Until I Saw Your Smile (30 page)

Chapter 24

M
atthew woke to the sound of the shower.

He swung out of the bed, went to the window, and looked outside. He saw nothing but a narrow alley and a Dumpster sporting a high hat of snow.

He looked at the bathroom door after the water stopped, wondering how Angela would come out of the bathroom.

Matthew sat on the edge of the bed and waited, hoping for the best.

Angela opened the door and came out fully clothed in a black sweater, black shoes, and blue jeans. The only thing missing from her “uniform” was her apron.

Matthew pouted.

“What's wrong?” she said.

Matthew stood. “You're fully dressed.”

Angela blinked once. “It's cold.” She threw her hair into a ponytail. “I'd wait at least thirty minutes before you take your shower.”

“You're opening?” Matthew asked.

“It's not snowing anymore, and I'm awake and well-rested for a change.” She looked at the bed. “Thanks to you.”

“What if no one shows up?” Matthew asked.

She pulled up the sheets and comforter, propping up the pillows. “If no one shows up by ten, we'll do something else.”

“Nine, and we'll come back up here to take another nap,” Matthew said.

Angela smiled. “Nine-thirty.”

“Nine-fifteen?” Matthew smiled.

“We'll see.” She smoothed out the comforter. “Don't you have a case you could be working on?”

“I'd rather work on you,” Matthew said.

Angela walked into the tiny kitchen. “We have to make a living.”

Matthew caught up to her at the stairway door and turned her around. “I like the way you said that.
We
have to make a living.”

“You're putting
us
behind schedule already, man.” She kissed him briskly. “You don't have to get up now, you know.”

“I know.” He took off his shirt. “But I want to help.” He dropped his boxers to the floor. “Is there a towel in the bathroom for me?”

Angela stared at Matthew's chest, her eyes drifting lower.

“Angela, is there an extra towel in the bathroom?” he asked again.

Angela looked up. “The water won't be hot yet.”

He kissed her forehead. “It doesn't matter to me, as long as it's
wet
.”

Angela's eyes dropped briefly before flitting up to his chest again. “Please wait until it warms up.”

He turned and walked into the kitchen. “I'll be down in a few minutes.”
I hope she's watching.
He looked back and saw her watching.
Yes.
“Don't you have a coffee shop to run?”

Angela nodded, smiled, and left the apartment.

Matthew entered the bathtub and turned on the hot water.

It wouldn't warm up.

He turned the shower lever, and icy water stung him like a Taser.

He took a two-minute shower.

He wouldn't feel his feet for several hours.

After drying himself and fastening the towel around his waist, Matthew “borrowed” some toothpaste and brushed his teeth with his finger. As the first wave of Angela's coffee rose up around him, he looked at the boxers, jeans, hoody, and T-shirt he had worn for two days.

While he did a quick mini load, he leafed through several cookbooks, marveling at the many uses for basil. After putting his clothes into the dryer, he hopped up onto the dryer to warm his feet while enjoying an interesting recipe for oatmeal pancakes that used wheat germ and buttermilk syrup.

Angela burst through the stairway door minutes later and smiled. “I was wondering where you were.”

Matthew tried to cross his legs, but the towel wouldn't cooperate.
I'll just be exposed then, shall I?
He lowered the cookbook. “Just catching up on some reading,” he said. “Fascinating stuff. Basil has
so
many uses. I'll be down in a few minutes.”

She laughed. “From now on, whenever I do my laundry, I will think of you in that little towel.”

“I'm so glad I am already giving you memories,” Matthew said. “Are you ready to open already?”

“I'm not open yet, and there's nothing moving out there anyway. Driggs hasn't been touched.” She approached him gradually, biting her lip. “And the longer I stay up here with you, the more memories I'll have.”

He closed the cookbook and placed it on his lap. “My load should be done in a few minutes.”

She stood in front of him, placing her hands on his thighs.

“Don't even think about it,” Matthew said.

“Think about what?” She moved her hands under the towel.

“You have me at a severe disadvantage, Miss Smith,” Matthew said, scooting back. “Please behave like a lady.”

Her hands stopped in the middle of his thighs. “I don't know how I'm supposed to behave. I've never had a nearly naked man reading a cookbook on my dryer before.” Her hands continued to his hips. “What
should
I do?”

“I am at your mercy,” Matthew said. “Be gentle.”

She slid her hands down his legs to his knees. “I have so much power.”

“The things I could do,” she whispered.

“Yes.”
Thank goodness this cookbook is heavy. Her hands were making me rise to the occasion.

She licked her lips.

“I'll be downstairs waiting.” She skimmed her hands down his calves and backed away.

“I'll be right down,” Matthew said. “To do some shoveling.”

Angela went to the stairway door. “The shovel's probably buried by the back door.” She turned and squinted. “You look
good
in a towel.”

“Thank you,” Matthew said. “I'll bet you look good in a towel, too.”

“Bye.”

As soon as the door closed, Matthew jumped off the dryer and checked his clothes.
Dry enough.
He put them on and hesitated at the stairway door.
Lock or not? I had better lock it and the landing door, just in case.

He clicked open the series of locks on the back door of the kitchen, opened it, and kicked snow away until he found the shovel. He also noticed footsteps going into and out of the alley.
Someone got seriously lost last night.

He walked past Angela at the counter and headed to the front door with the shovel, grabbing his coat from the first chair.

She poked out her bottom lip. “I'm sad.”

“Why?”

“You're not wearing the towel.”

“I'll just have to do more laundry later,” he said.

