Susan Mallery welcomes you to Happily Inc, where true love isn’t just for fairy tales…

Natalie Kaleta will do anything for the artists at her gallery, including risk life, limb and the effect of humidity on her naturally curly hair. Braving a downpour to check on reclusive Ronan Mitchell, Natalie gets stranded by a mudslide at his mountain home, where the brooding glass artist reveals his playful side, sending her inconvenient crush from under-the-radar to over-the-top.

After a secret tore apart his family and made him question his sense of self, Ronan fled his hometown for Happily Inc, but the sunny small town can’t fix his damaged heart. He won’t give in to his attraction for beautiful, perpetually cheerful Natalie. She’s untouched by darkness—or so he thinks.

Natalie knows that when a heart goes through the flame, it comes out stronger. Life may not be a fairy tale, but sometimes dreams do come true. Why not this one? Why not tonight?

Also By Susan Mallery

When We Found Home

Secrets of the Tulip Sisters

Daughters of the Bride

Happily Inc

Not Quite Over You

Why Not Tonight

Second Chance Girl

You Say It First

Mischief Bay

Sisters Like Us

A Million Little Things

The Friends We Keep

The Girls of Mischief Bay

Fool’s Gold

Best of My Love

Marry Me at Christmas

Thrill Me

Kiss Me

Hold Me

Until We Touch

Before We Kiss

When We Met

Christmas on 4th Street

Three Little Words

Two of a Kind

Just One Kiss

A Fool’s Gold Christmas

All Summer Long

Summer Nights

Summer Days

Only His

Only Yours

Only Mine

Finding Perfect

Almost Perfect

Chasing Perfect

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Why Not Tonight

Susan Mallery

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08583-0

WHY NOT TONIGHT

© 2018 Susan Mallery, Inc.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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There’s so much to love about Happily Inc!

Read what the critics are saying…

You Say It First

~ An Amazon.com Best Book of 2017 in Romance ~

“Delightfully flirtatious and deceptively easy dialogue… Mallery excels at creating protagonists who grow individually as well as together on the way to their destined happy ending.”

—Publishers Weekly

“The first in ever-popular Mallery’s new Happily Inc series has the author’s signature blend of humor, poignancy, and small-town charm.”

—Booklist

“There’s a lot to like about this first book in Mallery’s new series, Happily Inc, about a California desert town that’s known as a wedding destination. The romance is sweet and hot, the writing is quick and easy… A great choice for a weekend read.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“Verdict: An inventive heroine who comes into her own and a caring hero who figures out what’s important give in to love in this lighthearted romance.”

—Library Journal

Second Chance Girl

“A heartfelt and genuine friends-to-lovers story fraught with emotional trauma that makes the happily-ever-after satisfyingly sweet.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Mallery’s second title in the new Happily Inc series features her typical mastery of the romance format, with another quirky small town and a set of characters for her fans to love… The potent and prolific Mallery delivers again.”

—Kirkus Reviews

“You can always count on Mallery to deliver warm-hearted and quirky stories featuring emotionally dented individuals doing their best to survive and hopefully thrive…. A truly unforgettable read! Mallery is one of a kind!”

—RT Book Reviews, Top Pick!

When I was nine years old, my parents took me to the eye doctor, where he told me I had to wear glasses. I was devastated and crushed and sobbed with the broken heart of a little girl who believed she would never again be told she was pretty. When I was fifteen, I convinced my father to get me contact lenses. (And I’m not ashamed to admit I might have used a little guilt from my parents’ recent divorce to get what I wanted.) Order was restored to the universe, although, let me tell you, contacts are a pain.

One LASIK surgery later, I needed neither contacts nor glasses. But alas, my correction slowly faded until now I need glasses to drive and see a crowd. Enough time has passed that I no longer mind wearing them, but I did always wonder why there weren’t more romance novel heroines who wore glasses. And wore them on the cover of a book. Well, now there’s at least one. So this story is for those of you who wear glasses, too. May you always know how beautiful you are.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

NATALIE KALETA DROVE up the mountain, prepared to beard the dragon in his lair. She was brave, she was fearless, she was on a mission. Only was “beard a dragon in his lair” right? Did dragons have beards? And if they did, was it just boy dragons or did the girls have to deal with a beard, as well, which seemed desperately unfair.

Okay, so the dragon-beard issue was questionable, but she was totally sure about the lairs. Dragons had lairs. Cool-looking caves with secret rooms and hidden treasures and maybe a chandelier because a chandelier would look great in a lair and the light would bounce off the dragon scales in a really beautiful way.

Although electricity was an issue. It wasn’t as if the dragon could call the local utility company and get a line brought in. How would they use a phone with their little claw-hands and how would they pay for a phone, for that matter?

Candles could work. Dragons were tall enough to be able to light the candles and replace them when needed... Still, if a dragon couldn’t buy a phone, how would she buy candles? Unless she made them. It wasn’t that hard. Natalie had taken a class once, when she’d been wanting to experiment with wax in her art.

Okay, so a candle chandelier with a beardless girl dragon and no cell phone.

Her mental image reestablished, she turned off the main highway when her phone told her to and headed up the mountain. In the rain. Although rain in no way described how much water was falling. Monsoon was more like it. It was late August and still the season for crazy rain in the desert.

Natalie’s tired, battered twenty-five-year-old Volvo wheezed as the road got steeper. She downshifted, offered silent words of encouragement and wished for a dragon to give her car a little push...or her a ride.

“You can do it,” she told her car, hoping she wasn’t lying because she did not want to get stuck on the side of a mountain, in the rain or, frankly, any other time. Seriously, when was it convenient to get stuck by the side of the road?

Natalie turned right when instructed. The road narrowed and the rain came down in even bigger buckets.

This was no fun, she thought, driving more slowly, less by choice than by the limitations of her taxed car engine. She shouldn’t have volunteered to go check on Ronan, only someone had to. No one had heard from him in almost a week and he wasn’t answering her texts.

Ronan Mitchell disappearing into his work at his house for days at a time wasn’t uncommon, but no matter what, he always answered her texts. As the part-time office manager for the Willow Gallery, Natalie was responsible for all the local artists. All three of them. Nick and Mathias were never any trouble, but Ronan was a giant, somewhat good-looking pain in her butt.

Oh, sure, his work was amazing. What he could do with glass—turning something that should be static and not that interesting into movement and beauty—was astonishing. She could spend hours watching him create. But he wasn’t very friendly and, more significant to her, when he disappeared like this he stopped communicating to the point that she had to text with a very pointed, Are you home sulking or are you dead? Which always got a response. Only not for the past five days.

As far as anyone knew, he hadn’t taken a trip. Ronan wasn’t big on travel, and when he did, it was for work, so the gallery would know. His brothers had no knowledge of anything other than his normal reclusiveness, or as she liked to call it, brooding artist pouting.

She’d tried to talk her boss into checking on him, but Atsuko had only laughed and told Natalie to keep track of the miles so she could be reimbursed. Which was why Natalie was still driving up, up, up in a horrendous downpour and wishing there were indeed dragons. Or bigger guardrails should her tires lose their grip.

“Just a little farther,” she whispered.

She’d only been to Ronan’s a couple of times. Once to deliver some packages—yes, being the office manager of a gallery came with mind-boggling responsibility—and once to take a piece of his art back to the gallery. Both tasks had been accomplished without him having to let her inside his gorgeous house. If she arrived in one piece, she was going to insist on a tour...and maybe a snack. Honestly, it was the least the man could do after not admitting he wasn’t dead.

Unless he was.

Natalie didn’t want to think about that but why else would he not answer her? Maybe he was hurt, she thought, although was that better? If he was so injured he couldn’t text her back, then there might be blood, and while she had many excellent qualities, the ability to deal with blood was not one of them.

“I’m fine,” she told herself, trying to ignore the bile rising in her throat. “There’s no blood. Just rain. Look!”

She gripped the steering wheel with both hands as she continued up and up, the water racing down the road in the opposite direction, lightning flashing in the sky. She slowed even more, her car complaining loudly. An unfortunate knocking began from somewhere in the engine area. An ominous red light flashed on her dashboard.

She was pretty sure she was close to his house. Nothing looked the same in the driving rain but she was confident that just around the bend in front of her was—

She screamed as her car hit a river of mud and started to slide off the road. She’d barely begun to panic when she slammed into something hard and unmoving. Her body jerked, the car engine died and there was only the sound of the rain.

