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His expression turned from concerned to quizzical. “You just lost your car and now you can’t go home. You’re the one who gets to be upset.”
“I’m totally fine. The house is great and we have power and food. It’s not a problem. Really.”
“I would have expected more demands.”
She laughed. “From me? Seriously?”
“No, not from you. You always seem to take things in stride. There’s a guest room at the top of the stairs. Make yourself at home.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry I left my phone at the office. I didn’t mean to make you come all this way and then lose your car and get trapped.”
“Let the car go.” She grinned at her own pun. “You know what I mean. It’s really a happy thing. Now I can get a new one. It’s going to be red, that’s for sure. Bright red, if they have one. Anyway, I’ll go get settled.”
“Dinner at seven?” he asked before she left.
“Sure.” For a second she nearly added, “Thank you for asking,” only to stop herself in time. He wasn’t asking her out on a date—he was feeding an uninvited guest. She wasn’t a stranger—they knew each other from work, but she doubted he was superexcited about her presence. The one thing she knew about Ronan for sure was he loved, loved, loved to be alone.
She gave a little wave as she left. She’d had plenty of alone time since she’d lost her mom nearly seven years ago. Alone was something she didn’t like at all. People should be together, preferably surrounded by those they loved. She didn’t have family, but she was doing her best to build one of her own making. Ronan had his brothers so close and yet he rarely spent time with them. Talk about stupid and wasteful.
Not her rock, she told herself. She was a temporary guest, nothing more. He wasn’t interested in her opinion and she wasn’t going to give it. Really.
* * *
RONAN FOUND HIMSELF in the uneasy position of feeling out of place in his own house. He couldn’t believe one petite, unassuming woman could have that much of an impact on him, but although he couldn’t see Natalie or even hear her, knowing she was around was unsettling. He was torn between avoiding her and wanting to find her and...and...
Best not to go there, he told himself. She was his guest. He knew better, which was something because he didn’t seem to know much else.
When had it happened? When had he left the world of normal people and become some kind of misfit recluse? It hadn’t been his plan. When he’d first bought the house, he’d assumed he would have his brothers over all the time to hang out. He’d figured they would come up here to work as a change of pace from Atsuko’s studio. Only none of that had happened. Instead he’d used his house as a retreat, at least at first. Now it was little more than a self-imposed prison.
Which was way too dramatic, he thought as he set out a casserole left by his housekeeping service. It would serve two and looked like something Natalie might like.
He read the label with a list of ingredients and the heating instructions. There was chicken. She ate meat, didn’t she? He was pretty sure he’d seen her devour a hamburger more than once and she’d had no problem with the soup earlier. She’d been at the gallery at least a couple of years. He should know more about her aside from the fact that he thought she was attractive and maybe a little sexy. And he sure as hell shouldn’t be worried about talking to her. Dear God, what was wrong with him? He’d always been the smooth twin when it came to women. He’d been the one to approach the girls in high school, the popular one as he and Mathias had gotten older. But it, like so many things, had been lost. He wasn’t sure when that had happened—he hadn’t been paying attention—but that confidence was gone now.
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 (#u3290114c-e99a-54cd-af32-33ad43b6c724)
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?”
