“You. My mother claimed that my father liked to watch her with other men. Last night I dreamed that you were one of those men. Were you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Faith
He didn’t say no.
That’s what haunts me for the rest of the afternoon while I sit at my desk evaluating the files Sara gave me. Even after Sara and I dine on Chinese food and enjoy great conversation, I replay it again. And now, at nearly five o’clock, I do it all over again.
“My mother claims that my father liked to watch her with other men. Last night I dreamed that you were one of those men. Were you?”
“Sex is what put us at opposite ends of the world,” he says. “We’re the only Winters left. We need to put the past behind us.”
“That’s a yes,” I say.
“That’s a refusal to discuss my sex life with my niece. How are things at the winery?”
“We are not friends or family,” I say. “I have zero desire to discuss my life with you. I simply wanted to know if you and my father were both sick enough to share my mother. That simple. I got my answer. What I don’t understand is why my father was upset when he found out you fucked her on your own? I mean, what difference does it make? You know what. This was a mistake.”
My phone buzzes with a message, pulling me back to the present, and I glance down to find a message from Nick:Client losing his fucking mind. I’ll be another two hours. I’ll bring home dinner.
My stomach does this funny loopy thing it’s never done in my life with the words: Bring home dinner. Like home is something we share. It’s just a phrase, of course. It means nothing, but then, Nick does nothing by accident. And I’m officially falling so damn hard for Nick that there is no turning back. I’m in this, no matter how broken I end up.
I text back:I can make my famous pancakes.
He replies with:Only if you make them naked.
I laugh and type:Batter splatters.
Good point,he replies.I want every inch of that gorgeous body feeling good next to mine. Call you soon, sweetheart.
Sara appears in my doorway. “It’s getting late. Are you staying a while?”
“Are you?”
“Chris isn’t answering his phone, which means he’s lost in his work. I figure I’ll work another hour or so and then take him dinner.”
“Nick is working late. I figured I’d stay another hour and then head home.” Home. Now I said home.
Sara catches it too, her lips curving. “It’s nice to have you here in the city. I want coffee. You want coffee? They make a killer white mocha next door.”
“White mocha?” I ask, perking up. “I’m in.” I grab my purse and slip it over my shoulder before sticking my phone inside.
“Great. We can dash over there and be back in a few minutes.”
We make our way to the door, and step outside, both of us hugging ourselves against a chilly wind, the smell of the ocean air touched by the scent of fresh, hot nuts from a nearby vendor. In that moment, I decide I love this city. The smells. The art. The energy.Nick.
“We have arrived,” Sara announces, indicating a door only a block from the gallery.
“Rebecca’s,” I murmur, reading the writing on the door. “Didn’t Chris paint something dedicated to Rebecca?”
“He did,” she says, and rather than offering more detail, she opens the door, motioning me forward.
I enter the adorable little shop, with paintings of people drinking coffee on the walls, and clusters of wooden tables, while booths line the left wall. Sara joins me and we approach the register, where a glass display case allows me to drool over a tempting selection of cookies and sweets.
“Usual, Sara?” a tall man, with dark brown hair and glasses asks.
“You know it, Mick,” Sara replies, “and anything Faith wants is on the house now and forever.” She glances at me. “We own this place, too. Mick is our manager, and co-owner.”