“This can’t be good,” she murmured, taking the key out of the ignition and unfastening her seat belt. She peered through the curtain of rain and thought she saw Ronan’s house up ahead. She must have made it onto his driveway, only to be swept into—

“Well, crap!”

She’d been pushed into a tree. A big tree that had probably put a sizable dent in her already-on-its-last-legs car. While her boss was willing to pay her mileage, she doubted Atsuko would cough up repair money. Plus her favorite mechanic had told her there was nothing that could be done anymore. That her car deserved a decent burial.

Which she was working on. Ah, getting a new car, not the burial. She had savings, but she wasn’t ready yet. Regardless, she had to make her way from here to the house without getting swept away.

Natalie glanced at the umbrella she’d brought and knew it would be less than useless. She zipped up her lightweight coat, grabbed her handbag and opened the car door.

Rain immediately pelted her, but that was nothing when compared to the six inches of cold, wet mud swirling around her ankles. She shrieked and bolted for the house, only to realize there wasn’t going to be any bolting. There was too much mud everywhere. She had to physically drag each foot out of the muck before planting it down again. The mud seeped into her ankle boots and splattered her legs. In the middle of the storm the temperature had dropped enough that she actually shivered.

In a matter of a minute, she was totally soaked. Her hair clung to her head, water dripped off her glasses and, about five steps in, she lost one of her boots.

“Damn you, Ronan Mitchell,” she yelled into the storm. “You’d better be dead or I’m going to kill you!”

The house, a huge stone fortress that normally looked as though it had grown up out of the mountainside, was barely visible in the deluge. She kept moving because to stand still was to be swept backward. She fought her way to the front door and rang the bell, then began to bang on the door.

It opened without warning and she nearly fell inside. Ronan Mitchell stared at her, his eyes wide, his expression confused.

“There’s a storm, Natalie. What are you doing here?”

“A storm? Really? I hadn’t noticed, what with sliding off the road and almost drowning on my way up the walk. Wow. A storm! Who knew.”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the house. “Now I know you’re upset. You’re almost never sarcastic. What happened?”

“What happened?” she asked as she dripped on his tile floor. “That’s not the question.” She tried to wipe the moisture off her face only to realize her wet hair was the ongoing source. “The question is, why aren’t you dead?”

Ronan stared at her for a second. “Did you hit your head?”

“No. I didn’t. I slammed into a tree, which was not my fault, by the way. It was the mud.” She felt herself starting to shake, no doubt from shock and his air-conditioning. “You didn’t answer your phone. I texted, then I called like eleven times. Everyone was worried, and since they’re all more important than me, I was tasked with coming up to check on you.”

“I left my phone in my locker at the studio in town.” One shoulder rose and lowered. “Probably why you couldn’t hear it when you called.”

“At work?” Her voice grew louder. “You left your phone at work and because of that I had to come all the way out here?”

The same shoulder rose and lowered again. “Sorry.” He looked her up and down. “You’re soaked and freezing. Come on. Let’s get you dry.” He turned away and started down a long hallway.

Natalie tried to go after him only to realize she still had just one shoe. She toed it off, then followed him barefoot, dripping and shivering. Not exactly her finest hour.

“This is your fault,” she said as she caught up with him. “You could have—”

“I don’t have a landline.”

“Sent an email,” she said triumphantly. “When you realized your phone was missing, you should have emailed one of us.”

“I didn’t think it would matter. It was only a couple of days.”

“Five. It’s been five days since anyone saw you.”

He glanced at her, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh, please. I only know because it’s my job to know. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Not that she didn’t find Ronan attractive. How could she not? He was tall and muscled, with light brown hair and green eyes all put together in a dreamy package. A woman would have to be totally, well, she wasn’t sure what not to notice his good looks, but still. There was no way he had to know that.

“Do you think I like babysitting you and your brothers?” she asked, trying to sound haughty and put-out, which was tough considering how hard she and her voice were shaking. “If you’d all just show up and do your jobs, but nooo. You have to live out here in the mountains, like some troll.”

She followed him into a huge bedroom dominated by a big bed and a stone fireplace. She was about to continue complaining about how all this was his fault, but then she caught sight of a massive piece of glass by a turret-shaped window. Stunned, amazed and overwhelmed, she thought she might never speak again. How could she in the presence of something so incredible?

The statue had to be at least eight feet tall and was done in every shade of blue known to God and man. Part sprite, part fairy, all female, the glorious creature seemed to twirl right there before her. The wings appeared to keep her aloft and her feet would dance any second. She was curvy and naked, both sexual and otherworldly.

Natalie squished across the hardwood floor to the piece and put her hand as close as she could without touching her. Her face was beautiful—all angles and lines, as if to emphasize she wasn’t quite human. Her hair was short and spiky, her lips parted in such a way that Natalie half expected to hear song or at least words.

“No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend,” she said before she could stop herself. “Who could possibly measure up?”

“We’ve never actually had sex.” His tone was dry, almost amused.

“You should have made her anatomically correct.” She circled her, studying the beautiful lines of the piece and wishing she were a quarter as talented as Ronan. “Although the positioning would be tough. Still, she would be worth it.”

“Is there anything you won’t say?”

She thought for a second. “Probably not. I try not to be mean or hurtful, but otherwise I’m not much into self-editing. It takes a lot of work.”

“Come on. You need to get warm.”

It was only when they entered the huge bathroom complete with steam shower, a tub for four and matching vanities that she realized they’d been in his bedroom and now were in his bathroom.

Yes, she thought Ronan was very handsome, and okay, sure, she’d had the odd naughty daydream about him, but shouldn’t there at least be a bit of conversation first?

“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked as he punched several buttons on a complicated keypad outside the shower.

“Getting you warmed up. Wait here.”

He disappeared into what she guessed was the closet, then reappeared with a T-shirt, socks, a sweatshirt and sweatpants.

“They’re going to be way too big, but you have to wear something while your clothes are drying. We’ll wash them when you’re done.”

“Will we?”

He walked back to the panel and pushed another button. After a couple of seconds, water came on and the shower began to fill up with steam.

“I’m going to leave now,” he told her. “Take a shower. A long one. When you’re warm and dry, come find me. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Not waiting for her in bed? The thought occurred without warning and caused Natalie to wonder if maybe she had hit her head. At best, Ronan saw her as a cross between a useful piece of office equipment and a baby sister. At worst, he found her annoying. Men did not, as a rule, find annoying women attractive. Plus there was the sprite. Who could compete with her?

“How do I turn off the shower?” she asked.

He pointed to a red button with the word Off printed on it.

“Oh. Good. I can do that.”

“I have every confidence. Now get in the shower.”

“There’s no need to be bossy. I was doing a good thing when I drove up here to find out if you were dead. And I have no idea what I would have done if there’d been a body. So technically, this is your fault. You could have emailed.”

“You mentioned that already.” He pointed to the shower. “Get in.”

She pointed to the door. “Get out.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “Yes, ma’am.” He turned and left.

“Annoying man,” she muttered as she tugged her wet, muddy, clammy dress over her head and dropped it on the floor, then put her glasses on the counter. But the words were said without much energy, and as she stepped into the shower, she found she was smiling.

* * *

RONAN CLOSED THE bathroom door behind him before walking out of the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway, turned and looked back at the glass piece by the window. Even in the dim light of the storm, she seemed almost alive.

He’d created her—had designed the various segments that made up the whole, had played with color until he found the right combination and had, with help from his brothers, brought her to life from inert glass. She was one of his best. Something he could be proud of. He should hang on to that because he was unlikely to do better. In the past few months, he’d discovered he was unlikely to do much of anything at all. Whatever talent he’d had, whatever creative ability, was gone and he had no idea how to get it back.

He turned away from the window and headed for the kitchen. Once there, he boiled water for tea, then walked into the fully stocked pantry to see what the part-time housekeeper had left for him that Natalie might like. He settled on a can of chicken soup and put it in a bowl to heat in the microwave.

Living on the side of a mountain had its advantages—peace and quiet for one, and not many drop-in visitors. The downside was there was no takeout nearby and when the weather turned bad—something that happened maybe once or twice a year—he was trapped either up or down the mountain.

He collected his laptop and quickly logged on to the Happily Inc county website, then shook his head as he viewed the map of the area. There were several mudslides and blocked roads already. He had a feeling Natalie was going to be his guest for a while.

