Made to Last (Where Love Begins Book #1) by Melissa Tagg

so soon? She hadn’t heard him drive up. So much for Blaze keeping watch. Oh, why hadn’t she ever put a door on the bedroom closet? She could have hidden inside. Maybe under the bed. And what, stay there all night? Or maybe . . .
    Too late. The door creaked open. Her heart thudded. Think.
    Only one thing she could do. Miranda plastered on a smile and lifted her hand in a wave. “Hi!”
    Matthew yelped and dropped the bundle in his arms. “What are you . . . I thought I locked . . . Way to freak me out, Woodruff.”
    “Sorry. Um, I thought I’d clean the place up a bit while you were out.”
    Suspicion crawled into his eyes above stubble-covered cheeks. He shook his head. “Not buying it. The place smelled like a forest when I got home earlier. Someone already went Pine-Sol ballistic.”
    That’s right, Blaze had offered to clean the cabin while she and Matthew were out for the day. He’d also stocked her fridge with groceries and washed a load of towels. She should’ve brought home a fake husband years ago.
    Matthew’s eyebrows lifted a notch.
    “Well, the truth is . . .” Nothing, I got nothing.
    “I know what’s going on here, so you might as well admit it.”
    See, this was why a person up to her neck in secrets didn’tplay hostess to a sniffing reporter—even if said reporter could easily qualify as cute in his startled state.
    Matthew bent to pick up his grocery sack. “You snuck out here so you could get a peek at my first blog for Today ’s website.”
    She held back an instant grin. Saved by the man himself. “Yes.” Serious face, apologetic eyes. This mock guilt was so much nicer than the real thing. “Yes, that is exactly what I was doing.”
    “Too late—already sent it. Sorry. But as long as you’re here, want some ice cream? Sadly, the selection at the mini-mart was limited. We’ll have to make due with Neapolitan.”
    He kicked the door shut behind him and walked to the kitchenette spanning one wall.
    An old couch sat in one corner and a small round table occupied the center of the room, Matthew’s laptop open atop it.
    “I don’t know if I should—”
    “Or we could bring it over to the house in case Blaze wants some, too.”
    She thought of the trunk, likely still sitting in the entryway. “Uh no. He’s a healthy eater.” She had proof. Blaze had insisted on broccoli and apple slices with dinner tonight. “But, sure, I’ll have a scoop. I never say no to ice cream.”
    “I can’t go more than a few days without it myself. I think my internal organs would start shutting down.”
    “It’s possible we share DNA.”
    Matthew pulled a bowl from the sink. “Found the dishes in one of the cupboards. Do you have guests out here often?”
    No, she’d simply had no energy to clean the place out after Robbie left. Interesting, though, how seeing the ease of familiarity with which Matthew moved around the cabin blurred the ghost of Robbie.
    “Thank you for letting me stay here, by the way,” he saidas he dug a spoon into the box of ice cream. “Brad told me yesterday he’d neglected to okay the arrangement with you. I know he was expecting a female reporter. Hopefully this isn’t too awkward.”
    Considering she also had a man sleeping on her couch, it was practically run-of-the-mill.
    “I wanted to ask you about these dishes. They look like handmade pottery.” Matthew tapped on the bowl, glaze swirls of red and blue and green ornamenting the upper rim. “I know you spent several years in Brazil. Is that where you got them?”
    “Is this an interview?”
    He handed her a bowl, pausing with a thoughtful study. “Nah. Off the clock.”
    “My parents brought that set home during one of their furloughs. They are missionaries in Sao Paulo, but they come home every four years.”
    He grabbed his own bowl and motioned for her to sit. “So you lived here in the States with your grandparents growing up, and then you joined your parents in South America after