Chapter 5
11th January 2015, Matt's Apartment - Hell's Kitchen, NYC
Matt flipped the bacon in the pan, listening to the satisfying sizzle as fat rendered against hot metal. The rich, salty aroma filled his kitchen, mingling with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the pancake batter waiting to be cooked. He moved with practiced ease in his own space, fingers lightly brushing countertops and cabinets as guideposts, though he hardly needed them anymore.
His attention drifted to the bedroom—specifically to the slight change in breathing pattern coming from behind the closed door. Rose was waking up. Her heart rate shifted from the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep to a quicker tempo as consciousness returned. He heard the whisper of sheets against skin as she stirred, the subtle creak of his mattress as she turned.
A soft sigh escaped her lips—barely audible to anyone with normal hearing, but to Matt, it was as clear as if she'd been standing beside him. He listened as she sat up, the rustle of his borrowed shirt against her skin creating a gentle friction sound. Her bare feet touched the floor, followed by the almost imperceptible pad of footsteps approaching the door.
Matt turned his attention back to breakfast, flipping the last pieces of bacon onto a paper towel to drain. He cracked eggs into a bowl, focusing on the delicate separation of shell, the splash as yolks hit ceramic, the subtle shift in air pressure as Rose opened the bedroom door.
"Morning," she said from the doorway.
Matt tilted his head slightly, mapping her position through sound and air currents. She was leaning against the doorframe, her heart rate slightly elevated. Her natural scent drifted toward him, stronger after a night's sleep and mingled with the notes of his own detergent and cologne from the shirt she was wearing—his shirt.
The combination of their scents together—of her unique fragrance wrapped in his own, the way she carried his scent on her skin—and the fact that she was wearing his clothing, stirred something primal in him, a possessive warmth that settled low in his stomach and made his fingers tighten momentarily around the whisk he was holding.
"Morning," he replied with a small smile. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than I have in days," Rose admitted. "Thank you for giving up your bed." Her fingers made a soft brushing sound, as if she was running her hand along the shirt she wore.
"It's not a problem," Matt said, whisking the eggs. "I've slept in worse places."
"Like dumpsters?" The teasing lilt in her voice made his smile widen.
Matt laughed, enjoying the easy banter between them.
He could sense her watching him, the subtle shift in temperature as she moved closer.
"Silk sheets though? Didn't expect that. Not that I'm complaining…"
"Regular cotton feels like sandpaper on my skin." He poured the eggs into the hot pan, listening to the satisfying sizzle. "Coffee?" he offered, already reaching for a second mug, tracking Rose's movements as she settled onto one of the barstools at his counter.
"Please," she answered. Matt poured, measuring by sound and weight, and slid the mug across the counter. Her fingers brushed his as she took it, sending a small jolt of warmth up his arm.
"And he can cook…" she said, the ceramic mug making a soft tap as she set it down. "Somehow, I didn't expect that. Not from the lawyer, not from the man in the mask."
Matt plated the food, the different temperatures creating a thermal map he could follow easily. "There's a lot about me that might still surprise you."
"I don't doubt it." Matt heard the smile in her voice. "Although, the blind vigilante lawyer who can hear heartbeats and smell cologne through walls? I think I'm prepared for just about anything at this point."
Matt's lips quirked upward as he sat beside her, the stool creaking slightly under his weight. "Fair enough."
They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments. Matt was acutely aware of Rose beside him—the soft sounds of her eating, the way she'd occasionally tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the gradual slowing of her heartbeat as she relaxed.
"So…" Matt set down his fork with a soft clink against the plate. "The story should break today."
"That's good," Rose said. "It won't bring him back, but at least Daniel's death won't have been for nothing. And his son will know his father was trying to do the right thing."
Matt reached out, his hand finding hers with precision, guided by her body heat and the sound of her breathing. Her skin was soft, warm. Her pulse jumped slightly at his touch, a reaction he couldn't help but notice.
"We'll find them," he promised. "Whoever is behind it. They won't get away with this."
He heard her swallow, her heart rate increasing in a way that had nothing to do with fear. The reaction stirred something in him, an answering heat he tried to ignore.
"I should probably shower," she said, reluctantly pulling her hand away with a soft scrape of skin against skin. "I can't exactly go around in your shirt all day."
Matt tracked the movement as she stood, fabric shifting against her body, outlining her form in sound. "You wouldn't hear any complaints from me," he said with a teasing smile. "And I think it suits you."
Her heart skipped. "How would you know? You can't see me."