He emailed his brother Nick to let him know what had happened and that Natalie was safe, then glanced out the window at the torrential rain and blowing wind. He had no idea how she’d made it up the mountain in that damned car of hers. It was old and barely running. He couldn’t believe anyone would have sent her out in this weather driving that car. When he got back to town he was going to have stern words with his brothers and Atsuko, the owner of the gallery and Natalie’s boss. They should take better care of Natalie.

“You’re looking fierce.” Natalie walked into the kitchen. “Have I created a disturbance in the force by my very presence? Is it because I’m a woman? Am I messing with your male energy?”

Despite himself, he smiled. “I’m more than capable of deflecting your energy,” he told her.

“Nuh-uh. Women have been messing with men’s energy for centuries. It’s part of our mystique.”

“Did you just say ‘nuh-uh’ as part of your argument?”

“I did and it was effective.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

He watched her prowl the kitchen. Despite her curves, the borrowed clothes were ridiculously large on her. He was six-two and she was barely five-three. She had to hold up the sweatpants with one hand and the sweatshirt hung well past midthigh.

Her shower had washed off any makeup, leaving her looking young and vulnerable. Her normally wavy hair was damp and curlier than he would have imagined. Tight ringlets grazed her shoulders.

“It’s a miracle you got here in one piece,” he told her. “I can’t believe my brothers and Atsuko sent you out in the storm. That pile of trash on wheels you drive isn’t safe.”

Her expression immediately turned guilty. “Yes, well, I was supposed to take Nick’s truck, which has four-wheel drive, only it’s so big and I’m not comfortable driving it, so I didn’t. Don’t be mad at them. They didn’t know.” She paused. “They probably do now.”

At least that was something—now he wasn’t going to have to beat up his brothers. At one time he would have been more than happy to take on one or all of them, but lately he’d found himself disconnecting instead—walking away rather than acting. A philosophy that summed up much of where he was these days.

She pushed up her red-framed glasses as she sniffed. “Is that soup? Did you cook for me?”

“I opened a can and everything.”

“What a guy.” She sat on a stool at the island and grinned. “You can serve me now.”

“Can I? Will you let me?”

The teasing earned him a smile.

Natalie was one of those naturally sunny people. She was always in a good mood, always excited about whatever life had to offer that day. He supposed he should find her annoying, but he didn’t. Being around her made him feel better about everything. He liked knowing she hadn’t been troubled by tragedy. She was bright, funny and talented, although he had a feeling she would disagree with the latter. According to her, she only played with paper, nothing more.

He knew differently. Natalie was a gifted artist who used paper and found objects to create unique works. She would say she was still a lowly starving artist but he was confident her time would come.

He set the bowl of soup in front of her, along with a package of Goldfish crackers. After pouring boiling water into a mug, he offered her a box of different tea bags. She picked one and plopped it in the steaming water. He leaned against the counter.

“You have quite the setup,” she said after she’d tasted the soup. “Crackers, tea, soup. I know you don’t do the grocery shopping.”

“My housekeeping service keeps the pantry and freezer stocked. They also do the laundry.”

The wind howled outside. Natalie glanced up at the lights. “Not even a flicker. Generator?”

He nodded. “I have city water and power, but when the weather gets bad, the lines can go down for days at a time.”

“And they say no man is an island.”

She ate more soup, then opened the crackers. After shaking a few goldfish into her bowl, she offered him the package. He took it and ate a couple.

“Where did you leave your clothes?” he asked.

“In the bathroom.”

“When you’re done eating, we’ll start a load of laundry. It shouldn’t take long. Not that you’re going anywhere.”

He glanced toward the window. It was late afternoon and the rain showed no signs of stopping. According to the weather report, the storm should pass by morning. Depending on whether or not there were mudslides, the roads could be impassable for a couple of days. Even if they weren’t blocked, there was no way he would let Natalie drive her POS car down the mountain until he knew the route was safe.

She followed his gaze. “You’re thinking I’m stuck, but I don’t think so. It’s all downhill. That’s my car’s best speed.”

“You’re not going anywhere until the rain has stopped and I’ve had a chance to check out the roads.”

For a second, he thought she was going to stick out her tongue at him. Instead she wrinkled her nose and said, “You have always been the bossiest of your brothers. Not that I know Aidan and Del that well, but still. Of you, Nick and Mathias, you are Mr. Bossy Pants. You think you’re all broody, but you’re not. You pout and you’re bossy.”

“Mr. Bossy—”

“Pants. Yes, that’s what I call you in my mind. Now you know.”

He wasn’t sure what to do with that information. “You’re still not driving home in the storm.”

“Stuck in the dragon’s lair.”

Before he could ask what she meant, she brightened. “At least there’s a chandelier in the entryway. It’s really beautiful. I thought maybe candles, but the electric lights are nice, too.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She smiled. “You usually don’t. That’s okay. I move quick.”

“Implying I don’t?”

“You can be fast, probably faster than me, but quick is different.”

He had no idea what to make of her. Two years ago Natalie had started working at Willow Gallery as the office manager and herder of the three Mitchell brothers. She monitored inventory, tracked sales and paid them when their pieces sold.

He had always found her appealing. She was pretty and sexy and it had been a long time since he’d had a woman in his life. But the more he got to know her, the more he valued her happy spirit. He was not a happy-spirit kind of guy and he didn’t want to take the chance of changing her, of making her like him. So he tried to avoid her at the studio and kept to himself any interest he might have expressed.

Having her in his house now wasn’t going to be a problem, he told himself. It was temporary. He would enjoy the Natalie-size interruption, be grateful for the distraction and, when the weather cleared, send her on her way.

A gust of wind rattled the windows.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down,” she said with a laugh. “I’m glad this is the stone house and not the one made of straw.”

“Me, too.”

Lightning cut through the late afternoon, making the kitchen as bright as the sun. It was immediately followed by a boom of thunder that shook the house. They both jumped, then turned at a massive crack.

Natalie sprang to her feet. “What was that?”

Before he could say he had no idea, there was a colossal ripping sound, then a rumble, as if part of the mountain were being torn away.

Ronan started for the front of the house, Natalie at his heels. He jerked open the front door in time to see a hundred-foot tree falling, falling, falling as the ground beneath it slid away. It started a cascade of trees around it swaying, then drifting toward the ravine in slow motion, pulled along by the mudslide.

The noise was deafening and the whole earth trembled. The last of the trees trembled and hovered, as if it hadn’t decided which way it was going to tumble. Ronan saw the trajectory, took a step toward it, then stopped. There was nothing he could do—nothing anyone could do. The last tree hovered for a second before crashing to the ground. The only thing in its path was a very wet, very battered twenty-five-year-old Volvo. The tree hit Natalie’s car, crushing it flat. Then the tree and the car slipped away down the side of the mountain.

“Holy crap,” she breathed, then started to laugh. “Did you see that? It was incredible.”

Worry nibbled at the back of his mind. He’d always thought she was funny. Had he mistaken mental instability for humor?

She did a little dance, then bounced back in the house and grinned at him as he closed the door.

“You know you just lost your car down the side of the mountain, right?”

She shimmied on the tile and spun in a circle. “It’s gone, it’s gone, it’s gone.” She faced him and clapped her hands. “I’m so happy.”

“Which is not a normal response to what just happened.”

She stopped dancing and drew in a breath. “My insurance agent told me to drop collision or replacement or whatever it’s called on my car because it’s so old and wasn’t worth it. Only I didn’t want to because it seemed, you know, kind of mean. Like I’d given up on it.”

He was no less worried by her response. “You didn’t want to hurt your car’s feelings?”

“Exactly.” The smile returned. “They’re going to have to pay me the value of my now-totaled car. I’ve been saving for a new one—well, new to me, anyway—but I don’t have enough yet. I wanted to pay outright and not take out a loan. But with the insurance money, I can finally get my new car. Woo-hoo! I hope I can find a red one.”

She began to dance again. Ronan looked out the windows at the raging storm, the mud on the driveway, and doubted the roads were the least bit passable. They were stuck until the county road crew got up the mountain and cleaned things up. It was going to be, he realized, a very, very long couple of days.

CHAPTER TWO

RONAN SEEMED UNABLE to grasp the glory of the moment, so Natalie stopped trying to explain it. Losing her car was fantastic, but if he couldn’t see it that way, then she would be happy on her own.

