AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’ll cross that bridge if and when I come to it,” I murmured. Of course, Gage was assuming that if I belonged to one of these families, that they’d be beside themselves with horror to learn that there was a secret illegitimate family member out there floating around. But what if…what if they found it in their hearts to embrace me?
“How did Faith and her gallery get twisted up in this, by the way?” he asked after a moment.
“Her mother worked at a coffee shop my mother frequented and they struck up a friendship. That’s how they met. Unfortunately, my mother had been secretive about her affair with my father, so she didn’t have any information to offer on that front. Faith was my way in,” I told him, “and though she assured me she’s not concerned, I’m worried about potentially damaging her reputation. She didn’t come from wealth. Faith used her wits and her affinity for art to pave her way in the community. She’s a good friend who was up for the challenge of helping me find my father. And from what she told me, the wealthiest members of Calliope aren’t her bread and butter. But I don’t want to risk putting her business in jeopardy. Initially, that risk seemed very low, but once I ran into you…”
He glanced at me. “I won’t say a word about this to anyone, Rory.”
I leaned back against the head rest. “Thank you.”
He was silent for a few minutes as I watched the scenery go by, the sparkle of the lake in the distance and the glow of the setting sun turning everything dreamy. Golden hour. “If you do find proof that one of these men is your father, what will you ask for?” he asked quietly.
I turned, my eyes moving over his strong profile, down to his elegant yet strong hand resting on the steering wheel. Speaking of golden. Everything about Gage Buchanan was fine-lined and perfectly chiseled. It was like he’d been created to live among the best of the best, to blend with the finest of all things, and to reside in that stately house surrounded by beauty. Maybe, in some sense, it was what had allowed me to let Gage Buchanan go that day at Cakes and Ale. I’d known he didn’t belong there. He was polish and class. He fit here, whereas I did not. And maybe that solely had to do with where and how we’d been raised, but I also hoped it was some genetic component that meant we were in no way related.
I moved my mind back to his question. What will you ask for? “Acceptance, I guess. If you’re wondering whether my plan is to demand my share of the inheritance, no.” I picked at one of my fingernails as he turned onto the street where Faith’s gallery was. I thought about Romeo though, and all those brochures he kept hidden away in that bottom drawer. I wasn’t going to turn down some retroactive child support if it was offered, and I was going to send my selfless uncle wherever he wanted to go.
Gage maneuvered into a parking space and before he asked more questions that I hadn’t formed good answers to, I pulled on the door handle and then stepped from his car into the warm, early evening air. I heard Gage’s footsteps behind me but didn’t turn. Faith had given me the code to her security system and so after I’d unlocked the door, I typed it in and then turned to Gage.
He was standing just outside the door, looking slightly uncertain as if he wanted to come in but wasn’t sure he was welcome. My heart softened to see Gage Buchanan, who had likely been welcomed with open arms everywhere he went all his life, hemming and hawing for an invitation. “Would you like to come in?” I asked.
His shoulders lowered as he released an exhale. “I could help you look at some of that art and do a few novice appraisals of my own,” he suggested, as though I might require a bribe to continue to spend time with him. And honestly…a reason didn’t hurt, since it truly was not a good idea, at least on my part. I couldn’t seem to stop picturing him naked, an unfortunate act of my memory centers that seemed to go into overdrive when he was physically present.
No, distance from Gage Buchanan would be for the best.
“I’d appreciate that,” I said. Weak, Rory. So weak. But I would not let things go farther than some tag-teaming novice art appraisals.
“How about you bring them to my condo and let me make you dinner? If you have a laptop you can bring, I have one too.”
He appeared to be holding himself quite still as though bracing for a rejection. Again, my heart softened. When it came to Gage Buchanan, it seemed that my heart was very soft and pliable.
Among other things.
“Well…”
“A working dinner.”
“Fine. Okay. Thank you. A working dinner. I appreciate the help because Faith has been very busy, and I’ve already asked enough of her already. If you’re willing…well, I still have fifteen pieces of art I need to do fake appraisals for.”
He grinned, and lots more softening happened. Damn it. “Stay there,” I told him. “I’ll go get my laptop and the case of art and be right back.”
Gage Buchanan’s condo was perfect. It immediately brought to mind the ones my mother had described in her diary entry with glass balconies overlooking the lake. The inside featured a large, open floor plan with sleek, modern furniture and a calming mix of cool tones. It looked like it came straight from the pages of one of those West Elm catalogs I’d leafed through at the hair salon where I’d splurged on a cut that Faith assured me would give me the sophisticated air of an art appraiser.
The sliding glass doors that opened to the balcony revealed a glorious sunset, the sky flushed in varying shades of pink, the flood of light sparkling like jewels on the surface of the water.
And it smelled heavenly, some mixture of Gage’s cologne and a piney wood polish, a heady combination that seemed so perfectly suited to the place where this man laid his head at night.
“This is beautiful,” I said, setting my purse and phone on the table just inside the door. “You have a designer eye.” I shot him a wink. Truthfully, I knew zilch about designer anything, but I knew good taste when I saw it. Or rather, I knew expensive when I saw it. It was the opposite of the old, slipcovered sofa at my house that had once belonged to my mother. I loved that sofa though. When you sat on it, it embraced you like an old friend.
Gage smiled as he placed the bag of art carefully on the dark wood dining table. “No, my designer has a designer eye. I can’t take credit for anything except the kitchen.”
I turned toward it. “Wow,” I said, walking over to the large island with the black stone countertop that separated the kitchen from the living and dining areas. I ran my hand over it, surprised that rather than being smooth, it had a leathery feel. The appliances were obviously state-of-the-art, the stove practically taking up half the back wall.
There was a spice rack built into the alcove that enclosed the stove and housed the exhaust fan, and my eyes lingered on them, noting that most bottles were half full, unlike the spices at my house that I bought here and there to make one thing and then had to inevitably throw out when they expired mostly unused. I recalled the crab cake cooking lesson he’d given me, my mind straying to the activities that followed and a resulting shiver rolling down my spine.
“Cold?” he asked.
“No. A goose must have walked over my grave.”
He chuckled but gave me a perplexed look.
