Kitabı oku: «Intimate Exposure», sayfa 3

Chapter 5

Shani’s heart did a happy little two-step when he returned with a cardboard box lid and two hot cups of coffee balanced inside. He handed her a cup. It was sweet and milky, as promised. Comforting. He settled next to her with a grin, pointing to his bare chest. “Scared a few people out there.”

“Uh-huh.” More likely set their salivary glands going, she thought. “You cold?”

“Nah.” He tilted the tray so she could see its contents. “Hot dogs. And pudding. They were out of chocolate—only butterscotch and banana left. Figured you’d like the butterscotch better.”

“You figured right.”

He handed her a hot dog, heavy on the ketchup and mustard, light on the relish, no onions. “They’ve been rolling around on that little carousel since the Jurassic, but I’m too hungry to complain.”

She bit in. “If we get food poisoning, at least we’re in the right place.”

He smiled. “First joke I’ve heard you make all night.”

She shrugged, concentrating on her hot dog. “Haven’t got much to joke about.”

She was disappointed when he didn’t contradict her. He finished his hot dog without saying anything more. Then there was no sound but the scraping of his plastic spoon in the pudding cup. When she was done with hers, too, he whisked away the debris.

He snagged a blanket and wrapped it around his bare chest Indian-style, to deflect any more disapproving glances, and sat again. Together they listened to the sounds of the night. Outside, an ambulance wailed. Inside, a child moaned in his sleep. All underscored by the incessant chorus of instruments, like the mournful chirping of crickets. Eerie. Disturbing. Sad.

Elliot was so quiet, she was sure he’d dozed off. She was afraid to look at him, in case her anxiety, her need for him to stay awake, and stay with her, showed. It was embarrassing. Had she sunk so low that the moral support of a kindhearted stranger was all she had?

She directed her frustration and anger away from herself and onto Christophe. Jerk. He was an ocean away, not knowing, not caring that his daughter had loops of wires curling into and out of her, making her one with a huge, ugly machine. With just the glow of a monitor and the glimmer of a night-light staving off the darkness poised above her like a stilled wave.

How could he leave her alone to face this? When had he stopped loving her? She snorted derisively. To hear him tell it, he did still love her. Sleeping around throughout their marriage hadn’t meant he didn’t; it just meant he was French. As far as he was concerned, she’d blown the whole thing out of proportion.

She exhaled, thinking of the envelope that lay on the floor in her apartment, waiting to be opened. She wondered if she’d ever have the strength. She’d certainly have the time, what with no longer being employed and all. She thought of how, not long ago, her dream job was hers, and money and status came with ease. She’d gone and made such a mess of things.

“It’ll get better, you know.” Elliot’s mouth was close to her ear.

She jumped. Wasn’t he asleep? She turned her startled eyes to him. “What?”

His voice was still soft, warm and gentle. “You sighed like something was breaking inside you. It hurt just to hear it. But it’ll get better.”

“How, Elliot? I lost my job—”

“—you’ll get a better one.”

“—my husband—”

“—if he deserved you, he’d be here instead of me—”

“And here alone, in this godawful place—”

“You’re not alone,” he pointed out.

She was too frustrated to acknowledge he was right. “—listening to my daughter breathe, depending on someone I’ve known four hours to be my savior!” Savior. His gaze was steady on hers, taking the appellation in stride, as though it belonged to him. She paused, panting. “Not that I’m ungrateful.”

“I know—”

“You’ve gone out of your way—” “Shani, stop—”

“No. You don’t know anything about my life. But you sit there with this light in your eyes and tell me it’s gonna get better? I’m sorry, Elliot. Forgive me if I don’t believe—”

His kiss cut her tirade short. Both hands came up around her face, pulling her forward. The arms of their heavy chairs, jammed up against each other, made the gesture awkward, so without breaking the kiss he shifted around to kneel before her again, slipping one hand around her shoulders so she had no choice but to slide down off her chair and find herself knee to knee with him. Her short black waitressing skirt rode up on her thighs.

The blanket around his shoulders fell open, and his bare chest was warm against hers. She discovered the softness of his rumpled hair under her fingers. It was an aching, urgent kiss. Coffee-sweet. Banana pudding-sweet.

And in her mind, a jumble of words. My God, I’m kissing this man. Someone warm under my hands after so long. Stubble under my fingers. He needs a shave … and a haircut. What’s wrong with me? Tired. Hungry. Aching. Feel like I could fall into him and go to sleep, and know I’d be safe.