“I emailed the county while you were in the bathroom,” he told her. “I should hear back on the status of the roads in the next hour or so, but if those trees fell, I’m sure others did, too.”

“So I’m stuck,” she said, turning the idea over in her mind. “Is that going to freak you out?”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m not easily freaked.”

“Then I guess we’re good.” She wasn’t worried about staying with Ronan. He was basically a good guy, and they had food and a generator, so she would be fine.

He showed her the laundry room, which was so much nicer than the one in her apartment building.

“I can figure it out,” she told him, eyeing the sheets in the dirty clothes hamper by the shiny, front-loading machine. “I’ll use those to make a load. I’ll be fine, if you want to go, um, work.”

He studied her for a second, then nodded. “I’ll be in my studio for a couple of hours,” he told her. “Then we can figure out what to have for dinner.”

She’d just had soup and crackers, so wouldn’t be hungry for a while. Not that she wasn’t always up for a meal, but still. “Sounds great.”

She watched him leave, put her sopping clothes into the washer, added the sheets and detergent, then started the cycle. Only then did she wonder if he really was going to work. Lately he hadn’t been producing. She didn’t know if she was the only one to notice, or if his brothers had, as well. She wondered if the lack of work was the reason Ronan had been so withdrawn over the past few months. To be as gifted and incredible as he was and then to not be able to work would be... Honestly, she couldn’t imagine. Maybe the saddest thing ever. To have that creative gift taken away was the definition of cruelty.

The front-loading washer door locked into place. She watched it for a second, realized there was a timer that told her she had forty-seven minutes until the cycle was over and knew there was no way she could stay here watching laundry wash.

The right thing to do would be to quietly sit somewhere, minding her own business, maybe playing a game on her phone, but the burning need to explore the huge, intriguing house was so much more appealing. She wouldn’t go anywhere too personal, she promised herself. A quick tour of mostly public spaces should be okay.

She retraced her steps through the kitchen and into the entryway, wanting to start at the beginning. The double front doors were huge. They looked as if they’d been reclaimed from some castle teardown, not that they had many of those in the southwestern part of the country. She ran her hands over the wood and briefly imagined barbarians using a battering ram to break down the door.

The foyer itself was large and circular. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling two stories up. It seemed to be from the same design era as the front doors—wrought iron and glass twisted into a medieval feel. To her right was a staircase hugging the curved wall. Beyond that was a hallway. To her left was a shorter hallway leading to the kitchen-slash-family room, and there was a half-open door straight across from her. Inside was a very prosaic but necessary powder room.

She headed down the hallway to the right. It led to a beautiful formal dining room with a big table and eight chairs. Ronan wasn’t the type to host a dinner party and she couldn’t imagine him buying the furniture. Had the house been furnished when he’d bought it?

She went back into the kitchen. It was just plain big. Starkly modern with stainless-steel appliances all in fancy brands like Sub-Zero and Wolf and gorgeous quartz countertops. The backsplash was done in swirling glass tiles that morphed from gray to blue to green to yellow and back to gray. The shapes fit together like a puzzle, and depending on where she stood, the colors seemed to blend and merge or stand out on their own. What on earth?

“Duh,” she murmured to herself as she pressed her hands against the cool-to-the-touch backsplash. Ronan was a gifted glass artist. He would have made the tiles himself.

The glass door to the pantry had an inset that matched. She saw a built-in wine cellar that was filled, and plenty of cupboard space. After glancing over her shoulder to make sure she was still alone, she opened one of the cupboards and saw a stack of dishes. Nothing noteworthy. Everyone had dishes. Only these were special.

She picked up one of the plates and studied it. The pattern—one that was similar to the backsplash—was unfamiliar, but she recognized the work. Mathias, Ronan’s brother, had made them. Mathias sold all kinds of dishes, serving pieces, light pendants and blown-glass sinks. As the part-time office manager, she cataloged his work, but she’d never seen these before. Had he made them specially for his brother, and if so, when had that happened? While they weren’t estranged exactly, she couldn’t imagine Ronan asking for something like this.

She put back the dish and turned to the family room. It was definitely a man’s room—the large black sectional faced a movie-theater-size television. There were a few pictures on the wall but what really got her attention was the wooden carved bear in the corner. It was life-size and incredibly realistic. The only thing that kept it from being terrifying was the cup of coffee it held in one paw. She moved closer and saw a plaque at the bottom that read Vern.

Natalie laughed, then touched the wood. She knew the artist of the carved bear as well as she knew the maker of the dishes. Nick was a third Mitchell brother.

She had to admit she was confused. She would swear that Ronan was almost entirely disconnected from his brothers. He barely spoke to them when he was in the gallery workshop and he was spending more and more time up here, on his own. Yet he had their work in his house.

She walked back to the foyer and debated the stairs or the longer hallway. The curved staircase was too intriguing to be ignored, so she went upstairs and found herself in what she assumed was a guest room. There was a queen-size bed, a dresser with a TV on top, a small desk and an adjoining bathroom stocked with basic supplies.

She tried not to shriek when she saw herself in the mirror. Her hair had curled as it dried and was now a bouncing riot of brown ringlets. Oh, to have her blow-dryer and some decent styling product.

She went downstairs and headed down the long hall. She came to a study with a big desk and lots of books. No doubt where Ronan liked to sit and count his money, she thought with a grin. She walked out and glanced to her left. There was only one more doorway and she knew it led to the master bedroom. Temptation whispered, but she ignored the voice. She was exploring, not prying. Besides, she’d already caught a glimpse on her way to the bathroom. She knew what it looked like, even though she very much wanted to spend some quality time admiring his roommate, the sprite. Determined to be a courteous guest, she returned to the foyer, grabbed her tote bag and went into the kitchen.

She sat at the table and pulled a flat plastic box from her bag. She opened it, then flipped through the various pieces of square paper until she found a deep green sheet. She studied it for a second, then began to fold the paper.

Less than two minutes later, she’d finished the origami dragon. From the laundry room, the washer beeped that it had completed its cycle. She got up and put her clothes and the sheets in the dryer, then left the small dragon on Ronan’s desk in the study.

Back in the kitchen, she noticed two doors. One led to the garage and the other led to yet another hallway. No, that wasn’t right. It was a covered walkway, but instead of traditional walls, these were made of glass, allowing her to see out into the storm on both sides. The flooring was stone. She sucked in a breath before taking her first step.

As she followed the path, she realized the glass was curved. There was a door at the other end. A door with a lock. She tried the handle and it turned easily, opening to a much smaller foyer. More doors. One stood open; the other was closed. She moved to the open door and stared into sacred space.

Ronan’s workshop was enormous—probably at least a couple thousand square feet. The ceilings soared. There were two ovens, equipment everywhere. Benches, bins, raw material for making glass and, on the wall opposite, a to-scale-size drawing of his current commission.

On the left was a beautiful swan, on the right an equally stunning dragon. The ten feet in between showed one creature transforming into the other. It was magical enough on paper, but the finished product would be done entirely in glass.

There was a similar rendering back in the gallery workshop. She knew parts of it were finished, but not enough, mostly because these days Ronan wasn’t working. Even now, both ovens were cold and dark.

It occurred to her a second too late that coming into the studio uninvited was much more of an intrusion than going into Ronan’s bedroom. He was an artist and this was—

“Natalie?”

She jumped and turned as Ronan approached. He stepped out of the shadows, all handsome and broody.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

He didn’t look mad or concerned about her being in his studio, which was a relief. She managed a smile.

“Yes, I’m doing laundry. It’s going great.” Ack! That was an incredibly inane thing to say, but he’d startled her.

“I talked to the head of the county road crew. The way down the mountain is blocked. They’re going to try to get it cleared as soon as possible, but the storm has to pass first and the main roads will have priority.”

He paused as if waiting for her to react. She replayed his words and realized the significance. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“So I’m stuck. Sorry. You must hate that.”

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

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.”

Her eyes were big and brown, half-hidden behind her glasses, but still expressive. He realized he didn’t know anything about her, other than the fact that she’d started working at the gallery two years before.

“Where did you move from?” he asked.

“When I came here? Sacramento.”

“What made you move?”

Her expression was quizzical. “You don’t know?”

He shook his head.

“I thought everyone had heard my sad little story.” She smiled. “I was practically stood up at the altar.”

