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He turned on one of the two ovens, then returned to the refrigerator and pulled out fixings for salad. Not that he ever ate salad, but the service left the vegetables every week. Women liked salads, didn’t they? Women...
His brain flipped over as he realized Natalie had lost her car, was stuck in his house and he’d basically left her to do laundry on her own. He hadn’t asked if she was okay or sat with her or anything. He’d walked out like some brooding gothic figure.
He swore. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t dealing with an alien species. He wasn’t some thirtysomething virgin alone with his first woman. He had to get a grip, or at least fake it better.
Natalie breezed into the kitchen. She had changed back into her dress.
“Doing okay?” he asked, wondering if she’d bothered to look around when she’d been alone in the house. It wouldn’t matter if she had—it wasn’t as if he had secrets. At least, not the kind he kept in drawers. There wasn’t even a dirty magazine for her to find.
“Much better. Not that I don’t appreciate you lending me clothes.” She wrinkled her nose. “Which I’m going to need to continue to borrow while I’m here. I was going to say I should keep a packed bag in my trunk, but that wouldn’t have helped, either.” She held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize about my car again. It’s really a lucky break.”
Something he didn’t understand, but was going to have to believe, based on how many times she’d said it. He supposed the real problem was that he’d been so successful for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to have to save up for something like a car.
He wondered if it would be okay for him to offer to replace hers, then realized that was not a topic they should get into while she was stranded in his house. He might not know how to talk to a woman anymore, but he knew better than to say something that might be considered upsetting. And “Hey, let me buy you a car” fell firmly into the scary, weird-guy category.
“I like your hair,” he said instead, thinking everyone enjoyed a compliment.
She groaned. “The curls? Really? I hate them. Hate.” She squeezed several in her hand. “They were torturous when I was growing up. What is it about boys in elementary school and a girl with curls? I was teased constantly.”
“You were different and they thought you were pretty.”
“Oh, please.” She sat at the stool by the counter. “I was not pretty when I was little.”
“Why would you say that? You’re pretty now. There’s no reason to think that’s changed.” He raised his brows. “Trust me. When a boy in elementary school teases you like that, it’s because you’ve flustered him.”
“I honestly don’t know what to say,” she admitted.
“There’s a first.”
Natalie laughed. “Are you saying I talk a lot?”
“Yes, but it’s nice background noise.”
She looked around. “Hmm, nothing safe to throw. Someone as annoying as you should keep decorative pillows around. Background noise? You didn’t actually say that.”
“It seems I did, and what I meant was when I’m working and you’re talking to Mathias or Nick, your conversation makes it easier to work.”
“Oh. Well, that’s different. I like that I make it easier for you to work. I didn’t know what you thought of me.” She looked at him quizzically. “Is this the softer side of Ronan Mitchell? The secret man at home?”
He realized he wasn’t as uncomfortable as he had been, which was a relief. He would hate to think he’d totally lost who he’d once been. To be honest, he was enjoying the teasing.
“I have depths.”
“I’ll bet.” She slid off the stool. “What’s for dinner?”
“A chicken casserole left by the service. I have ingredients for salad.”
“No, thanks. I’m not really a big fan of lettuce. Dressing I love, but I try to avoid it except on special occasions.” She walked over to the refrigerator, pulled open the door and peered inside. “Yay, look!” She held up a tube. “Fresh baked biscuits. Okay, not exactly homemade, but close enough and very delicious.” She glanced at the stove. “You even have two ovens, so I can bake these at the same time. It’s a sign.”
“Obviously.”
He got out a cookie sheet for her, then went to the far side of the island to watch her work. Not counting the housekeeping service, she was the first woman he’d had in this house. More proof that he was pathetic, but still true.
He’d thought when he moved to Happily Inc that he would be able to put his past behind him and start being himself again. He hadn’t realized he’d simply dragged it with him and had been dealing with it—or not dealing with it—ever since. He hadn’t been in anything close to a relationship for nearly four years. He was cut off from everyone he cared about and he couldn’t work.
Despite everything, he laughed out loud.
