Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [56]
Margaret headed into her office, calling out a cheerful goodbye to Callahan and me, seeming rather depressingly chipper about leaving her husband. I wrote up a quiz on the Reconstruction for my seniors, using my laptop and not the larger computer downstairs. Corrected essays from my sophomores on the FDR administration. Downstairs, the whine of the saw and thump of the hammer and the offhanded, tuneless whistle of Callahan O’Shea blended into a pleasant cacophony.
Angus, though he still growled occasionally, gave up trying to tunnel under my bedroom door and lay on his back in a puddle of sunlight, his crooked bottom teeth showing most adorably. I concentrated on my students’ work, writing notes in the margins, comments at the end, praising them lavishly for moments of clarity, pointing out areas that could’ve used some work.
I went downstairs a while later. Four of the eight downstairs windows were already in. Cal glanced in my direction. “I don’t think I’ll have to replace those sills. If the windows upstairs are as easy as the ones downstairs, I’ll be done Monday or Tuesday.”
“Oh. Okay,” I said. “They look great.”
“Glad you like them.”
He looked at me, unsmiling, unmoving. I looked back. And looked. And looked some more. His was a rugged face, and yes, handsome, but it was his eyes that got me. Callahan O’Shea had a story in those eyes.
The air seemed to thicken between us, and I could feel my face—and other parts—growing warm.
“I’d better get back to work,” he said, and, turning his back on me, he did just that.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE SECOND I opened the door, I knew that Natalie and Andrew were living together. Natalie’s apartment had his smell, that baby shampoo sweetness, and it hit me in a slap of undeniable recognition. “Hello!” I said, hugging my sister, stroking her sleek hair.
“Hi! Oh, it’s so good to see you!” Nat hugged me tight, then pulled back. “Where’s Wyatt?”
“Hey, Grace!” Andrew called from the kitchen.
My stomach clenched. Andrew at Natalie’s. So cozy.
“Hi, Andrew,” I called back. “Wyatt got stuck at the hospital, so he’ll be a little late.” My voice was smooth and controlled. Bully for me.
“But he is coming?” Nat said, her brows puckering in concern.
“Oh, sure. He’ll just be a while yet.”
“I made this fabulous cream tart for dessert,” Nat grinned. “Definitely wanted to make a good impression, you know?”
Natalie’s apartment was in the Ninth Square section of New Haven, a rescued part of the city not far from the downtown firm where she worked. I’d been here, of course, helped her move in, gave her that iron horse statue for a housewarming gift. But things were different now. How long had Nat and Andrew been together? A month? Six weeks? Yet already his things were scattered here and there…a jacket on the coatrack, his running shoes by the door, the New York Law Journal by the fireplace. If he wasn’t living here, he was staying over. A lot.
“Hey, there,” Andrew said, coming out of the kitchen. He gave me a quick hug, and I could feel his familiar sharp angles. Angles that felt repugnant today.
“Hi,” I said, stretching the old mouth in a grin. “How are you?”
“Great! How about a drink? A vodka gimlet? Appletini? White Russian?” Andrew’s merry green eyes smiled behind his glasses. He’d always been proud of having bartended his way through law school.
“I’d love some wine,” I said, just to deny him the exhibitionistic pleasure of making me a cocktail.
“White or red? We have a nice cabernet sauvignon open.”
“White, please,” I answered. My smile felt tight. “Wyatt likes cabernet, though.”
At this moment, I was incredibly grateful to young Wyatt Dunn, M.D. This night would’ve been awful without him, even if he didn’t exist in the corporeal world. I drifted over to the couch, Natalie chattering away about how she couldn’t find tilapia anywhere today and had to go to Fair Haven