What? He hadn’t expected that. “You don’t seem upset.”

“It was a while ago and probably for the best. My mom warned me I came from a long line of women who were not lucky in love. I didn’t want to believe her, but I guess it’s true.” She sipped her wine. “Back in Sacramento, I was trying to make it as an artist and failing, so I took an office job and through that I met this guy—Quentin Jones.”

She paused dramatically and sighed. “He was very handsome and smooth. Just supercharming.”

Ronan felt a twinge of something he couldn’t name but he sure didn’t like how it felt. “And?”

“And we started going out. His family owned a couple of car dealerships. One in Sacramento and one in San Diego. I met his parents and they were so nice.” She looked at him. “I liked being a part of a family after losing my mom. When he proposed, I knew it was going to be wonderful. We had a plan. He was going to take over the San Diego dealership and I would run the front office. We’d get a little place of our own.”

Her voice sounded regretful.

“What about your art?” he asked. There was no way Natalie belonged in an office—not full-time. She was meant to be wild and creative, not cooped up.

“I thought being in love was more important, I guess. I’m not sure. When I was with Quentin, my art didn’t seem that important.” She frowned. “He wasn’t exactly encouraging about it, which I didn’t realize until later. Anyway, we planned our wedding here, in Happily Inc. A destination wedding with a princess theme.” She laughed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You’d make a very beautiful princess.”

“Thank you. I like to think so but one never knows. I sold pretty much everything I owned, packed up my clothes and drove to town to get ready for the wedding. Three days before the big event, Quentin called and broke up with me. He said he wasn’t sure anymore and his parents had never liked me and it wasn’t going to work.”

Ronan hadn’t expected a happy ending to her story—he knew Natalie wasn’t married—but he hadn’t expected that.

“He dumped you over the phone? What a jerk. Did he help cancel the wedding?” He held up a hand. “Never mind. I know the answer.”

Her mouth twisted. “Yeah, not so much with the cleanup. I was stuck doing everything and paying for most of it. It took me a full day to grasp what had happened. Then I had to scramble. What I hadn’t expected was how nice everyone was. Pallas only charged me her expenses to date at Weddings Out of the Box. In fact, everyone did that. I had to pay maybe thirty percent of what I owed, but it was still a lot. It wiped out my savings and left me with some credit card debt.” She sipped more wine. “A lot of credit card debt. But I was so surprised by how supportive everyone had been that I decided to just stay put until I figured out what I wanted to do next. Then I found the job with Atsuko at the gallery and a little apartment and here we are.”

He felt an odd flush of pride that his adopted town had come through for her, along with a very understandable need to find the ex-fiancé and smash in his face. Maybe he would take one of his brothers along so they could do a good job of teaching the asshole a lesson.

Natalie leaned toward him. “I’m fine and you’re sweet to be protective.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. You looked all mean and scrunchy. Thank you.”

Scrunchy?

“I know,” she told him. “Not an expected compliment, but I mean it that way, all the same. Once I settled in Happily Inc, I realized that I had found here what I’d been looking for with Quentin.” She lowered her voice. “Family. If you don’t have one, you make one. At least, that’s what I learned. I have friends and my art and there are giraffes at the animal preserve just outside of town, which you know because your sister-in-law is the curator.” She shook her head. “Is that the right word?”

“I’m not sure someone can curate giraffes. At least not legally.”

She giggled. “Oh, wow, the wine is so going to my head.”

It had been a quarter of a glass. “I’m glad you’re not driving.”

“That would take a car.” She did a little dance in her seat. “I’m getting a red car. I can’t wait.”

“You have other criteria, don’t you? Other than the color?”

“No.” She sighed. “Okay, fine, yes, safety, but red. Red, red, red.”

“I’m going with you,” he muttered. “You aren’t allowed to go on a car lot alone.”

“Mr. Bossy Pants. Just like I said. Do you have any kids?”

He’d been swallowing and nearly choked on a piece of chicken. “No. Why do you ask?”

She drank more wine. “Kids are great. The unlucky-in-love thing is a serious drag, but just because I can’t have romantic love doesn’t mean I can’t have children, right?”

He cleared his throat against an imaginary tight collar. Somehow the conversation had gone in a direction he hadn’t expected. “Ah, sure.”

“Your family is pretty healthy. There aren’t any big diseases in every generation, are there?”

The question touched a sore spot, but Ronan kept his face emotionless. “Not as far as I know.”

How could he know?

“You’re athletic—I’ve seen that. Did you do well in school?”

“I guess. Math was easy. I didn’t love history. Why are you asking all these questions?”

“Practice.” She reached for her wineglass, then put it down. “Can you keep a secret?”

He could but he had a bad feeling that, in this case, he didn’t want to. But instead of saying no, like a man with a working brain, he found himself nodding.

“I have a new app.”

Not the secret he would have expected. “Congratulations.”

She giggled again. “No. That’s not the secret. It’s what the app is for. It’s called Baby Daddy.” She frowned. “Or maybe Daddy Baby. I can’t remember. It’s for finding a sperm donor. You know, so I can have a baby.”

He was on his feet before he realized he was moving. “Are you—”

“Asking you?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “No. You can sit down. The app comes with a list of questions and I was trying out a few. Don’t panic. I’m sure you have great sperm but you can keep it to yourself. Or not. I mean, I don’t need it. Or them. I don’t need a donation.”

He lowered himself back onto his chair. “No more wine for you.”

“MBP,” she whispered.

It took him a second to realize she meant Mr. Bossy Pants. Well, hell.

* * *

BY MIDNIGHT NATALIE was sober, slightly chagrined and wide-awake. It made sense that half a glass of wine would metabolize quickly and she’d always been a night owl. Working a job with traditional hours had been a challenge. Given the choice, she would be up all night. She loved to create when the rest of the world was asleep. The quiet, the darkness, seemed to fuel her creativity. As for chagrined, well, she had no one but herself to blame.

In retrospect, she had to admit that maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to test her find-a-sperm-donor app on Ronan, only she’d just downloaded it the day before and she was curious about how it worked. There were tons of questions—she’d barely started with Ronan and now she doubted he would be willing to answer any more.

Not that she wanted him to donate sperm. Sure, he was good-looking and smart and gifted and funny—in fact, nearly everything she would want in the father of her child. But he was someone she worked with and kind of knew. Having his baby would be awkward, to say the least. No, if she went the baby daddy sperm donor app route, she was hooking up with a stranger.

She paused on the landing outside her bedroom. Not hooking up, she corrected. Making medical arrangements with. She had no interest in sex with a stranger.

The house was dark and quiet. She could hear rain and wind outside, but with the thick stone walls, the weather seemed to be at a safe distance. She was itching to work—her fingers practically trembled with the need to do something, only she didn’t have any supplies with her. Just her usual stash of origami paper and she’d already left little animals, flowers and shapes all over the house. She wasn’t in the mood for TV, so maybe she should try reading. There was a whole library of books in Ronan’s office. She would creep downstairs, collect one and return to her bedroom to wait for elusive sleep.

She grabbed the waistband of the baggy sweatpants—she’d hung up her dress for the night—and tiptoed down the staircase. When she reached the foyer, she paused to get her bearings in the dark, turned toward what she assumed was the hallway and ran smack into something big, solid and warm.

She screamed and the big, solid, warm thing grabbed her arms.

“It’s me,” Ronan said in the dark. He released her and clicked on a light. “You okay?”

She blinked in the sudden brightness. Ronan had changed his clothes, or pulled on new ones. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt. They were both barefoot, which felt oddly intimate or weird, depending on one’s perspective.

“Did I wake you?” she asked. “I was trying to be quiet. I wanted to get a book.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“I’m a night owl.”

“Me, too.”

He gave her a slow smile. It was one she hadn’t seen before, or if she had, she hadn’t been paying attention. Or maybe it was different because of the time of night. Regardless, the curve of his mouth was unbelievably sexy and totally caught her off guard. She suddenly felt breathless and young and intensely aware of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

He pointed down the hall. “Go find a book. I’ll make us hot chocolate and maybe that will help you sleep.”

“I, ah, thank you. Hot chocolate would be nice.” She wanted to say something to make that smile return, but honestly, her mind was totally blank, so she headed down the hall, only to stumble when she stepped onto the rug, which was just so typical.