Natalie pushed up her red glasses and glanced at him. “I wasn’t talking, so I know I didn’t make a joke. Are you hearing voices and are they funny? Although humorous voices would be better than ones telling you to start killing people.” She paused. “Oh, can you see dead people?”
“Only on alternate Wednesdays.”
“I’m not keen on the whole seeing-dead-people thing, although I would like to communicate with my mom. I lost her when I was twenty.”
“I’m sorry.” He hadn’t known, but then, he knew very little about Natalie. She was a part-time artist, part-time office manager, and after that, he had nothing.
“Me, too.” She checked the timer for the casserole, then slid the biscuits into the second oven. “This is going to be delicious.” She paused. “Oh, did you want salad? I can make you some.”
“I’m good.” He shifted and reached for the door to the built-in wine cellar, then held up a bottle. “Interested?”
Her mouth curved into a smile. “Yes, please. It looks fancy. I love fancy wine.”
“Because...”
“Because I can’t afford it and it’s fun to have.” She held up her hand. “I know what you’re going to say. That I should prioritize. Not that wine would be a priority, but still.” Her expression turned earnest. “My art is really important to me. I work as much as I need to so I can pay the bills, but all my free time goes into creating. Maybe one day I’ll be able to support myself with what I create, but so far, not so much.” The smile returned. “I’m lucky—I work with paper. It’s a pretty cheap medium. It would be hard if I had to have the equipment you need to sculpt with glass or bronze.” She raised her arm and felt her bicep. “Of course, working with bronze would be a really fun workout.”
He couldn’t begin to know where to start with that info dump. Guilt was overwhelming most of his other emotions. Guilt that he’d been blessed with a selfish bully of a father who had nonetheless gifted him with incredible talent and, more important, had provided a name that had opened doors from the time Ronan had been a teenager. He didn’t have to worry about money or finding people who enjoyed what he created. He was Ronan Mitchell—the world came to him. At least when he let it.
He found himself wanting to buy her a year’s worth of art supplies, or maybe a house so she wouldn’t have to work at the gallery and could devote herself to whatever she wanted, which landed him back firmly in the scary, weird-guy column.
He swore silently. When the roads were clear and he could get to town, he was going to show up to stuff more often. Maybe start meeting women online and take up a hobby. Anything, because in the last couple of hours, he’d been forced to admit he was not good at being human anymore.
CHAPTER THREE
WHILE RONAN OPENED a bottle of merlot, Natalie set the table. She waved one of the plates.
“Your brother made these.”
“I know.”
She gave him a slight eye roll. “I meant I’m surprised you have your brother’s dishes in your house.”
She was cute when she was sassy, he thought. Attitude in the face of car loss and being trapped by a storm—he could respect that.
“Why? I like his work and I need dishes.”
“Does he know?”
“I think so.” Did Mathias know Ronan had his dishes? Had he ever said anything? Years ago, they’d been twins and had known everything about each other. Now he was less sure about any of that.
“I’ll mention it when I get back to the office,” she told him. “He’ll want to know.”
Ronan doubted that, but if it made her happy. He crossed to the built-in sound system and turned it on. Soft music filled the room. Natalie listened for a second, then smiled.
“Jazz. I like it.”
“Good.” He poured them wine before they both went into the kitchen to collect dinner.
There were a few minutes of setting out food. Then they sat across from each other at the big dining room table. As he was trying to remember how to make small talk with a woman he found attractive, Natalie looked at him.
“You didn’t have the house built, did you? I mean, parts of it are really you and the style suits you but I’m not sure it’s really, you know, you, if that makes sense.”
“You went exploring?” he asked, his voice teasing.
“Well, yeah. You left me alone for hours. What was I supposed to do?”
“Read?”
“The only books are in your study and I’d never invade your personal space that way.”
He didn’t bother pointing out that to know about his study, she had to go in his study. “I don’t mind you looking around.”
“What if I find something I shouldn’t?”
“You won’t. I have no secrets.”
“Everyone has secrets.”
“What are yours?”
The question seemed to surprise her. “I guess I don’t have any that I can think of. There’s stuff about me you don’t know, but it’s no big deal.”
