crying when we were at the Simmons',” she said. “I knew
exactly
how Timothy felt to be stuck in front of a window afraid of what might be outside. My heart nearly thuds out of my chest whenever I lock up.”

“Is this why you don't like me behind you at any time?” Matthew asked.

Angela nodded. “I know it's stupid, but I feel more in control if I'm facing someone. I'm working on it, though.”

“I'm glad you're working on it with me,” Matthew said. “Do your parents know about any of this?”

“I didn't tell them, and I'm never going to tell them,” Angela said. “When they call, I tell them business is good and that the coffee's still the best in New York. They worry too much about me being here all alone as it is.”

“So do I, Angela,” Matthew said.

“You shouldn't.” She grabbed his hand. “Come see.”

Matthew trailed her to the other steel door in the kitchen. She unlocked and opened it, and an extremely bright light illuminated a square landing, stairs rising to the right. She took two steps and reached around the corner, returning with a fully charged and crackling Taser.

“Whoa,” Matthew said, stepping back.

“It's charged at all times, and I keep it in a little holster hanging on the wall during the day,” Angela said. “I also put it under my pillow at night.”

Matthew stepped up to the landing and looked to the top of the stairs. “Is that a thousand-watt bulb?”

“Five hundred, and I never turn it off. I have plenty of new ones ready, too.” She slipped the Taser into a leather holster attached to the wall near a blank light switch. “I covered up the switch so I don't turn it off by mistake, and I also have a set of knives upstairs now. I still keep the hammer on my nightstand.”

“You have a fire escape, don't you?” Matthew asked.

“Yes, but I nailed all my windows shut. In case of fire, I can break a window with my hammer.” She backed down the stairs to the kitchen, squeezing and pulling her fingers in front of her. “So now you know everything.”

Matthew left the stairway and shut the door behind him.
Not everything.

Angela rushed by him and locked it. “You're only the second person who knows.”

“Dr. Penn knows,” Matthew said.

Angela nodded and leaned back against the refrigerator. “He visits every now and then to check up on me. Usually on Mondays.”

Matthew leaned against the middle sink. “Which is why you wanted me to sleep in on Monday.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Angela said. “After listening to Timothy tell his story and hearing that a blizzard was in the forecast, I . . . I panicked. I asked him to come over so we could talk.”

“He's a good man,” Matthew said.

“Yeah,” she said. “He reminds me so much of my daddy. My daddy is a strong man. And so are you.”

“I'm not that strong, Angela,” Matthew said.

“You're still here with crazy me,” she said. “I don't care for any of the women you date, but . . .”

Matthew left the sink and stood in front of her, taking her hands.
They're so cold!
“I don't care for the women I dated, either. Good thing we haven't gone on any dates.”

Angela smiled. “Not-a-dates.”

“Right.”
This is the moment. This has to be the moment.
“What would you say to a . . . not-a-kiss?”

Angela inhaled audibly. “I've never had one of those.”

Matthew picked up Angela's hands and put them around his neck, his hands sliding around her waist. “Neither have I. I'm not sure how to proceed.”

“I'm not sure either,” Angela said.

“I suppose I could dip my head down to yours.” He slouched until he was staring into Angela's eyes. “Like this.”

“That . . . that might work.”

Those eyes, those sexy brown eyes.
“And then I could move closer until . . .”

Their lips touched.

Angela pulled back bit by bit. “So that's a not-a-kiss.”

“I think we've just invented it,” Matthew whispered. “May I not-a-kiss you again?”

“No,” she said, grasping his face. “I want a real kiss this time.”

She pulled his face down, and they kissed, Matthew pulling her hips close to his thighs before moving his lips to her cheek and hugging her tightly.

“I tasted cranberries,” he whispered. “I knew you got more than I did.” He rested his forehead on hers. “What I said earlier about going out into the snow, I wasn't thinking clearly.” He kissed her again. “Mmm. Molasses that time.” He took her hands. “I need to warm you up.”

“You do,” Angela said softly.

“Let's go back to our booth bed,” Matthew said.

Angela nodded. “And, I want to . . .” She bit her lip. “I'm going to try to walk and not run in front of you, okay?”

“Okay.” He released her hands. “Tell me if I get too close.” She took a step. “I want you close but not too close.”

She took a deep breath and took several steps, Matthew keeping pace behind her. As she rounded the counter, she looked back.

“Shoot.” She stopped.

“What?” Matthew said.

“I looked back,” she said. “I had to make sure where you were.”

“That's okay.”

“No, it isn't,” Angela said, continuing to the booth and climbing in. “If you haven't already noticed, I have major trust issues. It's what Dr. Penn and I talk about most. I want to trust you, Matthew, I do, it's just hard for me to do right now.”

“So we'll walk beside each other,” Matthew said. He crawled over her legs and slid to the other end of the booth near the wall. “Where's that pillow?”

Angela tossed him the pillow, and he placed it on his lap.

“You seemed to sleep best this way,” he said.

Angela crept to him, moved the pillow higher, and lay face down, her arms around his waist. “What if I don't want to sleep?”

Matthew rubbed her lower back.

“If you do that, I'll be asleep in no time,” she whispered.

Matthew continued to rub. “You have some catching up to do.”
Four years' worth of sleep. I can't even begin to imagine what that must be like.

She rose and pushed the pillow up to Matthew's chest. “Can I wrap myself around you?”

“Sure.”

“Lean forward,” she said.

Matthew pushed away from the wall, and Angela sat on his thighs, wrapping her legs around him. She slid the pillow behind him and rested her head on his shoulder, her arms circling him under his arms.

Matthew pulled one of the blankets over them.

“Matthew?” she whispered.

“Yes?”

“What are you thinking right now?” she asked.

“I'm where I should be.”

“You're being smothered by a crazy woman in a booth at a coffee shop during a blizzard,” she whispered.

“You're not crazy, Angela.” He dug his fingers into her lower back. “And you're not smothering me.”

“What about all your fine, fancy, hot, dysfunctional women?” Angela asked.

“They are permanently not invited to our snow day.” He rubbed her sides. “And you are fine, fancy, hot—”

“And dysfunctional,” Angela interrupted.

“You're not.”

“I haven't seen the sun in over four years,” Angela said. “We went to Mezza Luna at night, remember?”

“You will see the sun soon. Just not today.” He worked his fingers down to the top of her pants, pressing gently. “You're hot.”

“It's your heat, not mine,” Angela said. “I'm still cold.”

He pulled the other blanket around them. “Better?”

“It doesn't matter how many blankets I use,” she said. “I'll still be cold.” She wiggled. “Keep rubbing my back.”

“Gladly.” He pulled up the edge of her shirt and slid his hands onto her hot skin. “Angela, seriously, your skin is an oven.”

“It's your hands,” she whispered.

“What if some customers came in right now?” Matthew asked.

“I'd get up and serve them,” Angela said.

“There's nothing moving out there but snow in the wind,” Matthew said. “Why don't you close for the day?”

“I'd hate it if anyone brave enough to come out in this mess found me closed,” she whispered. “And the snowwoman still says we're open, and my light is on.”

“You don't even have coffee brewing,” he said. “The only thing percolating in here is you. I thought you'd be sleepy.”

“I'm wide awake now, and I have a feeling you're not going to let me sleep anyway,” she said. “Your hands never stop moving.”

“It's not only my hands moving,” he said. “You keep moving your body underneath my hands.”

“You've noticed.” She kissed his neck and sat back. “I have a feeling that you're going to stay another night.”

“Is it a good feeling?” Matthew asked.

“Yes.”