Ten minutes later, book in hand, she walked into the kitchen. Ronan had a small pot on the stove and two mugs on the island. There was a blue oval tin, trimmed in gold, sitting on the counter.

“What did you pick?” he asked as she settled on one of the stools.

She waved a hardcover thriller. “Nazis, missing gold treasure and genetically modified twins. I’m not sure it can get better than that.”

He chuckled. “You have unexpected reading tastes.”

“Given my choice, I would much rather sink into a steamy romance novel, but you don’t seem to have any of those on your bookshelves.”

“My apologies. I’ll order several first thing in the morning.”

“I doubt that, but thank you for offering.” She pointed to the tin. “First, let me say how impressed I am that you have hot chocolate in your house.”

“I don’t have it often, but every now and then you gotta indulge.” He measured out several tablespoons of the dark powder, then handed her the container. “It’s my favorite. It’s German, from a little shop in what was East Berlin.”

She studied the label and tried not to laugh. “And they ship it to you?”

“Not just me. They’ll ship to anyone.”

“Uh-huh. You can’t just get the stuff from the grocery store like everybody else?”

“It’s an indulgence. Why not have what I really want?”

A philosophy she planned to emulate just as soon as she had an extra nickel or so, she promised herself. For now, her indulgences were things like meat and paying her light bill.

He stirred the powder into the milk for nearly a minute, then filled each of the mugs. He pulled one of those whipped cream spray cans from the refrigerator and added a generous dollop to the mugs before handing her one. She inhaled the scent of sweet chocolate and nearly moaned.

“You do know how to treat a girl,” she said before taking a sip.

Not moaning became even harder. The drink was smooth and sweet, without being too sweet. The chocolate flavor indulged her senses, especially her taste buds.

“This is so good it’s dangerous.”

Ronan settled next to her and grinned. “Women and chocolate.”

“It’s a thing. We can’t help it.” She took another drink and sighed. “Oh, man, I could get used to this and I bet it has like a billion calories. Does it?” She held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“I’ll send you home with the can.”

“Thanks, but don’t you dare. I’m short and curvy. I told you, weight finds me much more easily than it does my leggy friends. I try not to be bitter, but sometimes I can’t help myself. And don’t say you understand. You’re a guy and you have a job that’s physical. You can eat the entire grocery store and not gain a pound, which annoys me and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He studied her for a second, then smiled again. “I see the late hour doesn’t make you any less feisty.”

Feisty? He thought she was feisty? That was very close to sexy. She told herself not to think about her braless state. She was wearing an incredibly baggy sweatshirt. He would never notice. Still, it was nice to pretend, even for a second. Although after the conversation they’d had at dinner, he would probably be terrified if she made the slightest move. Speaking of which...

“I’m sorry about the app.”

One brow rose. “Putting it on your phone or discussing it?”

“Talking about it. I really was just checking out the questions. There are a lot of them and some are really interesting. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Scare is strong.”

She rolled her eyes. “You were terrified.”

He chuckled. “Your words, not mine.” He lifted his mug. “What do you normally do when you can’t sleep?”

“Work. It’s relaxing and eventually I get tired enough to sleep. I would have done that tonight, but I don’t have anything with me except a few sheets of origami paper.”

“Do you ever paint?”

“Sometimes. I’m not very good at it. I used to paint all the time. One day I finished a watercolor and realized it was awful. I got so frustrated I tore it up. When the pieces settled on my desk, they’d created something really beautiful and that was the beginning.”

“From failure, success.”

She smiled. “Exactly. I enjoy the unexpected and I’ve been working with mixed media ever since.”

“Which explains the trash.”

Ronan and his brothers often teased her about her found objects that she worked into her pieces. “It’s not trash. Just because someone doesn’t want something doesn’t mean it’s trash.”

He held up his free hand. “Don’t get riled. You’re supposed to be getting sleepy.”

“Trash,” she grumbled. “Your inability to see the potential in things is surprising, given what you do for a living.”

“Like I said, feisty.”

There was a tone to his voice. Or maybe she just wanted to hear something. Regardless, she liked the slightly affectionate, slightly teasing sound. Maybe it was the late hour or the storm raging outside, but she liked this Ronan. He was much more approachable and charming than the one she knew at work.

He’d always been appealing, and not just based on his features. There was something...wounded about him. She knew the danger of the brooding, damaged guy and had always avoided the type, but there was something about him that drew her in.

“Would you like to work?” he asked, drawing her attention back to their conversation.

“Sure.”

“Then come with me.”

She thought he would lead her to his studio behind the house. Instead he went upstairs, toward the guest room.

For a second, she wondered what he was going to do. If he pulled her close and kissed her, well, she had no idea how she would react. The thought of Ronan touching her was kind of intriguing. She felt a slight shiver low in her belly.

But instead of heading to her bedroom and making her question his definition of “work,” he stopped on the landing in front of the curved wall decorated with molding. He pressed in and the wall popped open to reveal a hidden door.

Natalie jumped back and nearly spilled the rest of her cocoa. “I had no idea that was there.”

“I think that’s the point. I’m not sure why the builder put in the secret room. I didn’t know what to do with it, so I made it into an art studio.” He walked inside and turned on the lights.

She was about to say he already had the custom studio he’d built when she followed him inside and saw this space was totally different. There weren’t any ovens, no raw materials for making glass. Instead there was a long counter at desk height, a drafting table and several easels. Cabinets filled the walls on either side of the door.

The room itself was in the turret, she realized as she looked around. There were huge windows that would let in light during the day. Tonight the storm raged just beyond the panes. She could practically feel the fury as the wind howled.

Ronan began to open the cabinet doors, revealing stacks of paper in all different sizes, canvases, bags of clay and boxes of brushes. Another cabinet held paints—oil and acrylic—along with colored pens and pencils, markers, glue and a glue gun. There was yarn, string, crochet hooks, scissors, rubber stamps, ink, X-Acto knives and ribbon.

She turned in a slow circle, then stared at Ronan. “But you work with glass.”

“Most of the time. Every now and then, I need to be inspired.”

“It’s a magical place.”

“I’m glad you think so. While you’re here, consider it yours.”

“What? No. I couldn’t.”

“Sure you could. I rarely come up here. Indulge your inner artist. Keep your own hours.”

It was a gift beyond measure, she thought, slightly light-headed at the thought of all the possibilities. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

He gave her that smile again. “I don’t mind. Have fun, Natalie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded and moved toward the cupboards. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do first. A collage, or maybe paint. She was a horrible painter, but sometimes the wretchedness of her work inspired a mixed-media piece. She would have to—

The sound of a door closing caught her attention. She turned and saw Ronan had left. The door to the landing was easily visible from this side of the room.

How amazing, she thought, setting her cocoa down on the long table. Energy flowed through her. Paint first, mixed media second, she decided, reaching for a canvas. And in a few hours, she would get to watch the sunrise through the storm. Honestly, it didn’t get better than that!

CHAPTER FOUR

RONAN HAD NO idea what time Natalie finally went to bed. When he got up after a handful of hours sleeping, the house was quiet. Despite the storm still milling around, he checked with the county road crew and was not surprised when they said there was no way they could begin to clear roads for at least another twenty-four hours.

He went into his office to send an email to his brother Mathias, telling him what was going on. As his laptop booted, he noticed a tiny green origami dragon sitting next to his computer. He picked it up and held it on the palm of his hand.

The workmanship was precise, the lines perfect. There was something compelling about the tiny creature. He finished his email, then put the paper dragon on his bookshelf before heading to the kitchen to brew coffee.

As he waited for the machine to work its magic, he prowled the family room, spotting a tiny paper mouse on an end table. There was a turtle in the dining room and a classic crane in the foyer.

Once the coffee was done, he picked up the turtle and carried it with him to his studio. As he passed through the long hallway, he felt the force of the storm outside. According to the weather reports, it would blow itself out by the end of the day and then the cleanup would begin.

He put the turtle on his desk and began to sketch. He wasn’t sure it was possible for glass to capture the sharp edges of origami. He couldn’t use a sheet of glass and fold it—that would be too thick. So he would have to create the illusion of folds and lines.

Hours later he stared at the molten mess he’d made. It was a green blob that was more failed science experiment than turtle, but he’d learned from his mistakes and was eager to try again. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since dinner, so he went back into the house.

He found Natalie sitting at the island, a mug in front of her. She was back in her dress, with her hair all curly and her eyes slightly sleepy. She looked soft and rumpled and sexy as hell.