Matt's smile widened. "But I have a very good imagination."
Rose laughed, the sound bright and genuine. He heard her pick up her plate, the ceramic making a soft clink as she placed it in the sink.
"Towels are in the cabinet," Matt said. "I think there might be a spare toothbrush somewhere too."
"Such hospitality," Rose teased. "Is this your standard treatment for women who spend the night in your bed? You cook them breakfast, make them use your shower…"
Matt's fingers stilled on the counter. Her heartbeat had quickened slightly—uncertainty, perhaps, about whether she'd crossed a line, or simple curiosity or…jealousy?
He turned to face her direction more fully.
"Nah, just the ones that keep me alive," Matt joked, then turned serious. "To be honest, I don't usually make a habit of this." He paused, wanting to be clear. "I don't bring many people here at all. Not in some time, at least."
He wasn't sure why it felt important to emphasize that point, to make sure she understood that this wasn't routine for him, that her presence in his apartment, wearing his clothes, wasn't something he shared lightly with just anyone.
He heard her hesitation—a subtle pause in her movements, a momentary shift in her breathing—before she continued toward the bathroom.
"I'll be quick," she promised.
The bathroom door closed.
His senses automatically started to catalog every sound from behind that door—the soft rustle as she undressed, the metallic squeak of the shower knob turning, the rush of water through pipes, the change in air pressure as steam began to fill the small room.
Matt forced himself to focus elsewhere, gathering their plates and moving to the sink. He turned on the water, deliberately letting the sound wash over his senses, drowning out what he shouldn't be privy to.
He scrubbed the dishes with more force than necessary, focusing on the texture of soap bubbles, the temperature of the water, the way sound bounced differently off wet surfaces. Anything but the woman showering in his bathroom, who had stepped into his life and somehow already carved out a space there.
The water shut off. He listened as Rose moved around the bathroom—the soft friction of towel against skin, the quiet dripping of water from her hair, the subtle changes in air pressure as she moved.
The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of warm, humid air that carried with it the intensified scent of her skin. Matt's senses were immediately overwhelmed—her heartbeat, the sound of water droplets sliding down her skin, the subtle squeak of her feet on the floor, and the unmistakable fact that she was wearing nothing but a towel.
He could feel the heat rising in his own face, his pulse quickening despite his best efforts to maintain composure. The towel made a soft rustling sound as she adjusted it, securing it more firmly just above her chest.
"Your turn, if you want it," Rose said, her voice carrying a lightness that suggested she was perfectly at ease. "I left you some hot water."
Matt cleared his throat, adjusting his collar unnecessarily. "Thanks," he managed, painfully aware that his voice had come out slightly rougher than normal.
There was a pause, and he could sense her studying him, her head tilting slightly.
"Are you okay?" Rose asked, a teasing lilt entering her voice. "You seem a little flushed."
Matt recognized his own words from the night before being thrown back at him. He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips, caught between embarrassment and appreciation for her quick wit.
"Just the steam from the bathroom," he replied, attempting to recover some composure.
"Sure, it is." Rose's laugh was bright and knowing. "Do you have some other clothes I could borrow?"
"There's a Columbia sweatshirt in the top drawer of my dresser, and some sweatpants that might work with the drawstring pulled tight."
"A Columbia sweatshirt, huh?" Rose asked. "Showing off your alma mater?"
"It's comfortable," Matt defended, though he couldn't quite hide his own smile. "And clean."
"How generous," Rose teased, already moving toward the bedroom. The door closed with a soft click, leaving Matt alone with the lingering scent of his soap on her skin and the memory of her laughter in his ears.
11th January 2015, Nelson & Murdock Law Office - Hell's Kitchen, NYC
Matt was in the middle of reviewing a case file, his fingers moving across the braille text, when he caught it—a familiar heartbeat approaching the building. Rose. He tilted his head slightly, focusing his senses. She was walking up the street, her pace steady and determined, about half a block away.
He could distinguish her footsteps from the dozens of others on the sidewalk—light but with a purposeful cadence that set them apart from the average pedestrian. And there was something else—a warm, savory aroma that accompanied her. Food of some kind, rich with spices he couldn't immediately identify.
Matt listened as she entered the building, heard the slight squeak of the elevator doors, the mechanical groan as it lifted her to their floor.
He kept tracking Rose's progress, following the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. He heard her footsteps approach their door, the slight change in her breathing as she prepared to knock.
"I'll get it," Foggy called from the other room, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood. Matt heard his footsteps crossing to the door, the handle turning.
