Page 22 of Matthias’s Protective Embrace (Cardinal Falls #3)

Chapter Fourteen

FRANK

I’m going on a date with Matthias. A real date.

Not at his house either—not that I’d be against that—but out in public.

This is the real thing. And hopefully, after this, he’ll be willing to do more than kiss.

Not that I’m against kissing, especially with Matthias, but it’d be nice to have the option to take things a bit further.

I conducted further research on the Daddy topic, this time using reputable sites Matthias sent me, although I may have also watched a few videos on less-than-educational pages.

So sue me. After a night of making out and fantasizing about being pounded into the mattress, my dick had an agenda. One that didn’t include dense reading material.

I’ve changed clothes at least four times, which, given the scarcity of non-work clothes in my closet, is saying something.

Matthias insisted on picking me up. It’s a lovely gesture, but I’m concerned about my parents.

They’re not known for their social skills, and the last thing I need is for them to scare Matthias off.

While I’m sure he can hold his own, my parents live in their own little bubble.

Dealing with them is a whole different kind of battle.

One I don’t want him to wage. Not yet, at least. Obviously, if we continue, they’ll have to meet him.

Eventually. Maybe five or six years from now?

When we’re celebrating our wedding anniversary or something.

All of that explains why I’m sitting by the front door, staring out the window, waiting for him to pull up like I’m some sort of sad puppy. If I can get to him before he even gets the car in park, then my parents will be none the wiser.

“Frank, what are you doing?” Shit . I kinda hoped they wouldn’t notice. Last I checked, no one was around.

“Waiting on my ride.” Keep it vague. A typical night out and nothing more. Move along. Nothing to see here.

“Can you come help me with something in the kitchen until they get here?”

I sigh. So much for my foolproof plans.

“What do you need?” I get up and walk toward the kitchen, unsure of what I’m going to find. It could be anything from getting a container down from a top cabinet to dicing onions.

“Could you decorate these cookies for me so I can get them in the oven?” These sugar cookies are my mom’s specialty.

At least as much as you can call a recipe from a mass-market cookbook a specialty.

She takes them to every gathering. She claims that since she skips the frosting and puts the sprinkles on the cutouts before they bake, they’re healthier.

I’m ashamed to admit how long it took before I stopped believing that one.

“My friend is going to be here in a few minutes.” I look at the big tray filled with leaf shapes.

It’s for the fall festival bake sale the church is having this weekend.

They do it every year to fund the Christmas gifts they donate to various charities around Cardinal Falls.

My mom usually makes tons of fall shapes—nothing holiday-specific to avoid any complaints.

None of which I have time to decorate before we head out.

I’m not sure how I missed her getting all this set up.

Scratch that. I know exactly how I missed it. My mind has one thought and one thought only today. Matthias.

“See how much you can get done before he gets here.”

None is the answer I want to give. Instead, I drop my coat on the chair in the corner and roll up my sleeves.

“Tsk. You’ll get dirty like that. Put on an apron.

” I groan as she glares at me with a look she’s perfected over time.

One that should be illegal due to its effectiveness.

She’s right. It took me a long time to pick out this outfit.

It’s the perfect blend of trying hard and not trying at all.

There’s every chance that this black sweater is going to be covered in flour and orange sprinkles before I get out the door.

Not the sophisticated look I’m going for.

I carefully pull it over my head and deposit it with my coat.

At least if I get messy, it’s only the undershirt.

That will hide any stupid mistakes. I don’t know much about how Matthias spends his free time, but in my mind, it pretty much always includes a suit.

That’s what I imagine him in tonight—though, I hope he doesn’t expect the same from me.

My mom holds out an apron for me. Does every apron we own have to look like it walked off the set of a fifties TV sitcom? I know they make nicer ones. It’s not a manly bullshit thing; I’m not into the frilly flower pattern.

Focus . If I can decorate this tray of cookies quickly, then I can have my sweater back on and be waiting at the door in under five minutes. It’ll be tight, but I can do it.

Apron tied, I get to work with the sprinkles.

My mom has every color of sugar possible and a range of different fall cookie cutters, including leaves and acorns.

It’s easy enough to lose myself in the decoration process.