“Such as?”
She raised her glass. “I really like fancy wine.”
He grinned.
“So the house,” she prompted. “How’d you get it?”
“I bought it. The place was partially finished when I first saw it. The owners had an odd construction style, almost completing it room by room rather than all at once.”
“I knew it.” She pointed her fork at him. “You didn’t furnish this room at all, did you? Because while it’s really nice, this is not your style. I see you more modern—more clean lines, with glass and metal. This furniture is too heavy for you.”
“I never much thought about it.”
“That’s because you’re a guy.”
He looked around the dining room and realized he didn’t much care for the big pieces, especially the hutch.
“The chairs aren’t comfortable,” he admitted.
“First time you’ve sat in them?”
He nodded. “I decorated the family room.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? You?”
He chuckled. “I hired someone to decorate the family room, and the master bedroom. I designed the studio myself.”
“That I believe. You would know best what goes where. Work space is intimate. It has to feel right.” She looked at him. “Not that you don’t know any of that.”
“Do you like the studio at the gallery?”
She had a small area in the corner. He and his brothers had taken over most of the rest of it.
“I do. There’s good energy. I like it best when the three of you are working. There’s a lot of creativity and the way you talk to each other is fun.” She grinned. “And you like it when I talk to Mathias and Nick. What did you call it? Background noise?”
“I meant that in the nicest way possible.”
“Uh-huh.” She opened her biscuit and spread butter on each half. “These are my favorite. Along with, you know, the fancy wine. The casserole is good, too.”
“There are cookies in the freezer. We can defrost them after dinner if you’d like.”
She winced. “I put on weight pretty easily. I should probably pass on the cookies.”
He started to say she looked good to him but stopped himself. Under their present circumstances, that might be best left unsaid, even though it was true.
Natalie was petite, with plenty of curves. She had the energy of a person four times her size, with an easy smile. He meant what he said—he always liked it when she was in the studio. She was a balancing force for his demons.
“You might be stuck for a couple of days,” he said instead. “We can save the cookies for another time.”
“Tempting me with bakery goods. I never would have guessed.”
Her eyes were big and brown, half-hidden behind her glasses, but still expressive. He realized he didn’t know anything about her, other than the fact that she’d started working at the gallery two years before.
“Where did you move from?” he asked.
“When I came here? Sacramento.”
“What made you move?”
Her expression was quizzical. “You don’t know?”
He shook his head.
“I thought everyone had heard my sad little story.” She smiled. “I was practically stood up at the altar.”
What? He hadn’t expected that. “You don’t seem upset.”
“It was a while ago and probably for the best. My mom warned me I came from a long line of women who were not lucky in love. I didn’t want to believe her, but I guess it’s true.” She sipped her wine. “Back in Sacramento, I was trying to make it as an artist and failing, so I took an office job and through that I met this guy—Quentin Jones.”
She paused dramatically and sighed. “He was very handsome and smooth. Just supercharming.”
Ronan felt a twinge of something he couldn’t name but he sure didn’t like how it felt. “And?”
“And we started going out. His family owned a couple of car dealerships. One in Sacramento and one in San Diego. I met his parents and they were so nice.” She looked at him. “I liked being a part of a family after losing my mom. When he proposed, I knew it was going to be wonderful. We had a plan. He was going to take over the San Diego dealership and I would run the front office. We’d get a little place of our own.”
Her voice sounded regretful.
“What about your art?” he asked. There was no way Natalie belonged in an office—not full-time. She was meant to be wild and creative, not cooped up.
“I thought being in love was more important, I guess. I’m not sure. When I was with Quentin, my art didn’t seem that important.” She frowned. “He wasn’t exactly encouraging about it, which I didn’t realize until later. Anyway, we planned our wedding here, in Happily Inc. A destination wedding with a princess theme.” She laughed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You’d make a very beautiful princess.”
“Thank you. I like to think so but one never knows. I sold pretty much everything I owned, packed up my clothes and drove to town to get ready for the wedding. Three days before the big event, Quentin called and broke up with me. He said he wasn’t sure anymore and his parents had never liked me and it wasn’t going to work.”
