I give the question a brief bit of thought. Nothing special about this week unless you count my obsession with my appointment with her. “Yes.”
“I can tell you’re much more relaxed today than you were last session.”
“Good.”
Silence stretches between us, her palms and thumbs running over my back.
“You?” I ask suddenly.
“Excuse me?” Her hands falter for a moment before resuming their circular motions.
“How was your week?” Socially awkward, thy name is Matthew Smyth. I feel like I’m tripping over my tongue just to make standard small talk. It’s ridiculous.
“It was a good week. I love this time of year.”
“Me too. The changing leaves make every day seem new and different.”
“It does!” Pleasure hums through her voice, soothing my nerves, and it’s far easier to continue the conversation.
“I look forward to my morning commute for that reason. A tree that was faint yellow one day can be almost gold by the end of the week. This weekend I’m planning to drive up through Pennsylvania just for the foliage. The rolling hills in Lancaster are spectacular this time of year.”
“That sounds so nice. What do you plan to do while you’re up there?”
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Which sounds incredibly boring and sad and now I’m regretting starting this conversation.
Part of me wants to impress Tricia and lie about grand plans. Another part longs to invite her to come with me. No trip with her could be humdrum.
I do neither and admit the truth. “Stay at a quaint little hole in the wall motel, eat too much shoofly pie, and get excited over the various colored foliage and all the Amish buggies I come across.”
“Oh wow. I would love to go.”
CHAPTER THREE
TRICIA
The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to cram them back in and slink under the table in embarrassment. Matt’s entire body goes rigid under my hands, and I can’t even look to see what his facial expression is.
“But I just returned from vacation a week ago, so no more trips for me for a while. Maybe next fall I’ll make that drive. It sounds great. Really great.” I’m babbling and I can’t make myself stop. The words shoot out like water out of a hose. “And shoofly pie? Never had it. While I was in Colorado with my friends on that trip I just returned from? We had some tasty local foods. I even tried rocky mountain oysters…”
I slap my oiled hand over my mouth, the jasmine massage oil coating my lips and nearly gagging me with its overwhelming smell. At this rate, I’m going to need to quit my job and find a hole to bury myself in.
Matt’s husky chuckle fills the room, his large body shaking on the table. “Did you really?” he wheezes, turning his head to look up at me, his brown eyes alight with humor.
The humiliation that swamped me a moment ago has nothing on the tsunami of need that swallows me whole. Dr. Matt Smyth is so handsome he drains me of all rational sense. Staring at his attractive, smiling face, something tickles at the back of my head, a bit of déjà vu that I just can’t grasp.
Inching my hand down, I give a wry grin. “I did… and they weren’t that bad.”
That sets off another guffaw, his smile growing even wider. “I don’t think I’m adventurous enough to try bull balls.” Matt’s face creases in a wince. “In fact, I know I couldn’t stomach it. Solidarity for a fellow male and all.”
He looks so serious for a moment, then another dazzling smile graces his face as he flips casually onto his side. The sheet slips enough to show me the wonderfully defined happy trail of dark hair tracking down his stomach to sink beneath the concealing sheet.
Unable to resist, my eyes dip lower for a quick peek at his crotch. The solid bulge there has my breath fluttering out.
Hoping guilt isn’t clearly stamped on my face, I drag my gaze away, meeting his brown eyes and smile. “Completely understandable. I have no problems with chicken breasts, though.”
It takes half a second before we’re both wheezing with laughter.