For a second, he allowed himself to simply look. To take in the perfect line of her cheek and the way her glasses added an impish air.

Something stirred inside of him. Not the need to re-create her in glass—no, the sensation was more base. Desire, he thought with some surprise. He wanted to know if her skin was as soft as it looked, and how her scent would surround him when he got close to her. He wanted to kiss her and taste coffee on her lips. He wanted to know what she was like in bed. Was she as feisty as she was in the rest of her life, or did she yield with a sigh designed to drive a man to madness?

She looked up and smiled. “Morning.”

He mentally turned his back on his imaginings and glanced at the clock. “Barely,” he said, his voice teasing.

“I know, I know. I indulged my inner night owl and worked until sunrise. It was glorious.”

“The work or the sunrise?”

“Both. The storm was going hot and heavy, but I could still see the light on the horizon. Nature is miraculous. What have you been doing in your studio?”

“Playing, mostly. You?”

“I painted.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s total crap, but that’s okay. From crap comes inspiration. I seem to often start with a horrible painting. I guess it’s because my mom was a painter, only she was brilliant.”

“Have you eaten?”

She shook her head. “I was trying to figure out what I wanted, although it would probably make more sense to see what you have and then decide on something.”

“Breakfast or lunch?”

“I’m open.”

“Let’s make it brunch. Omelets okay?”

“Sure.”

He headed to the refrigerator and started pulling out ingredients. He stacked eggs, cheese, a red pepper and mushrooms on the counter, then pulled a box from the freezer and handed it to her. Based on her reaction to the hot chocolate, he had a feeling she would be all in.

She read the label and groaned. “Cinnamon buns? What are you doing to me?”

“You don’t want one?”

“I want all of them, but one will do.”

He turned on the oven and got out a baking sheet, then washed his hands and began chopping up the pepper.

“How do you know how to do all this?” she asked. “You’re very handy in the kitchen. I wouldn’t have expected it.”

“Mathias and I moved out when we were maybe twenty-two. Neither of us was crazy about takeout every night, so we took a couple of cooking classes. It was fun and we learned the basics.”

“And it was yet another weapon in your attracting-women arsenal.”

“Asking or telling?”

She grinned. “Oh, I’m telling.”

He was surprised. While he used to be very successful with women, in the past few years he’d stopped trying. He preferred to be alone. So how would Natalie know whether he had an arsenal or not?

He finished prepping the vegetables about the time the oven chimed that it had reached the right temperature. He slid the cinnamon rolls into the oven and set the timer, then poured more coffee and joined Natalie at the island.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asked.

“About five hours. I’ll take a nap later and then stay up tonight.” She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “You have great coverage up here.”

“There’s a tower on the edge of the property. It’s close to the hiking trails. I think the state put it in for search and rescue teams.”

“Makes sense.” She pushed a couple of buttons. “Would you say you have a moral compass?”

The question surprised him. “Don’t most people? Yes, and I try to follow it.”

“Me, too. I hate to lie. I feel icky and then I can never remember. Better to just be honest.” She paused. “Do you think people are basically good, but sometimes misguided, or do you believe there are actually evil people?”

He hesitated. Most people were basically good but there were others who seemed to be following a separate set of rules, like his father. Ceallach Mitchell wasn’t evil, but he rarely showed compassion and thought kindness was for suckers. At the same time, he expected those around him to rotate in the orbit of his greatness and be grateful for the opportunity. No, his father wasn’t evil, but he wasn’t good, either. Ronan wasn’t sure if—

He grabbed her phone and stared at the screen. The app logo made him shudder. “You said we weren’t going to play this game anymore. I’m not going to be your sperm donor.”

“Oh, I know. I just thought the questions were interesting.” She smiled. “I hadn’t realized you were so emotionally delicate.”

“I’m a typical guy who doesn’t want unexpected children wandering around.”

Her smile turned impish. “That would be your moral compass at work.”

“Good to know it’s working.” He glanced at the timer, then got up and began cracking eggs into a bowl. “Are you serious about having a baby on your own?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m playing with the idea. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fall in love.”

“You don’t really believe you’re unlucky in love, do you? You can’t base all your decisions on the actions of a single jerk.”

She hesitated just long enough for him to know there was more to the story. Something she wasn’t telling him.

“He was a jerk who said he wanted to marry me and then changed his mind.”

“That’s on him, not you.”

He got out a twelve-inch pan, figuring he’d make one big omelet, then cut it in half. He tossed the vegetables into the pan to begin to sauté.

“It was one guy, Natalie.”

“My high school romance ended badly. He cheated.”

“That was high school, and if you want to use those two men to plot a course for the rest of your romantic life, have you considered the problem might be your choices rather than a cosmically determined fate?”

She winced. “It’s very early to be so judgmental.” She sipped her coffee. “You’re saying I have bad taste rather than bad luck?”

“I’m suggesting it might be something to consider before you jump into having a baby on your own.”

“I’m not jumping.”

“You’re practicing for your interviews.”

“I guess you’re right. I have been looking at adoption, but it’s not easy if you’re single.”

He kept the vegetables moving in the pan. When they were nearly done, he dumped them back onto the cutting board, then wiped out the pan. The oven chimed. He turned it off and set the cookie sheet onto a cooling rack, then added butter to the frying pan.

“What do you really want?” he asked, swirling the melting butter in the pan.

“What everyone does. To belong. To have family, to feel safe and loved and be the most important person in someone’s life.”

He glanced up in time to see her mouth twist. He had the most ridiculous need to go over and somehow make things better, although he had no idea how. Her desires required more than a friendly hug.

“You’re talking about finding a partner, not having a child. Kids grow up and leave. Unless you’re planning to keep him or her locked in the basement.”

“I don’t have a basement, and no, I’m not creepy. I just want...”

To be loved.

She didn’t say the words, but then, she didn’t have to. He heard them. He supposed nearly everyone wanted that. He had, at one time. Back before everything had changed, he’d assumed that one day he would fall in love, get married and have kids. All his brothers were married. He was, as they often put it, the last dog standing.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she admitted as he poured the whipped eggs into the hot pan. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

“That will depend on whether or not the cinnamon rolls are frosted.” She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“They wouldn’t be cinnamon rolls without frosting.”

She smiled. “You’re the best host ever. I may never leave.”

Words that should have scared the crap out of him but didn’t. And what was up with that?

* * *

NATALIE WATCHED THE clock with a sense of anticipation. It was nearly midnight. She’d worked all evening, beginning the process of turning her flawed painting into mixed-media magic. She’d already done a quick sketch on thick paper that she’d mounted on canvas. Now came the painstaking work of layering in the various elements. Around eleven she’d started to feel restless, as if waiting for something important.

She knew what she was hoping—that once again she and Ronan would spend time together. It didn’t seem to matter that they’d shared brunch and then dinner. She wanted to see him at midnight, as if the hour had some significance or mystical power.

Or maybe it was more the man. She’d never spent so much time with him before. He was pleasant enough at the gallery studio, but not chatty like Nick or Mathias. She’d always been aware of him when he was around, but that was more an energy thing than a personality thing.

Staying with him had changed everything. He was so...interesting with his brooding eyes and sexy smile. He could cook! He was more open than she would have thought, even as he kept his secrets. He was a good host and yet gave her plenty of personal space. She hadn’t realized he had a sense of humor—it was subtle, but seemed to be coming out more and more. She had the feeling he was slow to trust people, cautious about opening up, and she liked to believe he was starting to let her into the inner circle.

She left her work space and went downstairs, hoping to run into him. She found him in his study, on his computer. In the second before he looked up, she spotted her origami pieces on a shelf. As if he’d collected them to put them somewhere safe.

“How’s your work going?” he asked.

“Good. I’m making progress and I have an idea.”

“Is this about the app?”

“No.” She laughed. “The foyer ceiling is two stories with a nice updraft. We should fly paper airplanes.”

“I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”

“Did you ever compete?”

He grinned. “You’ve met my brothers. Do you have to ask?”

“Did you ever win?”

“Sure.”

“You won’t tonight.”

His gaze turned speculative. “Are you challenging me?”

“I am so going to kick your butt. Every single time. Even if you get lucky.”

“You’re on.” He rose. “What’s the wager?”

