Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [68]
“So. Your date,” I blurted. “Um. She seems nice. Looks nice, I mean.” My heart was flopping around like a dying fish in my chest.
Cal let go of my arms. “She’s nice. Not my date, though. As I told you already.”
“Oh.” Relief flooded my knees, making them tingle painfully. No. I didn’t want Callahan O’Shea to be dating anyone. And what did that say? We started walking once more, side by side, the mist cocooning us from the occasional head-beams that passed, muffling the sound of the cars. I swallowed. “So, Cal, are you… um… seeing anyone?”
He shot me a veiled glance. “No, Grace, I’m not.”
“Not the marrying type, I guess? Don’t want to settle down just yet?”
“I’d love to settle down,” he said. “A wife, a couple of kids, a lawn to mow.”
“Really?” I asked. Yelped, actually. Callahan struck me as the type who walked into the room while Bad to the Bone was playing. Mowing the lawn while the kiddies frolicked? Hmm. Hmm.
“Really.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Isn’t that what you and Dr. Wonderful want?”
“Oh. Uh, sure. I guess. I don’t know.” This was not a conversation I wanted to have while slightly inebriated. “It would be hard to be with a guy who’s married to his work,” I finished lamely.
“Right,” Cal said.
“So you know, things aren’t as wonderful as they seem,” I added, surprising myself.
“I see.” Cal turned to look at me. He smiled, just a little, and I looked down suddenly. I didn’t know anything about this guy. Only that he was undeniably attractive. That he wanted to settle down. That he’d served time for criminal acts.
“Hey, Cal, are you sorry you embezzled that money?” I asked abruptly.
He tilted his head and considered me. “It’s complicated.”
“Why don’t you just spit it out, Irish? What did you do?”
He laughed. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday. We’re almost home, anyway.”
We’re almost home. As if we had a place together. As if he might come in, and Angus wouldn’t bite him. As if I might make us a snack—or he might—and we’d pop in a movie. Or not. Or we’d just go upstairs, heck. Take off a few articles of clothing. Get a little exercise.
“Here you go,” Callahan said, walking up the path with me. The iron porch railing was slick and cold, and Callahan’s hand on my back felt even warmer by comparison. Whoa. Wait a sec. His hand on my back. He was touching me, and man, it felt good, like a small sun was resting there, radiating heat into the far regions of my body.
I turned to him, about to say something—what, I had no idea. The sight of his smile, his downturning, lovely eyes, wiped all thought from my mind.
My knees went soft and tingly, and my heart swelled against my ribs in a warm surge. For a second, I could feel what it would be like to kiss Callahan O’Shea, and the strength of that image caused a buzz in the pit of my stomach. My lips opened slightly, my eyes fluttered closed. He was like a magnet, pulling me in.
“Good night, my little lush,” he said.
My eyes snapped open. “Great! Good night, bub. Thanks for walking me home.”
And with one more grin that I felt down to my bone marrow, he turned and left, back to the woman who was not his date, leaving me not at all sure if I was greatly relieved or hugely disappointed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“HEY, DAD,” I SAID one evening after school. Dropping by the family domicile was a habit of mine—sometimes you just can’t learn from experience, right? The truth was, taken individually, my parents were great people. My father was methodical and reliable, as dads should be, I thought, and his love of the Civil War gave us a special bond. And my mother was a vibrant, intelligent woman. Growing up, she’d been a devoted mom, the kind who sewed our Halloween costumes and baked cookies from scratch. Granted, my parents had always seemed to do things separately; I had very few memories of them going out just the two of them. They had friends and socialized normally enough, but as far as a deep and abiding love or passion… let’s just say that if it was there, they hid it well.
It worried me. What if that was the kind of marriage