"Miss Evans!" Foggy's voice carried a note of pleased surprise. "Rose, I mean. Come in, come in."
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Rose said, her voice sending an unexpected ripple of warmth through Matt. "I just wanted to stop by and properly thank you both."
Matt emerged from his office, mapping the space through sound and air currents. Rose was standing just inside the reception area, her heartbeat quickening slightly as he appeared. The scent of her—that distinctive blend of honey, lemon, and lilies—mingled with whatever food she'd brought. It was mouthwatering, in more ways than one.
"Rose," he said, unable to keep a small smile from forming. "This is a surprise."
"A good one, I hope," she replied. "I brought dinner. As a thank you." He heard the rustle of a container being lifted.
The aroma intensified as she shifted the container—pastry, meat, potatoes, onions, and spices he couldn't quite place. Rich and hearty. His stomach responded with an appreciative growl.
"It smells amazing," Matt said truthfully, focusing his senses on the enticing scent.
"Let's use the conference room," Foggy suggested, already moving in that direction. "Beats eating at our desks."
Matt followed the sounds of their movements into the conference room. He took a seat, listening as Rose opened the container. The full aroma bloomed in the enclosed space, even richer than he'd anticipated.
He heard the soft sound of pastry being placed on napkins, the rustle of clothing as Rose leaned forward to distribute them.
"These look incredible," Foggy said, his voice carrying that particular inflection of someone viewing something appealing. "What are they exactly?"
"Cornish pasties," Rose explained. Matt heard Foggy take a bite, the subtle sounds of appreciation that followed. "My grandmother's recipe. She was from Truro."
"Truro?" Foggy asked, speaking around what was clearly a substantial mouthful. "Never heard of it."
"Small cathedral city in southwest England." There was affection in Rose's voice, a softening that suggested fond memories. "My grandmother never let us forget it was 'the only proper city in Cornwall.' She was pretty insistent about teaching me these recipes."
"Well, thank God she did," Foggy declared, the sounds of enthusiastic eating punctuating his words. "Matt, you're missing out on the visual, but these things are works of art."
Matt took a careful bite, his enhanced taste buds immediately flooded with flavor. The pastry was buttery and flaky, the filling a perfect blend of seasoned meat, potatoes, and vegetables. But it was the spice profile that fascinated him—familiar components, yet combined in a way he hadn't experienced before.
"I'm not missing anything," he said, savoring the complex flavors. "The combination of spices is fascinating. Subtle but distinctive."
"My grandmother always said proper Cornish cooking was about simplicity with just the right seasoning," Rose replied, her heart rate picking up slightly—pleased by his appreciation, perhaps. "The pasty was originally a miner's lunch—meat, potato, and vegetables in a pastry shell that could be easily carried and eaten without utensils."
"Practical and delicious," Foggy declared. "I approve."
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments. Matt was acutely aware of Rose watching him, her gaze like a physical touch on his skin. He wondered what she was thinking, what she saw when she looked at him in this setting.
"So," Foggy said eventually, followed by the sound of hands being wiped clean on a napkin. "Now that your name's been cleared, what's next for you?"
"I'm not sure, to be honest," Rose replied, the container making a soft sound as she adjusted it. "I'll need to pick up my P.I. work again, though it might be smart to lie low for a while."
"Speaking of that," Matt said, setting down his half-eaten pasty. This was the perfect opening. "Foggy and I were discussing something this morning that might interest you."
"Oh?" Rose's voice carried a note of curiosity, though Matt could detect the slight deception. Her heartbeat remained steady though—she was a good actress.
"We could use someone with your skills," Matt continued, maintaining the ruse they'd agreed upon. "A law firm needs an investigator, especially one handling the kinds of cases we want to take on."
Foggy nodded—Matt could hear the rustle of his hair, the slight creak of his chair. "Exactly! We can't afford to outsource that work, not at this stage."
"You want to hire me?" Rose asked, her tone carefully modulated. "As your investigator?"
"Well, we can't exactly put you on payroll yet," Foggy admitted. "We're still trying to figure out how to pay ourselves. But it would be a start."
Matt listened as Rose pretended to consider. "I'd still need to maintain my P.I. business," she said after a calculated pause. "But I could prioritize your cases, have a desk here when you need me."
"A retainer arrangement," Matt suggested, as planned. "You work your own cases, but we get first call when something comes up for us."
"And you'd handle the investigative work we can't afford to outsource," Foggy added, his voice animated with enthusiasm. "It's perfect!"
