Perhaps we’ll pick up where we left off, husband.
“Pathetic.” I pawed through one of Ronan’s cabinets, looking for tea to go with a book I’d found in the living room.
If I hadn’t known he was a bachelor, Ronan’s kitchen would have given it away. His fridge was full of bottled water, cold-brewed coffee, and pre-portioned meals delivered by a service once a week. He owned exactly four spices (salt, pepper, cayenne, and an unopened bottle of garam masala), but kept a shelf full of supplements (including three types of protein powder). Even the closet we were supposed to share held only aweek or so’s worth of simple yet quality clothing meant for the office (suits) or the gym. I found myself wondering if Ronan did anything else with his time.
At least I knew he read. There was no shortage of materials for that.
“Well, you definitely don’t go to the grocery store,” I muttered. “Ah, chamomile. You’ll do.”
He didn’t actually own a teakettle, so I put on a saucepan of water to boil, then sat at the small kitchen table to sift through the resumes Ronan’s assistant, Ruth, had sent over to replace me as the creative director of Meráki.
Who needed to flirt when I could work, right?
I was just getting into the third application when the bell for the intercom went off.
I frowned. According to Ronan, none of his family members had this address besides Shea. Had she forgotten something this morning when they left?
I went to the front door and went through the somewhat onerous process of turning off the security system. When I opened it, however, it wasn’t Shea standing on the front stoop, but a pretty blond woman whom I vaguely remembered from last night.
“Delaney?” she asked.
“Laney, yeah. And you are?”
“Hi, I’m Simone.” The woman patted her chest over the white eyelet dress she was wearing. “Brendan’s girlfriend. We didn’t get to meet properly last night with all the fuss, and Brendan kind of turns into a pumpkin after eleven, so we left early.”
I blinked. “Oh. Oh, right. Hi, yes, come on in. Does, um, your companion want to join us?”
I gestured beyond her, where a large man was standing with his hands folded as he surveyed the street.
Simone shook her head. “Oh, no, that’s just Robbie. Brendan’s a little worried after what happened last month, so he sends Robbie with me when he can’t come. He prefers to stay outside guarding the door.”
I stood aside while she entered the house, a paper bag-covered object tucked under one arm. “How, um, did you get this address? Ronan doesn’t give it out to his family members.”
It was a weird thing to admit, and I wondered if I’d crossed a line by saying it. There were a lot of things Ronan and I hadn’t actually discussed yet, I was starting to realize.
Simone looked around with undisguised curiosity as she followed me into the small living room. “Shea told me. I mentioned this morning that I wanted to meet you, and she gave me the address so I could bring you this, but only if I promised not to tell anyone else about it.” She handed me the bag. “Something about getting back at her brother for a bad night’s sleep?”
I turned my attention to the bag, which held a delicious-looking loaf of fresh bread, before she could see me blush and counted to ten before I set the bread on a console and turned back. “Thank you, this looks amazing. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m good. I just came to commiserate, I suppose.” Simone was still too busy looking to notice my discomfort. “When I found out that Ronan of all people had gotten married, I had to meet you, if just to let you know you’re not alone.” She walked up to a large shelf bearing Ronan’s extensive philosophy collection and dragged a finger over the spines of the collected words of Heidegger. “Has he actually read all of these?”
“He says so, but who knows?” I wouldn’t have been surprised. The man quoted ancient works like Wikipedia, and in a very un-bachelor-like move, Ronan didn’t have a television. A mind like his needed something to keep it occupied.
“Huh. Everyone’s got secrets.”
“Or at least a hobby.”
“True.” She took a seat on one of the leather chairs near the fireplace. “I’m a baker myself. And Brendan likes birds.”
I grabbed my tea and sat in the other chair to face her. “Birds?”
Granted, I hadn’t actually spoken to the stern, imposing man who hadn’t given a toast of thanks, had barely spoken to anyone, and hadn’t smiled once except at Simone. Overall, he reminded me of a rain cloud—the complete opposite of the sunshine his girlfriend embodied.
“Birds,” she confirmed. “He’s crazy about them. Spends hours every day hiking through the woods to track them down. Takes my niece with him on Sundays. Have you ever watched a six-foot-three giant make warbler sounds with a four-year-old? It’s freaking adorable.”
I had no idea what to say. Adorable wasn’t a word I would use to describe Brendan Black any more than I could imagine him or any of his very urbane siblings on a farm.
“My point is that the Black family can and probably will surprise you,” she went on. “I’m not saying I like any of them—I don’t, truthfully, and they don’t like me either. So far as they know me, anyway.”
