Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
He grinned. “Still not giving in to Jacqueline’s offer for her to buy you a bigger place?” Catie had paid the deposit for this apartment with her own money, was keeping up with the mortgage the same way.
“Oh, I’m never budging on that, hotshot. I love my mother, but she likes control.” Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the button for her floor. “Don’t get me wrong. She wouldn’t use a key and start coming over whenever she wanted—that’s not Jacqueline’s style. But just the awareness that she’d paid for the roof over my head, it would give her a subtle kind of power.”
Danny found Ísa and Catie’s family fascinating—in a vaguely terrifying way. Their relationships were so different from his with his parents and brothers. Since he’d been on a professional rugby contract from the time he was nineteen, the money question had never come up for him, but had it ever done so, he’d have been okay with his parents lending him the amount for a deposit or the like.
He’d have known he’d pay them back as soon as he could and that being able to help him would’ve made them happy. Same with his big brothers.
No worries about power and imbalance. Just family helping each other.
“What if it was Ísa?” he asked. “Giving you a loan or an outright gift?”
“That’s different—a sister thing,” Catie said as the elevator doors opened. “Issie wouldn’t know how to hold something over another person’s head if she tried—and she loves with all her heart.”
An affectionate shake of her head. “You know she still buys me clothes even though I keep telling her I have enough? The worst thing is that she has perfect taste for me, so I can’t even tell her I don’t like the things she chooses!” Laughing, she fingered the loose knit sweater in a kind of champagne-type shade that she’d thrown over her workout clothes. “This is one of her picks, and it’s my absolute fave for throwing on top of my athletic gear.”
Sensing that they were making their way back to even ground, Danny felt some of the tension leave his body and he entered Catie’s apartment in a far better mood than when he’d begun the drive.
He hadn’t been here for a while—the last time had been when he’d helped Sailor carry up a small but heavy ornamental table Catie had inherited from a grand-aunt and couldn’t bear to part with even though it didn’t fit her usual rules for furniture. The chief rule being that she could move it around her apartment on her own.
The place was still as warm and as cozy as he remembered.
Catie had a thing for pillows and soft fabrics, so there were blankets thrown over sofa arms and cushions galore. Her sofa itself was a pale pink velvet with inset buttons covered in the fabric. While her four-person dining table was made of honey-toned wood, she’d upholstered the cozy seats of the chairs around it in the same shade of velvet. See-through curtains of gauzy white filtered the winter sunlight, helping to soften things even further.
The grand-aunt’s ornately carved table—the top attached to a thick central leg that then flowed out into three curving supports—sat to one side of the doors that led out to Catie’s postage stamp of a balcony; on the table was a lovingly tended potted plant with leaves of a striking lime green.
The walls were a warm cream, the pictures she’d hung up on them of family and friends. Even Danny made an appearance—in a group shot with his brothers, all four of them muddy from a rainy-day game of rugby in the local park.
But she’d given the most space over to the kids. Framed photos, paintings they’d done for her, even little baby footprints that Ísa had given her sister after the birth of Catie’s niece and nephew.
The kitchen was in the far corner of the open-plan space. The simple but well-built cabinetry was painted a creamy white to echo the walls, the bench a gray granite with veins of gold. Color came from Catie’s mismatched collection of antique dishes, which weren’t just for display but for daily use.
“Hey,” he said, “you still have that mug I found you.” Delighted, he walked over to pick up the blue mug with its golden rim and—the pièce de résistance—filigreed handle. He’d spotted the unique and pretty thing in a tiny antique shop in a rural town, grabbed it without thought. Because Catie mattered to him.
Oh fuck, his brain was on the wrong track again. He put down the mug in an effort to cut off that line of thought.
“It’s my favorite for coffee in the morning.”
Startled her voice had come from so close behind him, he turned… and she was right there. He’d have apologized for almost slamming into her, but he’d lost his ability to talk—because she was taking his face between two warm, slender-fingered hands and tugging him down toward lips pink and lush.