Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [41]
At this moment, Natalie’s BMW pulled into the driveway, causing Angus new seizures of outrage. I clutched him to me, his little form trembling, as he tried to heave himself out of my arms, his barks bouncing off the inside of my skull.
“Can’t you control the wee beastie?” Callahan O’Shea asked.
“Quiet,” I muttered. “Not you, Angus, honey. Hi, Natalie!”
“Hi,” she said, gliding up the front steps. She paused, giving my neighbor a questioning look. “Hello. I’m Natalie Emerson, Grace’s sister.”
My neighbor took her hand, an appreciative grin tugging his mouth up on one side, making me dislike him all the more. “Callahan O’Shea,” he murmured. “I’m Grace’s carpenter.”
“He’s not,” I insisted. “What brings you here, Nat?”
“I thought we could have a cup of coffee,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’ve been dying to hear about this guy you’re seeing. We haven’t had a chance to talk since Mom’s show.”
“A boyfriend?” Callahan said. “I take it he likes things rough.”
Natalie’s silken eyebrows popped up an inch and she grinned, her eyes studying his shiner. “Come on, Grace, how about some coffee? Callahan, is it? Would you like a cup?”
“I’d love one,” he answered, smiling at my beautiful and suddenly irritating sister.
Five minutes later, I was staring sullenly at the coffeepot as my sister and Callahan O’Shea became best friends forever.
“So Grace actually hit you? With a field hockey stick? Oh, Grace!” She burst into laughter, that husky, seductive laugh that men loved.
“It was self-defense,” I said, grabbing a few cups from the cupboard.
“She was drunk,” Cal explained. “Well, the first time, she was drunk. The second time, with the rake, she was just flighty.”
“I was not flighty,” I objected, setting the coffeepot on the table and yanking open the fridge for the cream, which I set on the table with considerable force. “I have never been described as flighty.”
“I don’t know, Natalie,” Callahan said, tilting his head. “Don’t those pajamas say flighty to you?” His eyes traveled up and down my SpongeBobs once more.
“That’s it, Irish. You’re fired. Again. Still. Whatever.”
“Oh, come on, Grace,” Natalie said, laughing melodically. “He’s got a point. I hope Wyatt won’t see you in those.”
“Wyatt loves SpongeBob,” I retorted.
Nat poured Callahan a cup of coffee, missing the daggers shooting from my eyes. “Cal, have you met Grace’s new guy?” she asked.
“You know, I haven’t,” he answered, cocking his eyebrow at me. I tried to ignore him. Not easy. He looked so damn… wonderful… sitting there in my cheery kitchen, Angus chewing his bootlace, drinking coffee from my limited edition Fiestaware cornflower-blue mug. The sun shone on his tousled hair, revealing very appealing streaks of gold in that rich chestnut-brown. He just about glowed with masculinity, all broad shoulders and big muscles, about to fix stuff in my house… damn it. Who wouldn’t be turned on?
“So what’s he like?” Natalie asked. For a second I thought she was talking about Callahan O’Shea.
“Huh? Oh, Wyatt? Well, he’s very… nice.”
“Nice is good. And how was your date the other night?” she continued, stirring sugar into her coffee to make herself even sweeter. Dang it. Nat had called the other night, and I could hear Andrew in the background, so I’d cut the conversation short by saying I had to meet Wyatt in Hartford. Oh, the tangled web… Callahan’s soulful blue eyes were looking at me. Mockingly.
“The date was good. Pleasant. Nice. We ate. Drank. Kissed. Stuff like that.”
So eloquent, Grace! Again with Callahan’s eyebrow.
“Grace, come on!” my once-beloved sister said. “What’s he like? I mean, he’s a pediatric surgeon, so obviously he’s wonderful, but give me some specifics.”
“Lovely! His personality is lovely,” I said, my voice a little loud. “He’s very—” another glance at Cal “—respectful. Friendly. He’s incredibly kind. Gives money to the homeless…and um, rescues… cats.” My inner voice, disgusted at my poor lying abilities, sighed loudly.
“Sounds perfect,” Natalie said approvingly. “Good sense of humor?”
“Oh, yes,” I answered. “Very