"What about a secretary?" Rose asked, genuine curiosity in her voice now. This wasn't something they'd discussed. "You'll need someone to answer phones, handle scheduling."
"We're working on that," Foggy said.
Matt detected a slight shift in Rose's breathing, a moment of consideration before she spoke again.
"I could help with that too, for now," she offered. "At least until you find someone. I've done my share of administrative work, to pay for college."
"You'd be willing to do both?" Foggy asked, his tone brightening with interest. "Investigator and part-time secretary?"
"Why not?" Rose replied with a shrug Matt could hear in the soft rustle of her clothing. "It's a start-up firm. Everyone wears multiple hats, right?"
"That would be...incredibly helpful," Matt admitted, genuinely appreciative of the offer.
"Great. I'll see you tomorrow then," Rose said before gathering her things and rising from her chair. "I should probably get going. Let you both get back to work."
"I'll walk you out," Matt offered, standing and adjusting his tie. He was conscious of Foggy's attention on him, the subtle shift in his friend's breathing that suggested amused interest.
At the door, Matt leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low enough that Foggy wouldn't hear. "You'll be careful?" he asked, genuinely concerned. "Even with the story breaking, whoever's behind this might still consider you a loose end."
"I can handle myself," Rose replied, warmth and amusement coloring her tone. Her heartbeat jumped slightly—she was pleased by his concern, Matt realized. "But I appreciate the concern."
"Call if you need anything," Matt said, meaning it more than he probably should. "Day or night."
"I might take you up on that," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of promise that sent a pulse of heat through him. "See you tomorrow, Counselor."
Matt tracked her departure—the steady rhythm of her footsteps down the hallway, the mechanical whir of the elevator, the gradual fade of her heartbeat as she moved out of his range. Only when she was truly gone did he return to the office, aware of Foggy's scrutiny the moment he closed the door.
"So," Foggy said, the chair creaking as he leaned back. "You want to tell me what that was about?"
"What what was about?" Matt asked, feigning ignorance as he moved toward his office.
"Oh, come on." Matt could practically hear Foggy rolling his eyes. "I could feel the tension from across the room."
"I was just being polite," Matt said, fighting to keep his expression neutral. "She's been through a lot."
"Uh-huh." Foggy's disbelief was palpable. "And I'm sure the fact that she's gorgeous has nothing to do with it."
Matt sighed. "I wouldn't know, Foggy."
"Right, sure you wouldn't." Foggy's tone was teasing but good-natured.
Matt hesitated, then asked with careful casualness, "Out of pure curiosity…what does she look like? I mean, specifically."
"Seriously?" Foggy laughed, but his chair creaked as he leaned forward. "Well, she's got these incredible green eyes—not just any green, but like, vibrant grass green. The kind that actually make you stop and stare."
Matt nodded, trying to picture it.
"Dark brown hair," Foggy continued, "but when the light hits it just right, there's this copper-reddish tint to it."
"And her face?" Matt prompted.
"Heart-shaped," Foggy replied without hesitation. "With these perfectly bow-shaped lips. Like, honestly, it's ridiculous. If the P.I. thing doesn't work out, she could easily become a Victoria's Secret model. People shouldn't be allowed to look that good after being in jail."
Matt fought to keep his expression neutral, though something warm settled in his chest at having a clearer picture of Rose.
Then Foggy's tone shifted, becoming more serious. "Listen, Matt. I'm all for you finding someone, you know that. But she's going to be working with us now. You've got to be careful."
"Careful?"
"I don't want a personal relationship going south and screwing things up for the firm," Foggy explained. "We're just getting started here. We can't afford complications."
"She's our investigator now," Matt said firmly. "That's all."
"If you say so." Foggy clearly wasn't convinced. "But for the record, I approve. She seems like she can handle herself. And anyone who cooks like that is welcome in my life anytime."
Matt shook his head, unable to completely suppress a smile. "Don't you have work to do?"
"Fine, change the subject." Foggy chuckled. "But this conversation isn't over."
As Matt retreated to his office and settled behind his desk, trying to focus on the braille deposition before him, he found his thoughts drifting back to her. He couldn't help but reflect on Foggy's observations. There was something about Rose Evans, something that had drawn him in from that first encounter at the docks. It was more than her abilities, more than her kindness or her fearlessness, or how good she smelled.
But whatever it was, it was dangerous. He had enough complications in his life without adding romantic entanglements to the mix. Especially with someone who knew both sides of him.
It would be better to keep his distance. As much as it was possible now that she was going to work here. For his sake as well as hers.