She touched his face again. It was as warm as his chest, but wet. Wet? When he broke their kiss she heard and felt the air escape his lips, and then the sear of tears replaced the gentle pressure of his mouth. She put her hand up in shock, to rub off the smear on his face, knowing the tears were hers, not his. He was smiling. “I’ve had lots of reactions to a kiss, but I don’t think crying was ever one of them.”

“Oh, I.” She tried to wipe away the evidence with the back of her hand, but there was more where that came from. “Elliot, I’m so—”

“If I have to hear you say you’re sorry one more time …!” He found a crumpled paper napkin and tried to mop up her face, but she took it from him.

“I can do it.”

He didn’t fight her. Instead, he stayed kneeling before her, watching her soberly. When she was finished, he took the paper away, balled it up and sent it arcing into the wastepaper bin. “Better now?” “I don’t know.”

“Come here.” He pulled her head down against his chest. She complied without resistance. She could hear his heartbeat. She closed her eyes, listening to him breathe, and discovered to her surprise that his chest was rising and falling in tandem with the barely audible ins and outs of her daughter’s breaths. She knelt in the arms of her personal angel, taking all the solace and comfort he offered. Wondering when he’d pull away and tell her to get up again.

He didn’t. After a while, the silence was too much to bear. The holding, the warmth, were wonderful, but there was more she wanted. “Elliot?”

“Yes?” His voice was sonorous, muffled in her hair. Like a sound coming from far away.

“Tell me about yourself.”

“I was born on a Sunday. My mother said it was raining.”

“That’s not what I meant!” She looked up at him, seeing warmth and humor and awakening desire.

“How far back you want me to go?”

“Not that far. I just want to know something about you. This,” she indicated their proximity, the intimacy of their positions facing each other. “This is so unlike me. I feel—”

“What do you feel?” He looked as though the answer was important to him.

She answered carefully, not willing to reveal too much. “I feel that … that it’d be less … weird.”

Another rumble of laughter, deep in his chest. “This feels weird to you?”

She was hesitant, not wanting to goad him to anger. “Well, a little. It’s … unexpected.”

“But sweet. Nice. The most natural thing …”

“I guess.” She was a little doubtful. “But I feel. I think. It’d be a little less, you know …”

“Weird,” he supplied indulgently.

“Yeah. That. If I knew more about you. I just met you. And now, this …”

“This is good.”

Maybe. But it had been such a freaky night. She searched for a way to explain herself better.

She didn’t have to. “But I get where you’re coming from. What would you like to know?”

Now that the invitation was open, she pondered. What would she want to know? Ah, a question arose. The obvious question. “What’s this thing between you and your father?”

He moved back an inch, but to her it was a chasm. “Anything but that.”

So much for honesty. His reaction only piqued her curiosity more. What could be so bad that Elliot wouldn’t even talk about it? Reluctantly, she conceded.

“What do you do when you’re not rescuing sick little kids? And their mothers?” She glanced up at his windblown hair. “And riding a Triumph without a helmet?”

“Tech stuff. I’m an electronics engineer. My company designs information security systems.” Now that Stack was no longer at the center of the conversation, he relaxed again, inching closer. “It’s boring.”

Boring was the last word she’d use to describe him. “Tell me something else.”

“I can recite the alphabet backward. Want to hear it?”

She knew he was trying to make her smile. “Soon,” she promised.

He wrapped her in the circle of his arms without seeking further permission. “I have the uncanny ability to sense when someone’s hurting. When they need to be held.”

Her eyelids lowered. Maybe that was all she needed to know right now.

He settled her down with her head in his lap, letting her curl up on the hard, cold hospital floor. “It’ll be dawn in an hour or two. Get some rest. You’ll need it when your daughter gets up.”

She wasn’t aware of anything more.

Chapter 6

Elliot let Shani sleep, even when the nurses made their dawn rounds to check Béatrice’s vitals. Under the weight of her head, his legs didn’t feel like his anymore, but that was okay. Letting her sleep gave him time to think.

What was he getting into? He’d done something rash last night, stealing Stack’s car on the spur of the moment to help a stranger with a sick kid. He could live with that. If Stack wanted to kick his ass around the room afterward, so be it. Even hanging around with Shani last night was okay. It didn’t hurt to give another human being a little support when she needed it.