She smiled. “Don't hurt yourself. That looks like heavy snow.”

Matthew threw on his coat, pushed hard on the door, and the drift against it collapsed. He closed the door and shoveled out a ten-by-ten-foot section of the sidewalk as the world brightened around him. He made a pile high enough to block any view Angela might have of La Estrella.
Her competition is still closed. Good.
He packed more snow onto the snowwoman, adding some bigger cleavage and subtracting several inches from her rear. He reentered the shop, swatted snow from his shoes, and locked the door.

“Are we open yet?” Matthew asked.

“Not yet.”

I can't believe it's not even six yet.
He pulled off his hoody and sniffed the air. “What is that heavenly smell?”

“I'm baking some apple turnovers,” she said. “I hope you didn't freeze off anything important.”

He approached the counter. “I'm all
present
and accounted for. I'm sweaty, though. I need another shower, and I'll need to do more laundry afterward . . .” He raised his eyebrows.

“We might not stay open past nine now.” She offered him a cup of coffee.

“Good.” He took the cup. “How about eight-thirty?”

“Maybe.” She nodded toward the door. “Go open us.”

“My pleasure.” He went to the door and flipped the sign. “Now what do I do?”

“Work your case,” Angela said.

“It's six
AM
, Angela,” Matthew said. “I don't want to wake anyone up.”

“Dr. Penn keeps early hours,” she said.

“He does, does he?”

Angela nodded.

“I'll give him a call.” He returned to the booth, noticed only two battery bars on his cell phone, and dialed Dr. Penn's number.

“Good morning, Matthew,” Dr. Penn said. “What's it look like down your way?”

Matthew smiled at Angela.
It actually looks beautiful.
“The streets haven't been touched. How about you?”

“Nothing yet,” Dr. Penn said. “The snowshoes came in mighty handy last night. Twenty-six inches. Incredible.”

“Were you able to see Timothy?” Matthew asked.

“Yes.”

“How'd it go?” Matthew asked.

“In my professional opinion,” Dr. Penn said, “Timothy has a strong case, one of the strongest I've seen for a soldier who didn't see combat. As an anesthetist in any other war, he would have been stationed on or near the battlefield to do his job at a MASH or Combat Support Hospital. I believe Timothy has a classic case of PTSD, and I willing to attest to that in court.”

Good.
“How is Mrs. Simmons?”

“She is a rock,” Dr. Penn said. “Given time and the proper therapy, both of them will make it through this. Where should I send my findings?”

“Well, I obviously don't want you to come over to Angela's today,” Matthew said.

Angela raised her eyebrows.

“She's open?” Dr. Penn asked.

“Yes,
we're
open,” Matthew said. “Regular time. No customers yet, of course, but you never know.”

“And you're there now,” Dr. Penn said.

“Yes, I'm open for business, too, Doc.”

“How is she?” Dr. Penn asked. “I meant to call her yesterday during the storm.”

Matthew smiled at Angela. “She's good. She's very good.”

Angela bit her lower lip and turned away, heading into the kitchen.

She is the best flirt!
“Dr. Penn,” Matthew said softly, “Angela told me about what happened to her four years ago.”

“I hoped she might,” Dr. Penn said. “How do you feel about it?”

“Her telling me or what happened to her?” Matthew asked.

“Both,” Dr. Penn said.

Matthew exhaled. “I don't know, privileged she told me and mad as hell that it happened to her. I still don't have all the specifics.”

“And we may never know them all because Angela may never tell us,” Dr. Penn said. “The assault itself was sudden, unexpected, and unpredictable, and how and if she reveals anything to us may come just as suddenly and unexpectedly.”

“Does she have PTSD?” Matthew asked.

“I believe so, yes,” Dr. Penn said.

Matthew sighed. “So there's no telling how long this will last.”

“You're right,” Dr. Penn said. “There's no telling. The mind is as sturdy as it is fragile, Matthew. What we have to do is keep what's sturdy strong and rebuild what's fragile. Her isolation seems to be ending because of you, and it might scare her and thrill her at the same time. She feels strong and fragile at the same time. Do you understand?”

“I've seen it in action, Doc. It's . . .” He shook his head. “Honestly, it's sometimes spooky how she can be sweet then sour from one day to the next, even from one moment to the next. She's consistently inconsistent.”

“That's an accurate description of anyone suffering from PTSD,” Dr. Penn said. “But take heart, Matthew. Your friendship has obviously already done wonders for her. You are the first person she has allowed into her isolated world in four years.”

“You, too, right?” Matthew asked.

“Not nearly as much as you,” Dr. Penn said. “She sees me as a means to an end, a potential cure. She truly sees you as a friend.”

Matthew smiled. “I'm more than a friend to her, Dr. Penn. I'm not sure exactly what I am, but I know I'm more than a friend.”

“Do you love her, Matthew?” Dr. Penn asked.

Why'd he have to ask that?
“I honestly don't know.”

“
Could
you love her?” Dr. Penn asked.

“Yes. Easily. I've never met anyone like her. I think I have a crush on her. I'm a grown man with a crush. What's that say about me?”

“That you're romantic,” Dr. Penn said.

“Maybe.”

“Angela is making all sorts of breakthroughs,” Dr. Penn said.

“Mrs. Simmons said Angela was at her apartment the other night.”

“We've been out twice together,” Matthew said. “Pizza the first time.”

“Pizza!” Dr. Penn shouted. “Oh, I could use some, but no one's open and probably won't be for a few days. All this is remarkable, truly remarkable, Matthew. You know, you could have a career in counseling, counselor.”