He hadn’t been here for a while—the last time had been when he’d helped Sailor carry up a small but heavy ornamental table Catie had inherited from a grand-aunt and couldn’t bear to part with even though it didn’t fit her usual rules for furniture. The chief rule being that she could move it around her apartment on her own.

The place was still as warm and as cozy as he remembered.

Catie had a thing for pillows and soft fabrics, so there were blankets thrown over sofa arms and cushions galore. Her sofa itself was a pale pink velvet with inset buttons covered in the fabric. While her four-person dining table was made of honey-toned wood, she’d upholstered the cozy seats of the chairs around it in the same shade of velvet. See-through curtains of gauzy white filtered the winter sunlight, helping to soften things even further.

The grand-aunt’s ornately carved table—the top attached to a thick central leg that then flowed out into three curving supports—sat to one side of the doors that led out to Catie’s postage stamp of a balcony; on the table was a lovingly tended potted plant with leaves of a striking lime green.

The walls were a warm cream, the pictures she’d hung up on them of family and friends. Even Danny made an appearance—in a group shot with his brothers, all four of them muddy from a rainy-day game of rugby in the local park.

But she’d given the most space over to the kids. Framed photos, paintings they’d done for her, even little baby footprints that Ísa had given her sister after the birth of Catie’s niece and nephew.

The kitchen was in the far corner of the open-plan space. The simple but well-built cabinetry was painted a creamy white to echo the walls, the bench a gray granite with veins of gold. Color came from Catie’s mismatched collection of antique dishes, which weren’t just for display but for daily use.

“Hey,” he said, “you still have that mug I found you.” Delighted, he walked over to pick up the blue mug with its golden rim and—the pièce de résistance—filigreed handle. He’d spotted the unique and pretty thing in a tiny antique shop in a rural town, grabbed it without thought. Because Catie mattered to him.

Oh fuck, his brain was on the wrong track again. He put down the mug in an effort to cut off that line of thought.

“It’s my favorite for coffee in the morning.”

Startled her voice had come from so close behind him, he turned… and she was right there. He’d have apologized for almost slamming into her, but he’d lost his ability to talk—because she was taking his face between two warm, slender-fingered hands and tugging him down toward lips pink and lush.

19

BOOM