But why was he still here? He’d fulfilled whatever tenuous duty he felt toward her; gotten her and the kid safely to the hospital, made sure they were attended to and even got her a halfway-decent meal. But the sun was up and the woman was asleep with her head on his lap. That was beyond the call.

And kissing her like that! The lady hadn’t been divorced twenty-four hours, and he’d been all over her. Like a big dog rescuing a lame kitten, only to snap it up in one gulp the moment it thought it was home free. That’s what you called letting your little head call the shots. It wouldn’t happen again.

Shani stirred, opened her eyes sleepily, caught sight of him—and was jolted awake. In an instant she was kneeling upright, rigid. One hand covered her mouth.

“Ohmigod!”

Not a reaction he was used to coming from any woman who’d ever slept within two feet of him. “What?”

“I slept on you! I must have been asleep for hours. Oh, Lord, I hope I didn’t drool.” She rubbed at her face like a hamster.

“Not a whole lot.”

“Oh, Elliot … Did I give you cramps? In your legs, I mean.”

“Uh, yeah.” He rose painfully, hearing his knees creak. “But with a little therapy, I’ll be able to walk again.” She cringed, forcing him to pat her lightly on the cheek. “Kidding. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

Then he had the pleasure of seeing her fingers rise to her lips again as she remembered their kiss. Watching her color up, evidence of how much she’d enjoyed it, made him feel less predatory. Maybe calling a moratorium on kissing her had been a tad hasty… . .

Shani went quickly to her daughter’s bedside, anxiety wiping away the memory of last night’s pleasurable interlude. That piqued him some, but women were women: their kids always came first. He gave his ego a kick in the pants and hurried to join her.

“Nurses passed by while you were asleep—”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“No need. The whole thing went down in about ninety seconds. They checked her vitals—she’s down to one-oh-one—and said she was doing fine. She’ll sleep for a while, though.”

“Still, you could’ve—”

“You were tired.”

She touched her hair, which had abandoned any pretense of being in a bun, and now fell to the tops of her shoulders. He liked the way it looked, all chestnutty and mussed. He resisted the urge to touch a strand.

“Do I look tired? My face isn’t creased, is it? God, I must be a mess.” She bent over to yank her skirt down over her well-shaped butt, giving him a shot all the way down the top of her dress. “This thing’s riding up on me like Paul Revere. Damn Yvan and his stupid tight uniforms.”

Bless Yvan and his tight uniforms, he thought, but was too smart to say it out loud. He watched her finger-comb her hair and smooth herself down, a little feminine vanity that made him feel flattered. She wanted to make herself presentable, sure, but he knew that there was also a kernel of desire to look good for him. Nice. “You look fine. But if it’d make you feel better, why don’t you let me take you back home so you can have a quick shower and change?”

She looked at him as if he’d blasphemed. “I’m not leaving here until my daughter does.”

“Which won’t be for another day or two,” he reminded her.

She shrugged. “Then I’ll just have to walk around looking like I slept in a cardboard box.”

He didn’t try to dissuade her, but he offered an alternative. “Well, they’ve got hospitality rooms where parents can go have a shower and change. How ‘bout I run over to your place and pick you up some fresh clothes?”

She looked doubtful, even though the prospect of clean clothes was sweet. “I don’t know …”

“You don’t have to let me root through your private stuff. Why not call your sitter.” He searched for her name.

“Gina?”

“Right. Why not call Gina, have her pack a bag for you and Béatrice, and then I’ll bring it for you?”

The tempting offer found its mark. “You’d do that?”

“Sure.”

She frowned slightly, eyes searching his face. “Why?” Good question, but he didn’t have an answer. He shrugged.

“That would be … very kind. I’ll call her.” She fished around in her bag for her phone.

Speaking of the need for a shower, he was getting a little pungent himself. He handed her his card. “If you need anything else, call. I’ll go home now. Catch some shut-eye, maybe. Then I’ll swing by later with your stuff. Need breakfast before I go?”

“Thanks, but I can sneak away before she wakes up and get a sandwich in the cafeteria.”

He smiled, remembering last night’s hot dog, which still resided somewhere behind his breastbone. “Good luck with that. I’ll bring you lunch. Anything you don’t eat?”

“No, I eat pretty much everything.” She rolled her eyes and added, “'Cept maybe liver.”

“That never entered my mind.” He tossed aside his makeshift toga and found his shirt, a stinky ball of fabric that was taking on a life of its own in a corner. “You’ll be all right till I get back?”

“I’ll be fine.” The resolution in her voice was as much for her own reassurance as for his.

