The Muse's Undoing

“Do you want to buy it?” he asks. “I know you like it. And I believe it when you say it.”

“Not sure I have space for it at the Eastmoor, but I can pull out my measuring tape.”

He laughs, effectively closing the subject. “Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

I pull up a spreadsheet so it looks like I’m actually doing something when he comes over to sit next to me on the couch with a thermos of coffee for himself and a normal-sized mug for me.

I slide my laptop onto the coffee table and take the drink from him. He leans to the side, propping his elbow on the filigreed wood frame of the sofa and waits for me to pay attention to him. I shift slightly so I’m facing him, and our legs are touching.

“I came over here to ask you something,” he tells me.

“Is it serious?” I ask him.

“Sort of. Have you gotten a chance to have the talk with Ravenna?”

The coffee sours on my tongue, and I set it down along with my laptop, which I also close. “Not yet. Like you said—we’ve been pre-occupied.”

“I’m willing to give you a few minutes if you want to take care of that,” he says. “Unless you changed your mind.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I sigh. “I haven’t even seen her.”

“I know you’ve been texting.”

I glare at him. “Look. I’ll talk to her while you’re working tomorrow. Then you can come up and punish me for taking so long to get around to it.”

“And then what?” he asks, surprising me. I thought I’d get more mileage out of the invitation for punishment.

“How do you mean?”

“Then do we talk to Maggie? Our family. What comes next?”

“Do we have to decide that now?” I ask, my heart misfiring at the thought.

He sighs, defeated. “You’re right. It’s only been a couple weeks. No use getting anybody else involved if you decide it’s not gonna work.”

“Why me?” I ask.

“It’s not gonna be me.”

“I’m not prepared to concede that. You’ve literally never been in a relationship before. What if you hate it?”

“I’ve been in a relationship with you for years, and I don’t hate it at all.”

“You know what I mean,” I say, refusing to let him off the hook. I’m not the wild card here. Not by a long shot.

“I’m freaking out,” he blurts.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.”

I hate this conversation. And it’s not the only time we’ve had it this week. His validation needs are as high as mine. It’s no wonder we exhaust each other. “Again, why?”

Matthew shifts like he thinks his couch is as uncomfortable as mine. For the record, it isn’t.

“Because. You’ve been married before. You’ve never been in a relationship with a guy, and I’m not sure you see yourself ending up with a man. Any man.”