Natalie and Matt get a little more comfortable

The plates sat ignored now, mostly cleared, save for a few scraps and a forgotten piece of potato. She was on her second glass, maybe her third, but it was the warmth washing through her, more than the count, that she noticed. Her foot was bouncing absently as she talked, the motion carrying through her with each bob. Matt sat across from her, arm draped along the back of his chair, his t-shirt snug across his shoulders, as the cotton hugged him in a way that made them look broad.

She watched the way his fingers moved around the glass casually. It was the same easy confidence he carried when he talked, like nothing ever really rattled him. It was part of what had pulled her in the first time. He walked the line between confidence and cocky, but his sense of humor was enough for her to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Conversation drifted from music, to places they wanted to visit, then stories from college. Natalie had her elbow on the table, chin resting lightly in her palm as she watched him talk. Her smile was constant, more interested. He’d said something sarcastic about Portland, but she let it hang for a beat before cutting in.

“Okay, but real question, do you ever think about getting an actual job?”

His eyebrow lifted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She smirked. “You know. Nine-to-five. Steady paycheck. Something with a structure, and paid time off, where you don’t have to worry about not making a car payment because you needed a break from work.”

Matt swirled the ice in his glass and gave her a look. “That sounds deeply erotic. Tell me more about this corporate fantasy of yours.”

The tone of her voice let him know her comments were more curious as to how he made it work, than they were judgmental.

“I’m just saying,” she said, tipping her glass toward him, “if I had your schedule, I’d be day-drunk by noon and shopping for niche throw pillows.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Is it?”

He leaned forward a little, his grin more curious now. “Are you flirting with me using home décor?”

She paused, sipped her wine. “I don’t know. Is it working?”

“I think it might be.”

She didn’t notice the way her knee moved toward him now, or how relaxed her posture had become. Just that the way he was looking at her had changed.

Matt reached for his glass, then gave hers a glance. “Top-off before we move back to the couch?”

“Want me to clear this first?” she asked, looking down at the table, with all of the plates scattered, and silverware resting haphazardly.

“I’ll take care of it later. You’re not here to clean my house.” He shook his head, already standing.

“Really, I don’t mind. You cooked, so it’s the least I can do,” she replied giving him a look of sincerity. Years of being a wife that did everything in the house, surfacing once again.

“If I start letting you do all the work now, what kind of precedent does that set?” He started stacking the plates anyway, casually gathering the mess. “Let me spoil you a little first… we can renegotiate later.”

He walked the short distance to the kitchen and set everything on the counter to clear the visual clutter, so she wouldn’t focus on it.

“Come on. Couch is more comfortable, anyway.” He refilled his own bourbon and nodded toward the living room.

Matt dropped onto the couch again, one arm draped along the back, and his glass resting loosely in his other hand. He looked comfortable, like this part was a rather common occurrence with the ease he did it.

Natalie followed a second later. This time, she didn’t leave a cushion between them. She sat just close enough that her knee brushed his when she crossed her legs, angling toward him with her wine in hand.

She could see in his posture that he noticed her actively close the gap, and he straightened just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting it, but wasn’t complaining.

“Better?” he asked, lifting his glass halfway in her direction.

“Getting there,” she smiled.

They both took a sip, as Natalie considered the evening so far. He was certainly more relaxed and charming in this setting than she’d experienced before. He felt almost overly comfortable with everything. The couch, the drink, the slow, easy pace of conversation. Like this wasn’t new to him. It didn’t bother her. If anything, it made things simpler.

“You good?” he asked noting the look on her face.

She nodded, shifting slightly, keeping her legs crossed in his direction. “Better than expected, honestly. The food. The company.”

“You say that like you were bracing for disappointment,” he smirked.

“Maybe I was.” She let the words hang, as she studied him. “But you’ve got the whole effortless charm thing down. Like you’ve done this before.”

“There’s a reason I learned to cook dinner,” he confessed, looking to see how she’d respond.

“Do you always get to the couch part?” She sipped again, watching him over the rim.

His expression felt a little more restrained, like he was holding back. “When I don’t overcook the chicken.”

She held his gaze, calm, composed. “And how often is that?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just glanced at her, thoughtful. “I don’t keep count.”

She nodded, not judging. It simply confirmed what she already suspected. He was used to this. The setup, the pacing, the ease. Maybe that should’ve made her wary, but instead, it made her curious.

“Well. If you’ve got the experience, might as well make it worth my time,” she let her voice soften just slightly.

That pulled a real smile from him. “Is that you giving me the green light or raising the bar?”

“I’d say you set the bar yourself. Question is, can the guy that said he likes to manage expectations, meet it?”

He chuckled under his breath and leaned in a touch closer. His hand that had been resting on the back of the couch, was now lightly stroking the back of her neck, and she didn’t flinch away from it. If anything, she tilted her head, opening the back of her neck to him.

“So was the chicken overcooked, or did I get it right tonight?” he asked.

His fingers kept moving lightly over her skin. It was suggestive enough to start breaking that touch barrier, but nothing out of line. She tilted her head just a little, turning into his hand ever so slightly and adjusting the spot on her neck he was hitting. She let it continue for a moment feeling her smile naturally start to spread across her face.

“You know,” she murmured, her face slightly turned and her eyes moving to his, “for someone with enough experience that he doesn’t need to count... I’d think you’d know how to read a room.”

That got his attention. She felt the pause in his fingers, and saw the slight dilation of his pupils as he leaned just slightly closer.

“You think I’m holding back?” he asked.

“I think you’re stalling for some reason,” she said, finally turning her head to fully face him again. Her voice stayed low. “And I didn’t come all the way over here for small talk and perfectly cooked chicken.”

That was all it took.

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