Why Not Tonight
Page 7

“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
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?”
“I meant that in the nicest way possible.”
“Uh-huh.” She opened her biscuit and spread butter on each half. “These are my favorite. Along with, you know, the fancy wine. The casserole is good, too.”
“There are cookies in the freezer. We can defrost them after dinner if you’d like.”
She winced. “I put on weight pretty easily. I should probably pass on the cookies.”
He started to say she looked good to him but stopped himself. Under their present circumstances, that might be best left unsaid, even though it was true.
Natalie was petite, with plenty of curves. She had the energy of a person four times her size, with an easy smile. He meant what he said—he always liked it when she was in the studio. She was a balancing force for his demons.
“You might be stuck for a couple of days,” he said instead. “We can save the cookies for another time.”
“Tempting me with bakery goods. I never would have guessed.”