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“Work.” He shrugged. “I’m not good at relaxing.”
“I’ve noticed. What kind of work?” It was like prying open a stubborn clamshell.
He twirled his fork in the pasta but didn’t take a bite. In fact, he set down his fork. “I’m designing another building for downtown. The owner wants a three-story atrium in the center. It’s challenging, but fun.”
She cocked her head and smiled at him. “At the risk of inflating your ego, I have to say I’m impressed by what you do. Artistic and practical at the same time. Your work is spectacular, Harry. It truly is.”
Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting her to offer praise or compliments. He blinked once, then twice, before he managed to respond. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. “I enjoy it.”
She left it at that, choosing to finish her meal.
Silence fell, an intimate vacuum that was equal parts comfortable and electric.
After a few moments, Harry finished his spaghetti and wine and turned the tables. “And what about you, Cate? Blossom Branch isn’t all that big. How did you fill your day?”
Her instinct was to blurt out her news, but she was scared. “Oh, this and that.”
He leaned his chair back on two legs and studied her face. “You seemed pretty excited when you came in.”
“I did?” How could he tell?
“You bounced into the kitchen. What happened, Cate?”
Eleven
Cate took a reckless sip of Chablis. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Another embarrassing encounter with a rosebush? Another attempt at B and E?”
“Very funny.”
“The more you evade the subject, the more curious I am. What’s the big deal?”
She sighed, twisting her hands in her lap. “I want to talk about it, I do. But I’m afraid you’ll tell me how immature and impulsive I am and that jumping into things doesn’t end well.”
All the humor left his face. He frowned. “Am I such an ogre? It’s not fair of you to create whole conversations in your head and make up my part from scratch. How in the hell do you know what I’ll say?”
“Because you’re you,” she said glumly. “You always know what’s best.”
“I assume that’s sarcasm?”
“Well, of course it is,” she said, flustered. “I feel like every time you look at me, you’re making a mental list of all my shortcomings.”
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. His gaze iced over. His scowl made her shudder inwardly. “I’m trying really hard here, Cate,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I fail to see how I’m the villain in this scenario. You’re way the hell off base with my assumptions.”
“You don’t think I’m young and immature? Catie-girl?” She threw the words at him.
The red flush on his cheekbones deepened. “Young, yes. That’s a matter of the calendar. Immature? Not that I can tell. Perhaps a little naive and sheltered. For the record, I use that name as a term of affection. Where is this coming from?”
Affection? Her heart stuttered.
Here it was. The moment of truth. It was a can of worms she probably shouldn’t open, but Harry’s opinion of her had stung for years. “Every time Jason and I visited you,” she said quietly, “or when you came over to his house, you always sniped at me. Teasing, yes, but the kind of teasing that leaves marks. You made it very clear that you thought your sainted cousin was making a mistake in dating me...that I was flighty and not too bright. You ragged on my clothes and my friends and even my college major.”
Harry stood abruptly, his demeanor guarded. “I’m sorry you felt that way, Catherine. That was never my intention. I apologize for being insensitive and unkind.”
Cate stood, too. She faced him, her resolve wavering. But she pushed on. “Then why did you do it?”
His jawline firmed in grim angles. “Maybe I have a sucky sense of humor. Or maybe—”