“Good. Won’t be gone long.” He hesitated. Now that he was leaving, how should he say goodbye? A handshake hardly seemed appropriate. He’d kissed her, long and hard, mere hours ago. Should he …? No. He’d promised himself. That would be like shooting fish in the shallow end of the pond.

She seemed to be wondering the same thing. She swallowed hard. “Elliot …”

He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers and all but ran out of there.

Chapter 7

“One fish, two fish,” Elliot was saying.

“Red fish, blue fish!” Bee finished and yowled with delight. Shani watched as he perched on the edge of Bee’s bed and read from her favorite Dr. Seuss book … or, rather, as she constantly interrupted him to parrot passages she’d memorized. He was doing a decent job of sounding fascinated, even as he heard the story of Ned and his little bed for the eighth time.

The connection between the two had been instant, which was odd. Not that Bee had taken to him so easily. She was a friendly child. What was odd was the ease with which Elliot had taken to Bee. While most men his age shied away from kids as though they were buggier than an anthill, he unleashed upon her the same easy, engaging charm he used on everyone else. From the first day, Bee had literally been eating out of his hand.

As Shani approached, Elliot looked up with a smile. “Your daughter’s reading to me.”

“I’m reading to him, Mama!”

“So I see.” Shani smiled and fiddled with Bee’s discharge papers, folding and unfolding them. She had the awkward sense that she was intruding. She and Bee had been quietly cuddling, singing nursery rhymes. When Elliot turned up, Bee had abandoned Shani’s lap and bounded over to him. That irked her a little.

Elliot spotted the papers in her hand. “All set?”

“Yes. She’s ready.” The ordeal was over. All she wanted to do was go home.

Elliot got to his feet. “Packed?”

She pointed at the black duffel bag on the armchair. “That’s all of it.”

Elliot picked up the bag and tossed it onto his shoulder.

Shani turned to Bee, who still had the book open on her lap but who had stopped reading and was intently following the conversation. “It’s time to go home, sweetheart. Why don’t you put that book away.”

The little face screwed up into an obstinate scowl, the kind every parent recognizes and dreads. “No. I’m reading to Elliot.”

“I know you are, sweetie, but we have to go.”

“I’m reading for Elliot! I need to tell him the one about … the … the …” She struggled, flipping through the pages for a story that was sure to win her a few minutes. “The one with the Zack, and the Gack, and the …”

Shani tried to be at once soothing and firm. “Elliot’s already heard them, Bee. But we have to leave. The nice doctor said you can go.”

“But I don’t wanna!” Tears threatened to spill.

Like I really need this, Shani thought. She went into do-as-I-say mode. “Listen, Bee, we’re going, and that’s—”

“But I wanna stay with Elliooot!” Her anguished, obstinate face looked like a crumpled ball of paper.

Shani understood. Bee thought Elliot came with the hospital. As she moved to explain, Elliot cut her off. “I don’t live here, Bee.”

The rebellious scowl softened. “You don’t?”

He smiled easily, indulgently. “'Course not. I came here just to see you.”

“Me?”

He gave Shani a loaded glance. “And your mama.”

Shani kept her eyes deliberately on Bee’s face.

Elliot was still talking, softly, steadily, like someone trying to charm a small animal that had backed itself into a corner but was willing to bite its way out. “I’m here to give you guys a ride home.”

That was enough for the crumpled ball of paper to smooth itself out, transforming into a smile again. “In your car?”

“In my car. You’ll like it.” “Can my Mama come?”

Again, that long look over Bee’s head, the kind that said things children weren’t supposed to hear. “'Course, she can come. She can sit up front, right next to me.”

That was all Bee needed to hear. She bounded down from the bed. “My shoes! Mama, hurry!”

Shani found them and dropped to her knees to help her put them on, glad for the distraction. As much as she was relieved to be out of this place, she couldn’t help but share a little of Bee’s reluctance to go. The hospital, and her position of need, were the only things that linked her to Elliot. He’d been a pillar for her, and as much as she couldn’t fully understand why, she’d been too tired to argue.

But soon she’d be home again, standing on her two feet. Back to taking care of her daughter and facing some difficult career decisions. She wouldn’t need him anymore. Once he was done with the Cub-Scout-good-deed-a-day routine, would she see him again?

