It explained a lot, really. Her loneliness, the longing in her eyes. She had lost so much, it was understandable. He felt sorry for her, but that pity only went so far. Now that he understood her better, it made him all the more uncomfortable.
He hadn't expected to see her in anything but baggy clothing and a nursery shirt, and rebuked himself for being shocked when she appeared at the door in something else. Surely, Mrs. Carter wouldn't wear work clothes at home. But that outfit wasn't what Matt had expected, or wanted. It made her look different. It made her look more desirable.
As Matt finished his bowl of chili, he struggled not to think about it. He hadn't been intimate in such a long time, he felt the danger of awareness cautioning him to step carefully. He hadn't wanted to notice, but he had, and now that he had, he must back off.
Dessert brought Ryan back to the table, laughing and bursting with talk of what a great dog Bailey was. Matt was glad Ryan was having such a good time, though he couldn't help wishing Mrs. Carter owned a goldfish. Bailey would only make Ryan's pleading for a puppy grow stronger, and it pulled at Matt's already low spirits. Why couldn't she have a stupid cat? And why did she have to dress so nicely?
Matt felt under siege, and by the time dinner was over, he was more than ready to go home.
"Maybe," Mrs. Carter said as they filed to the front door, "you could all come for dinner next week."
"No thanks." Matt winced a little at the abruptness of his refusal, but the last thing he wanted was a repeat of tonight. He planted his hat on his head with a firm tug, gave her a nod good-bye. "Thanks for the meal. I hope we didn't put you to too much trouble."
"You didn't." Mrs. Carter's lips were pulled into a thin, pained smile. The pain he saw in her eyes seemed more understandable, less of a puzzle. Her loneliness was palpable, and he could nearly feel it beat in his chest, pump through his heart. He knew what it felt like to be alone, to feel as though no one on earth cared for your soul. Though their pain was not identical, he identified it and understood it.
Yet he could not help her. In fact, he felt helpless to do anything but run.
Matt ushered his family outside, waited patiently for Ryan to part with Bailey. He lifted Ryan into his car seat, buckled him in. He rounded the truck, paused when he noticed Mrs. Carter still standing by her front door.
She stepped toward him, her smile sad and subdued.
"Cass, Ethan-- get in the truck. We'll leave in a minute." Matt moved toward Mrs. Carter, stuffed his hands helplessly into his pockets and wondered what to say.
Her arms folded against the chill of the evening air. "I appreciate you bringing your family out here, Matt. It was kind of you to share them with me, even for this one time."
With a sigh, Matt looked off into the distance. "You're welcome," he said finally.
"Matt, I'm not--" she stopped. "I won't ask you and your family to dinner again, and I'll leave you alone from here on out if that's what you want."
His chest rumbled with inward laughter. "The day you women leave me alone, I'll eat my hat."
Mrs. Carter's soft smile quickened his breath. She looked at him, and his insides twisted a bit, as though her very gaze could rearrange him from the inside out. "I like you, Matt. I like you well enough to stop bothering you, for I can see plainly that's what I've been doing."
He shrugged casually. "No harm done. We had to eat."
"Well, thank you for coming out this evening." When she rubbed her arms, he felt the urge to find a jacket and put it around her shoulders. He had no jacket, and when he remembered he hadn't, his feet refused to move. He knew he should go back to the truck, get in, and not look back. But he couldn't.