As he spoke, she would have sworn that his gaze dropped to her mouth. She felt heat and a sensation that was almost a kiss. Then he returned his attention to her eyes and she wasn’t sure it had happened at all. Real or wishful thinking?

“You don’t want to bet with me, Ronan,” she said, hoping her voice sounded playful instead of needy.

“I’m not afraid.”

“In the words of Yoda, you will be.” She grinned. “How about this? We each do a practice flight, and then if you still want to bet, we will.”

“Done.”

He followed her upstairs to the turret. She’d put out paper, scissors and a couple of rulers to flatten the edges. They each sat at the long table and started to work. In a matter of minutes, he’d completed a traditional paper airplane. It took her a few seconds more to complete her gliding plane. The more snub-nosed design was reinforced with additional folds that would withstand the updraft from the furnace vents.

Ronan looked from her plane to his sleek design. “You think that’s going to win?”

They walked to the landing. She smiled.

“In this confined space, winning is about staying aloft longer. Your plane is built for distance. It’s going to soar out perfectly fine and then pretty much plummet. Mine is going to stay up in the clouds for hours.”

Ronan’s eyes brightened with humor. “You’re a ringer, aren’t you? Instead of hustling for money at a pool table, you use paper airplanes. I’ve been had.”

She tried not to look smug. “And you were so sure you’d win. Come on, Mr. Bossy Pants. Let’s see what you’ve got under the hood.”

Ronan turned and sent his plane soaring off the landing. As she’d predicted, it made its way across the foyer with great speed and grace. He threw it hard enough that it actually hit the opposite wall and then tumbled to the floor two stories below.

“Well, damn,” he muttered. “You were right.”

“I know. Isn’t it great?”

She put out her arm and felt for the warm updraft from the air below, then aimed her stubby plane at the ceiling. It took off, looped once, then kept flying as it was slowly, slowly, oh so slowly, taken down by gravity.

“I want to learn how to do that,” he said the second her plane touched the floor. “What other kinds of planes do you know how to make?”

They spent the next hour folding paper planes. She showed him a half dozen designs and they practiced with all of them. When the foyer was littered with their efforts, they went downstairs for hot cocoa. While Ronan heated the milk, Natalie pulled a bag of marshmallows out of the pantry.

“I found these earlier,” she said, waving the bag. “I’m superexcited.”

“About marshmallows?”

“Duh. Of course. Aren’t you?”

He studied her for a second before he smiled. “I am. Now tell me how you learned to fly airplanes so well.”

She settled on a stool at the island. “There weren’t any girls on the street where I grew up. Just boys. It was fine when I was little, but by the time I was seven, they didn’t want me tagging along. Whenever I convinced them to play with me, it was sports and they always beat me. I got tired of being humiliated. My mom was the one who came up with the idea of paper airplanes. I was already doing origami, so it was an easy transition.”

She grinned at the memory. “They were woefully unprepared to be beaten by a girl and they didn’t take it well. After about a dozen rematches, they stopped trying to beat me and I was still shut out.”

“That must have hurt.”

“It did, but then a couple of girls moved in, so I cared less. Plus anytime the boys tried to tease me, I reminded them they’d been beaten by a girl and they wilted.”

“You’re scrappy.”

“I try.”

He stirred the cocoa into the pan. The smell of chocolate filled the kitchen and her mouth began to water.

“I’m drinking up your supply,” she said. “I should order you more.” Although she had no idea how much it would cost to buy a tin of cocoa from the former East Berlin. There went her meat budget for the month.

“I already have.” He poured the mixture into mugs, then handed her one. “It’s nicer when it’s shared.”

“Thank you.”

She looked up and saw he was watching her. For a second, their gazes tangled and refused to separate. She found herself leaning toward him, as if... As if...

He turned away and put down the pan, then passed her the bag of marshmallows. She took two and dropped them into her cocoa all the while telling herself not to be silly. Whatever she was feeling was obviously one-sided. Ronan wouldn’t be interested in her that way. He was worldly and famous and rich. She was just a girl who couldn’t find someone to love her and who tore up bits of paper and called it art. He was the real artist. Speaking of which...

“How did work go today?” she asked.

The energy in the room changed immediately. Ronan’s face tightened. She had a feeling that if he hadn’t already been sitting next to her at the island, he would have turned and walked out. She wondered if he still would.

For more than a minute, there was silence. Natalie told herself to keep quiet, to let him talk, but in the end, she couldn’t help blurting, “Do you know why you’re not working?”

He looked from his drink to her and back. “I take it you have a theory.”

“I do. Several, in fact, but the one I like the best is that you can’t work because you’ve closed your heart to your family. You’re like Elsa in the movie Frozen. You have to believe in love again.”

He turned toward her, his expression disbelieving. “Like Elsa?”

“In Frozen, yes. Have you seen it?”

“I know the song.”

She smiled. “Isn’t it great? And I love the movie. You should watch it sometime. You’ll see what I mean. If you would just...”

She paused, not sure what he should just do. It occurred to her, perhaps a tad late, that there were things about his life she didn’t know.

“Not that I’m an expert,” she added quietly.

“What do you know about my past?” he asked. “About my family?”

He didn’t seem to be challenging her. Rather he wanted to know how much she’d overheard, been told and figured out on her own.

“I know what your dad did. That he had an affair years ago and you’re the result. I know you thought you and Mathias were fraternal twins and then you found out you weren’t. I know he didn’t tell anyone that you knew, so the two of you had to deal with it by yourself.”

“That sums it up,” he told her, cupping his mug in both hands and watching the marshmallows melt. “My father is a difficult man. He’s gifted, cruel and selfish. Everything is about him. No one else matters. Not us, not his wife, Elaine—just him.”

He glanced at her. “As you said, I’m the result. I was born a few weeks after Mathias. For reasons I can’t explain or understand, when my birth mother gave me up, Elaine agreed to raise me as her own son. They told everyone Mathias and I were fraternal twins. That’s how we were raised and what we believed. Elaine never hinted otherwise.”

He kept saying Elaine. “You mean your mom.”

His gaze hardened. “She’s not my mother. She’s the woman who raised me.”

As far as Natalie was concerned, that was the same thing. “Okay,” she said slowly. “So your dad dumped this on you and then you had to deal on your own.” She hated to speak ill of someone she’d met for five seconds a year ago, but the man sounded like a butthead. Yes, he’d thought he was dying from a heart attack when he’d blurted out the truth, but what about after? Why hadn’t he gone back to his sons and explained things better? It made her furious to think about.

“I’m sorry it happened, but I’m glad you and Mathias moved here,” she said.

“I moved here. Mathias decided to come with me. I thought being somewhere else would help and it did for a while. Now, I don’t know.” He angled toward her.

“Everything is different. I’m not who I thought. I don’t know where I come from. Ceallach is so much worse than you’re imagining. I always thought I had Elaine to offset that. She’s misguided in her devotion to my father, but otherwise a decent person. Now there’s nothing in me but him.”

“You’ve never met your birth mother?”

“No.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“No. She dumped me and ran. I don’t need to meet her to know what she’s like.”

Natalie touched his arm. “Don’t say that. She was young and scared. You need to find out who she is and why she did what she did. That could change everything.”

“I know enough.”

“You’re stubborn. Just like Elsa.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re not going to let me wallow in this, are you?”

“I’m not going to stop you. I enjoy a good wallow as much as the next person. I’d just like to point out that, so far, it hasn’t helped very much. You should talk to someone.”

He drew back. “Like who?”

“You know, to a therapist. Someone who could give you perspective and help you brainstorm ways to handle this. You’re too brilliant not to be working. I’m guessing you don’t really need the money, but that’s not what’s important. Creating is who you are. Without that, I’m not sure you can be happy. I know I couldn’t be and I’m nowhere near as talented. You need to learn to open your heart, Ronan. Or you’re going to be trapped in your emotional ice kingdom forever.”

He groaned. “That’s another Frozen reference, isn’t it?”

She smiled. “Admit it. You find me totally charming.”

Figuring she’d pushed her luck about as far as she could, she lightly kissed his cheek, then rose and reached for her mug.

“Night, Ronan.”

He watched her go without speaking. When she reached the doorway, she turned back and he was still looking at her. For a second she hoped he would come after her, take her in his arms and give her a hearty kissing. Or maybe more. Instead he didn’t say anything and she was left with the uncomfortable sensation of wanting someone who probably didn’t see her that way at all.

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