She thought of their kiss. Every day, when he came to drop her stuff off, he’d hung around awhile, playing cards, divvying up the newspaper and making idle chat over the boxed meals he brought. But never once did he show any sign of bringing his lips to hers again. Sometimes, to her chagrin, she’d sat there next to him as Bee slept, murmuring responses as he chattered on, and all the while a single silent command radiated outward from her: kiss me again, kiss me again, kiss me again … It didn’t seem as if he ever heard it.

Her thoughts preoccupied her as Bee was wheeled to the hospital exit—making engine noises all the way—and deposited on the front step. Shani squinted in the bright afternoon light. She hadn’t been outside since Bee had been admitted. They began meandering through the parking lot, looking for Elliot’s car.

“Lookmamalookmamalook!” Bee was chanting. Elliot had his right arm bent, and Bee was hanging like a monkey from the crook of it, both feet off the ground, being carried along as they walked by the power of his flexed biceps.

She protested. “You’re too big for that! Get down!”

“It’s fine,” Elliot assured her.

“Bee! You put your feet down and walk, this instant!”

“It’s fine, Shani,” he repeated quietly.

Her irritation at being contradicted was softened by the amused contentment on his face. Elliot was enjoying the little game, shuffling along, making gorilla noises and rolling his eyes as though it took his very last shred of strength to haul around Bee’s thirty-five-pound frame. They’d made friends, he and her daughter.

That was both delightful and disturbing. Bee had been through so much not having her father around. Christophe hadn’t lived with them in over two years. To see her brimming with hope and excitement every time he turned up for one of his hit-and-run visits, and then to deal with the weeks of anguish and acting-out that followed his departure, were as much as she could bear. Elliot was just passing through. Was it really a good idea to let her get attached?

It wasn’t hard to spot Elliot’s car, an Italian beast that could only have been a custom job. Given that he’d already demonstrated an affinity for fast, expensive vehicles, she’d been willing to bet it would have been a low-slung, two-door road monster. What she hadn’t seen coming was the custom paint job, a pearlescent dusky rose, a shade of pink that had almost erotic connotations. She couldn’t hold back a grin. The man was so confident in his masculinity he could paint his car pink and get away with it.

Bee was as impressed. “Ooh! It’s pink, Mama!

Look!” “I see.”

She gave Elliot a happy smile. “Pink’s my favorite color.” That was news to Shani. Up to several seconds ago yellow-and-black bee stripes had held that place of honor.

He allowed Bee to uncurl herself from around his forearm, gave one last gorilla grunt and set her down. Then he threw the duffel in the trunk and let Bee climb in. Shani was about to get in after her, to hold her in her arms on the ride home, when she spotted a red car seat. She gave Elliot a questioning look.

He lifted his shoulders. “Didn’t want her driving across town in the middle of the day without a seat belt.”

He’d bought Bee a car seat for a single trip? “So you spent money on a—”

“It cost next to nothing. Relax.” He reached over and buckled Bee in, and that was the end of that. Shani got into the front passenger seat and as he buckled her in, his hands were quick and efficient. But his eyes, holding hers, existed within their own slow-motion universe.

The trip back to Catarina allowed enough time for Shani to mull over her predicament. Bee’s incessant chirping and Elliot’s amused murmurs of reply ensured she wouldn’t be called upon to contribute to the conversation.

The storefronts and buildings reflected in her window were hardly what she’d call run-down, but they did have a little age on them. Shani liked them; they were noisy, slightly overcrowded, busy and … happy. Catarina was a happy place, full of quaint little stores and ethnic restaurants, and the streets were always full of people, even at night.

But it was a far cry from where she’d come. Most of the time, she didn’t miss her former life, the one with the high-rise at the heart of Santa Amata, the apartment with the doorman and concierge. The time in her life when she didn’t have to worry about money.

Going back to that life would be fairly simple. A few phone calls, maybe a letter, would be all it took. But simple didn’t mean easy. She was sure if she tried to pick up where she’d left off before Christophe had sideswiped her complacent, unruffled existence, she’d fail, and her bruised self-esteem wouldn’t be able to take it. How could she ever be good at her old job again? Hell, she couldn’t even keep a job waitressing!

Once Elliot pulled up outside her apartment they all hopped out, but Bee never made it upstairs. The doors of Old Seoul were thrown open and out ran Gina Pak, with her mother in close pursuit. Bee launched herself into their arms, a cannonball of energy.

“Too thin! Too thin!” Mrs. Pak admonished, her bony hands encircling Bee’s tiny wrist. She was as aghast as if Bee had been stowed away in a cellar for a month.