As a kid, my job in the kitchen was always to decorate the cookies.

I hate baking in general, but the decorating part is where I shine.

I always get lots of praise for the way the cookies look at events, so I’m not about to slack off now. Even if I’m in a hurry.

“I’m home,” my dad calls, rounding the corner from the garage into the house.

“We’re in the kitchen,” my mom yells back.

“I found one of Frank’s friends hanging around the driveway.”

I freeze, sprinkle shaker in hand. No . No way.

“Great, we could use a little more help.”

Fuck . Can I get a break, please?

“Hi, I’m Matthias Weber.” Matthias rounds the corner and greets my mom.

“I’m Frank’s mom, Christina. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“You’ve got a lovely home, Mrs. Rosso.”

I try my best to hide behind the counter, but it’s too late. I know Matthias has seen me. Time for damage control.

“Please, no need to be so formal. Christina is fine, and you’ve met my husband, Leo.”

“We have to go, Mom.” This is literally my nightmare. I’m standing in my kitchen, wearing a ridiculous apron instead of the outfit I spent hours selecting, chatting with Matthias and my parents.

Wait, even my worst dreams weren’t this bad. I swear, I can’t stop embarrassing myself in front of this man.

“Oh, okay. I’ll see if your dad can help me finish these up.”

I roll my eyes. My dad has helped with the cookies exactly once, after which he was banned from the kitchen anytime there was decorating.

“If you need help, Christina, we could stick around a few minutes. I’m not great in the kitchen, but you can put me to work on whatever needs to be done.”

I know he’s trying to impress my parents, which is great and all, but seriously? Can’t he give them a nice bottle of wine and be done with it? I try not to pout, but my bottom lip has other plans.

“That’s so kind of you to offer.” Please tell him it’s not necessary. Please tell him it’s not necessary. “Why don’t you take off your jacket and wash your hands? Then you can help Frank with the decorating.”

And there goes my fun date night. The first date I’ve had in two years, and we’re going to spend it in my kitchen. With my parents. In a frilly apron.

MATTHIAS

Frank is adorable in his apron, though I know better than to say that to him. There’s something about the way the feminine lines of frills look against his undershirt that makes me smile. My guess is this isn’t what he planned for our date. I like this better.

This isn’t how I expected the evening to go either.

I got out of my car at the same time as Frank’s father arrived home from work.

He was kind enough to let me into the house.

He gave me a few strange looks, but I’m not sure whether they were because of my clothes, my age, or the fact that I’m here for his baby boy. Possibly all three .

Now, I’m going to decorate cookies, something I’ve never done before.At my house, homemade cookies were either peanut butter or chocolate chip, neither of which takes rainbow sprinkles.

“Which ones can I help with?” I ask Frank. His jaw drops as he stares at me.

“We didn’t have to stay,” he whispers, probably a bit too loudly.

“It’s nice to help. We can go when it’s done.” It’s the wrong thing to say. His face drops instantly. I can’t work it out right now, not with his parents hovering around. I mentally add it to the list of things to discuss at dinner.

Instead, I grab one of the jars of sprinkles from the counter. “Show me how to do this.”

Frank rolls his eyes—something else we’ll talk about later—and points to a corner of the baking sheet.

“Do those two. Don’t be stingy either. I have a reputation to maintain.

” I do my best, but they turn out only okay.

Per Frank’s instructions, they’re covered in burnt orange sugar.

Pouring sprinkles onto dough doesn’t sound hard, but clearly, there’s a technique I’m missing.

Frank’s are much better. Professional even, with the sugar spread evenly.

I’m hoping the future holds lots of opportunities for him to teach me his skills.

“You’ve got a real knack for this. Those look incredible,” I say when his mom excuses herself for a few minutes.

“I’ve done it a lot.” He puts a few sprinkles on the last one he’s finishing. In the time it took me to do two, Frank’s somehow completed ten. “Okay, those are the last ones. I think that gets us off the hook.”

“Oh, are you boys leaving?” I can’t remember the last time someone referred to me as a boy. Even if I’m one of the younger folks at my father’ s firm, I’m still very much in my mid-thirties. A fact made clear by the strands of grey hair along my temples.

“Yes.” Frank jumps in before I can say anything.