She hadn’t told him everything because she didn’t want Cole to become too outraged on her behalf in case the two men mended their bridges in the future. She’d said only that his father hadn’t seemed pleased by her visit, nor had he shown particular enthusiasm for a grandchild.
Cole didn’t bother with further chastisements. He merely drew a long, deep breath and then said, “In the future, maybe it would be best if we discuss things like this first, though you hardly need my permission to do anything. Just be careful, okay?”
She blinked rapidly. Seriously? That was it? “I’m just saying, it’s okay if you’re angry. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me.”
Squeezing the back of his neck, he looked at her with an expression that bewildered her. Was he actually amused now? “Honestly, Stevie, do you want me to be mad? I mean, if it’s important to you, I’ll try to work up some righteous indignation, but I’d rather have dinner, if it’s all the same to you. That chili smells really good.”
Of course she didn’t want him to be mad, she fumed as she turned to finish preparing the meal. He was absolutely correct that she’d meant well, that she’d tried to reach out to his father for Cole’s sake. She’d been fully prepared to make those arguments if he’d scolded her. So why did it perturb her that he’d made her case for her, instead?
She just wanted him to feel free to be himself with her, she thought with a sigh. She didn’t want to be seen as a damsel in distress. She wanted him to know she was here for him, too, if ever he happened to be the one in distress.
Would calm, controlled, utterly self-sufficient Cole ever need anything from her? And if he did, would he ever have enough faith in her to show it?
* * *
A week later the home offices were ready for occupation. It had taken only five weeks from clearing the attic to the last touches of paint. Stevie was delighted to have the construction out of the way so they could move Cole’s things over, finish the nursery and set up the guest room. Meanwhile they’d decided to sell his house, agreeing that what had been Stevie’s home would now serve their needs well for many years to come.
They took a weekend off work to move boxes into the new offices and unpack. Cole had taken advantage of her design experience to help him with his space. He’d told her what he liked and approved the plan she’d then created for him. She’d made use of artwork and other items from his house mixed with a few new pieces she’d bought, keeping the color palette warm and earthy. Her office, of course, was a mix of the grays and greens she loved with corkboard on the walls for the notes and photos and inspiration pages that she always seemed to collect.
Dusty insisted on “helping” with the office setup, winding around their ankles, rubbing her cheek against everything she could reach to make sure it was marked with her scent. Stevie petted the cat fondly, thinking this was as much her home now as it was theirs.
“Here?” Cole asked, holding a framed print of an antique map up against the wall opposite the dormer window.
Stevie tilted her head and studied it with narrowed eyes. “Just a little lower. There. Hang it right there.”
He marked the spot with a pencil, then reached for a hammer and nail. Stevie arranged two small bronze figurines of samurai warriors on a shelf above his computer monitor, smiling at the whimsy of them. Cole had only a few personal treasures he cared to display, but he’d shown a fondness for this set, which he said had been a gift. He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask for details, but she took care in finding just the right spot to display them.
Satisfied, she opened another box while he hung the print. A framed photograph smiled up at her when she looked into the box. It rested on several other frames and what might have been a couple of photo albums and scrapbooks. “Oh, I’m sorry. This looks like personal rather than business stuff.”
He glanced over his shoulder and went still. “I’m not planning to unpack that box.”
She couldn’t resist taking out the 5”×7” frame, gripping it carefully between her hands as she studied the woman in the photograph. She wasn’t beautiful, not even pretty, exactly, but she had a sweet, pleasant face and a generous smile. Her hair and eyes were brown, her skin tone slightly olive. Though this was only a headshot, cropped just below the shoulders, Stevie got the impression she’d been very thin. The expression in her eyes spoke of warmth and kindness underlain with difficult experience, or maybe Stevie was just projecting what little she’d heard about her. “This is Natasha?”
“Yes.”
“She looks amazing,” she said sincerely.
“She was. You’d have liked her.”
“I’m sure I would have.”
Replacing the photo in the box, she closed the lid gently. Cole lifted it onto the top shelf in the big storage closet, then closed the shutter-style door.
Settling on the floor in front of his desk to start connecting wires, he glanced up at her as she stood there watching him. “You can ask,” he said, either reading her expression or knowing her so well.
“Only a couple of questions,” she promised.
He nodded.
“How did you meet her?”
“We met in high school. She was born with a heart condition and she was sick a lot. One of our teachers asked if I would tutor her in math to help her keep up. We became friends. Lord knows she needed a friend then.”
“Why?”
He reached beneath the desk, his voice muffled when he said, “Bad family life. Alcoholic parents, couple of troublemaker brothers. My dad didn’t like me hanging around her because he didn’t approve of her family—not that anyone else did, either. Even outside of that, everyone treated her differently because they thought of her as sickly. Which I guess she was, but she had a sharp, creative mind and she was trapped in a family that didn’t much value academic accomplishments.”
Like his own father? Had that lack of parental bonding drawn Natasha and him together?