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“I wasn’t – ”
“Maybe I should bring him here.” Cathy touches her chin as she considers the notion. “And hide him in one of those secret places you mentioned.”
I frown as my fingers tighten around the handle of her suitcase.
The very thought of it makes me want to hurl something against the wall, the way I throw the pot when I taste something disgusting in my kitchen.
“I didn’t mean – ”
“I’m just kidding.” Cathy waves a hand. “I’d never do such a thing. Not when I’m living in someone else’s house and there’s a little girl who lives here.”
But she would otherwise?
“Besides, it’s not like I have time for a man now,” she adds. “Like what Ken said, things are going to get busier. And I don’t think anyone’s interested anyway.”
I’m curious as to why she thinks that. Has she always thought of herself as plain and boring? Did anyone make her think that? Well, I don’t. Even now, as I glance at Cathy, I find myself admiring the way wisps of her hair fall over her cheeks. A little messy, maybe, but in my years of cooking and plating up dishes, I’ve learned that something messy can still be beautiful and satisfying. I see the honey in her eyes, which grow wide as a painting in the hallway catches her attention. I see the quiet grace and strength with which she holds her slender shoulders as she grips the straps of her backpack. I can only imagine what invisible burden she carries on them. True, much of her remains a mystery even to me. She’s always had a wall around herself. That fact only makes me more intrigued, however, just like when a dish under a cloche sends the wheels in my head turning or a dome of tempered chocolate makes me lick my lips. I can’t wait to lift the cloche or crack the dome to see what surprises await on the plate.
Plain and boring? No way.
I don’t tell her that, though. I’ve noticed compliments make her uncomfortable. I keep my silence until we reach the hall where the guest rooms are located and I set her things down.
“Pick a door,” I tell her.
“Okay.”
I watch Cathy as she peeks through each of the three doors. After opening the third one, she remains at the doorway.
“I like this one,” she says as she taps the silver knob.
“Door number three it is.”
I grab her things and bring them inside the room. She’s chosen the one with the four poster bed, the cerulean curtains and the ivory dresser in the corner. Is that why she chose this room? Something tells me the rocking chair between the window and the bookshelf has more to do with it.
“Good choice,” I say.
“Yup. It’s not bad. Not bad at all.”
As Cathy takes in the room, she shrugs off her backpack. I wince as it hits the lamp on the bedside table. She notices it in time and manages to keep it from falling, but the weight of the backpack on her arm messes with her balance and she stumbles. I catch her.
“Whoa.” I place an arm around her waist while using my other arm to put her bag on the floor. “Are you alright?”
She nods. “I’m fine.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she straightens herself up. The gesture draws my attention to the smooth skin of her neck and to the scar at the base, almost an inch long. I don’t think that was there before.
I reach out to touch it. “Your scar. Where did you – ?”
“Don’t.” Cathy places her hand over it as she steps away.
I step back. Okay. No touching.
“I think I’m alright now,” she tells me. “I just have to unpack my stuff.”
In other words, she’s sending me away. Again.
“Okay.” I back up towards the door. “If you need anything, you know what to do.”
She nods. “Thanks again.”
“No problem.”
I walk out of the room and close the door. Afterwards, I run my fingers through my hair.
I should just leave Cathy alone, give her some space. After losing Trisha, she’s probably scared to let anyone get close to her again. Who am I to tell her not to be? I felt the same after Evelyn died. I still haven’t had a woman since. I haven’t even brought one home except for Maisie’s nannies.
Until now. Now, I have an intern at my restaurant, an old friend of Trisha’s living with me.
A woman.
As I recall the feel of Cathy’s body against mine when I kept her from falling, a surge of heat goes down my spine. I gaze at the taut palm of my hand as I feel it tingle.
Maybe I didn’t think this through, after all.
I curl my fingers to form a fist and let it fall to my side. Well, it’s too late now. I should just leave her alone like I said I would.
