The only sound filling the kitchen was the now familiar scraping of forks against plates, or glasses clinking against the edge of a plate when they were put down too hastily. Other than that, there was no other noise around the dining table. No one dared to say anything, for I believed that they could all pick up on the tenseness between Matthew and I.
I had been saved from having to do any immediate explaining when the girls had come running into the kitchen in their obliviousness to what had been happening. I would be lying if I said that their interruption was unwelcome on my part. I would have given anything to get out of that conversation, but fate had decided to spare me from making any sacrifices.
But as much as I hated to admit it, I knew that this was just a temporary solution.