Ronan hadn’t expected a happy ending to her story—he knew Natalie wasn’t married—but he hadn’t expected that.
“He dumped you over the phone? What a jerk. Did he help cancel the wedding?” He held up a hand. “Never mind. I know the answer.”
Her mouth twisted. “Yeah, not so much with the cleanup. I was stuck doing everything and paying for most of it. It took me a full day to grasp what had happened. Then I had to scramble. What I hadn’t expected was how nice everyone was. Pallas only charged me her expenses to date at Weddings Out of the Box. In fact, everyone did that. I had to pay maybe thirty percent of what I owed, but it was still a lot. It wiped out my savings and left me with some credit card debt.” She sipped more wine. “A lot of credit card debt. But I was so surprised by how supportive everyone had been that I decided to just stay put until I figured out what I wanted to do next. Then I found the job with Atsuko at the gallery and a little apartment and here we are.”
He felt an odd flush of pride that his adopted town had come through for her, along with a very understandable need to find the ex-fiancé and smash in his face. Maybe he would take one of his brothers along so they could do a good job of teaching the asshole a lesson.
Natalie leaned toward him. “I’m fine and you’re sweet to be protective.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to. You looked all mean and scrunchy. Thank you.”
Scrunchy?
“I know,” she told him. “Not an expected compliment, but I mean it that way, all the same. Once I settled in Happily Inc, I realized that I had found here what I’d been looking for with Quentin.” She lowered her voice. “Family. If you don’t have one, you make one. At least, that’s what I learned. I have friends and my art and there are giraffes at the animal preserve just outside of town, which you know because your sister-in-law is the curator.” She shook her head. “Is that the right word?”
“I’m not sure someone can curate giraffes. At least not legally.”
She giggled. “Oh, wow, the wine is so going to my head.”
It had been a quarter of a glass. “I’m glad you’re not driving.”
“That would take a car.” She did a little dance in her seat. “I’m getting a red car. I can’t wait.”
“You have other criteria, don’t you? Other than the color?”
“No.” She sighed. “Okay, fine, yes, safety, but red. Red, red, red.”
“I’m going with you,” he muttered. “You aren’t allowed to go on a car lot alone.”
“Mr. Bossy Pants. Just like I said. Do you have any kids?”
He’d been swallowing and nearly choked on a piece of chicken. “No. Why do you ask?”
She drank more wine. “Kids are great. The unlucky-in-love thing is a serious drag, but just because I can’t have romantic love doesn’t mean I can’t have children, right?”
He cleared his throat against an imaginary tight collar. Somehow the conversation had gone in a direction he hadn’t expected. “Ah, sure.”
“Your family is pretty healthy. There aren’t any big diseases in every generation, are there?”
The question touched a sore spot, but Ronan kept his face emotionless. “Not as far as I know.”
How could he know?
“You’re athletic—I’ve seen that. Did you do well in school?”
“I guess. Math was easy. I didn’t love history. Why are you asking all these questions?”
“Practice.” She reached for her wineglass, then put it down. “Can you keep a secret?”
He could but he had a bad feeling that, in this case, he didn’t want to. But instead of saying no, like a man with a working brain, he found himself nodding.
“I have a new app.”
Not the secret he would have expected. “Congratulations.”
She giggled again. “No. That’s not the secret. It’s what the app is for. It’s called Baby Daddy.” She frowned. “Or maybe Daddy Baby. I can’t remember. It’s for finding a sperm donor. You know, so I can have a baby.”
He was on his feet before he realized he was moving. “Are you—”
“Asking you?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “No. You can sit down. The app comes with a list of questions and I was trying out a few. Don’t panic. I’m sure you have great sperm but you can keep it to yourself. Or not. I mean, I don’t need it. Or them. I don’t need a donation.”
He lowered himself back onto his chair. “No more wine for you.”
“MBP,” she whispered.
It took him a second to realize she meant Mr. Bossy Pants. Well, hell.