“I told you they don’t feed them in the hospital, Oma,” Gina said to her mother. She clucked like a woman several times her age.

“Hospital food!” Mrs. Pak spat out her disgust. “No good. Come, baby. We have kimchi. And miyuk gook. Good for you. Better than medicine.” Mrs. Pak gave Shani a firm look. “We taking her. She needs food.”

Shani didn’t bother to protest. With Gina exclaiming in English and her mother murmuring endearments in Korean, Bee was carried aloft as if she were a basketball player who’d clinched the game with nine seconds to the final whistle.

Before the door closed, Gina stopped to yell. “We’ll keep her for the afternoon, Shani. Elliot told me you weren’t getting any sleep. Go on, get some rest.” She gave Elliot a knowing look. “You need some alone time, dontcha?” Her head disappeared and the door slammed shut before Shani could protest the implication behind Gina’s statement.

Elliot looked amused. “Does your daughter have any idea what they’re going to feed her in there? You know miyuk gook is seaweed, right?”

Shani shrugged. “If I try to feed her seaweed, I’ll be wiping it up off the floor. If the Paks feed it to her, she’ll be asking for seconds.”

Then the doors to the restaurant flew open again, and Gina’s glossy head poked through.

“Elliot, I kept the … urn … thing …” She gave Shani a look she couldn’t decipher. “The present. We kept it here until Bee got back. She’s playing with it now.”

Shani pricked up her ears. Present? For her daughter? What kind of present could Gina have to keep for them until Bee got home? She tried to catch Elliot’s attention, but he was focused on Gina, smiling as if it was Christmas and he’d been appointed interim Santa while the real one took the day off. “Did she like it?” he asked.

Gina rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding me?” Then the disembodied head was gone.

Elliot took her elbow. “Come. Gina’s right. You need some rest.”

She walked with him, curiosity killing her. “What present?”

He looked sheepish. “Just a little something I picked up for her on the way over. An impulse buy. A homecoming present.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “Cough it up, or I’m heading back downstairs to see for myself. What kind of present?”

He waited until she kicked the front door shut and followed her into the hallway before admitting, “The kind that meows.”

She nearly dropped her keys. “You mean the toy kind that pretend meows.”

He shook his head slowly. “I mean the real kind that honest-to-God meows.”

“You mean the kind that scratches the furniture and craps on the rug?”

“I got it a litter box and a scratching post. And a whole bunch of dry food, wet food, treats.” He moved to stand in front of her and let the duffel fall to the floor. He was smiling at her, that smile that could charm the scales off a snake. “I got it toys, a little bed—”

“You got my kid a cat?”

“Kitten.”

“Newsflash—they grow up. You got my kid a cat without asking me?”

“I know, I should have asked. But I was driving by a pet shop, and I went in on impulse. I just wanted her to have something nice to come home to after that terrible experience.”

If he thought she was going to let him stand there and insult her, he was out of his damn mind. “Oh, so our home isn’t something nice to come home to?”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant I wanted her to have a nice surprise …”

“You could have got her ice cream. Or a doll that pees.” She wanted to punch him for his thoughtlessness. She turned away from him before she got herself in trouble—and caught sight of the envelope that had shaken her world. It was lying on the floor, right where she’d tossed it. She picked it up and looked at it, temporarily distracted.

Elliot was at her shoulder, protesting, confessing, placating. “I know I should’ve asked—”

“Yeah, you should’ve.”

“I was just afraid you’d say no.”

She dragged her eyes away from the letter to his. “That was the point of asking. What if I hate cats?”

“You don’t.”

“And how do you know that?”

He pointed at the keys dangling from her fingers. “There’s a brass cat on your key ring, for one.” He pointed at the pale lemon walls. “You’ve got a charcoal drawing of a cat there, and another over there. Look around you, Shani …”

She did. The living room was as neat as it could be, given that a toddler was in residence; there was a couch and love seat, and a deep orange marmalade area rug that brought cheer to the place and lifted the yellow of the walls. The walls were adorned with paintings from Martinique and a large framed photo showing fishing pirogues drawn up on the sand waiting for high tide. Christophe had taken that, blown it up for her as a present. Her reading corner was furnished with a white rattan rocking chair and coffee table set, also from Martinique, and a birch bookcase crammed with books, photos of herself and her daughter … and a cat-shaped candle holder. She didn’t have to look beyond the living room to know he could see the dining table which had, at its center, a slightly cheesy flowerpot rimmed with playing kittens.