* * *
BY MIDNIGHT NATALIE was sober, slightly chagrined and wide-awake. It made sense that half a glass of wine would metabolize quickly and she’d always been a night owl. Working a job with traditional hours had been a challenge. Given the choice, she would be up all night. She loved to create when the rest of the world was asleep. The quiet, the darkness, seemed to fuel her creativity. As for chagrined, well, she had no one but herself to blame.
In retrospect, she had to admit that maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to test her find-a-sperm-donor app on Ronan, only she’d just downloaded it the day before and she was curious about how it worked. There were tons of questions—she’d barely started with Ronan and now she doubted he would be willing to answer any more.
Not that she wanted him to donate sperm. Sure, he was good-looking and smart and gifted and funny—in fact, nearly everything she would want in the father of her child. But he was someone she worked with and kind of knew. Having his baby would be awkward, to say the least. No, if she went the baby daddy sperm donor app route, she was hooking up with a stranger.
She paused on the landing outside her bedroom. Not hooking up, she corrected. Making medical arrangements with. She had no interest in sex with a stranger.
The house was dark and quiet. She could hear rain and wind outside, but with the thick stone walls, the weather seemed to be at a safe distance. She was itching to work—her fingers practically trembled with the need to do something, only she didn’t have any supplies with her. Just her usual stash of origami paper and she’d already left little animals, flowers and shapes all over the house. She wasn’t in the mood for TV, so maybe she should try reading. There was a whole library of books in Ronan’s office. She would creep downstairs, collect one and return to her bedroom to wait for elusive sleep.
She grabbed the waistband of the baggy sweatpants—she’d hung up her dress for the night—and tiptoed down the staircase. When she reached the foyer, she paused to get her bearings in the dark, turned toward what she assumed was the hallway and ran smack into something big, solid and warm.
She screamed and the big, solid, warm thing grabbed her arms.
“It’s me,” Ronan said in the dark. He released her and clicked on a light. “You okay?”
She blinked in the sudden brightness. Ronan had changed his clothes, or pulled on new ones. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt. They were both barefoot, which felt oddly intimate or weird, depending on one’s perspective.
“Did I wake you?” she asked. “I was trying to be quiet. I wanted to get a book.”
“Can’t sleep?”
“I’m a night owl.”
“Me, too.”
He gave her a slow smile. It was one she hadn’t seen before, or if she had, she hadn’t been paying attention. Or maybe it was different because of the time of night. Regardless, the curve of his mouth was unbelievably sexy and totally caught her off guard. She suddenly felt breathless and young and intensely aware of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
He pointed down the hall. “Go find a book. I’ll make us hot chocolate and maybe that will help you sleep.”
“I, ah, thank you. Hot chocolate would be nice.” She wanted to say something to make that smile return, but honestly, her mind was totally blank, so she headed down the hall, only to stumble when she stepped onto the rug, which was just so typical.
Ten minutes later, book in hand, she walked into the kitchen. Ronan had a small pot on the stove and two mugs on the island. There was a blue oval tin, trimmed in gold, sitting on the counter.
“What did you pick?” he asked as she settled on one of the stools.
She waved a hardcover thriller. “Nazis, missing gold treasure and genetically modified twins. I’m not sure it can get better than that.”
He chuckled. “You have unexpected reading tastes.”
“Given my choice, I would much rather sink into a steamy romance novel, but you don’t seem to have any of those on your bookshelves.”
“My apologies. I’ll order several first thing in the morning.”
“I doubt that, but thank you for offering.” She pointed to the tin. “First, let me say how impressed I am that you have hot chocolate in your house.”
“I don’t have it often, but every now and then you gotta indulge.” He measured out several tablespoons of the dark powder, then handed her the container. “It’s my favorite. It’s German, from a little shop in what was East Berlin.”
She studied the label and tried not to laugh. “And they ship it to you?”
“Not just me. They’ll ship to anyone.”
“Uh-huh. You can’t just get the stuff from the grocery store like everybody else?”
“It’s an indulgence. Why not have what I really want?”
A philosophy she planned to emulate just as soon as she had an extra nickel or so, she promised herself. For now, her indulgences were things like meat and paying her light bill.