Catch

“Do you think daddy will fall in love again one day?”

The word no almost leaves my mouth, but miracles happen, so I shrug. “You never know.”

Berk refuses to talk about dating, so I stopped bringing it up. Stevie asked once, and her dad avoided the question. She took the hint that it was a topic he won’t discuss. I’m the one she looks to for answers about her dad’s future.

“I’m getting married when I’m thirty, so I can’t live with him forever. I don’t want him to be lonely when I move out.”

“Who the heck are you marrying?” I question with a perk of both brows.

She tugs on one of the sleeves of the pink sweatshirt she’s wearing. “A doctor. I haven’t met him yet, but I will. We’ll work together. I’ll take care of the pet patients, and he’ll take care of the people patients.”

This kid’s life plan is next level.

“Your dad will get you a phone by then so you can check in on him.” I grin. “There’s hope on the horizon, Stevie. You’ll get that phone eventually.”

She rolls her big blue eyes. “I can’t wait that long.”

My gaze drops to my phone when it buzzes. I read a quick text from my brother asking how Stevie is. I punch out a reply telling him that her fever is gone.

“Will you ever get married?”

I drop the phone on my lap. “Me?”

“You’re the only one here.” Stevie tucks a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you get married, Keats?”

“Why don’t you read that book?” I try to change the subject.

I’m rewarded with another exaggerated eye roll from my niece. “You’re going to be thirty soon. Isn’t part of your plan to be married by then?”

At one point in the not-too-distant past, I thought it was part of my plan, but life has a way of knocking you off course. In my case, reality slapped me across the face and kicked my ass at the same time.

“I only plan short-term, and right now, I’m planning on a piano lesson before your dad comes home from work.”

Stevie bounces to her feet. “I’ll race you to the piano.”

Before I’m standing, she’s on her way down the hallway, headed toward the corner of the living room where the piano awaits.

“The loser is the winner,” I call out.

That spins her around to face me. She leans her back against the wall. “After you, Keats. My dad says I need to respect older people, so you should lead the way.”

“Funny,” I set off at a sprint past her. “Rule change. The winner is the winner.”

She falls in step next to me, gives me an elbow shove, and takes off down the hallway, laughing as she runs.Chapter 14Maren“How was your second day at your new job?” Arietta asks innocently as she pats Dudley’s head. “I didn’t think you’d beat me home today.”

I shift my gaze back to the screen of my laptop. “I’ve been home for hours.”

I hear the shuffle of Arietta’s sensible shoes against the floor as she approaches me. “Did something happen? Did you get F. I. R. E. D?”

A laugh bubbles out of me. “Why did you spell that?”

She lets out a heavy sigh as she drops her purse on the couch next to me. “I don’t know. To soften the blow, maybe?”

“I still have a J. O. B.” I smile. “Keats took the day off to take care of his sick niece, so he told me to go home.”

“Is she okay?” Concern settles in Arietta’s expression.

I’ve never met anyone as empathetic as her. On the odd day I get a migraine, Arietta has a headache within the hour. She feels other people’s pain deeply, maybe too deeply.

“He didn’t sound concerned on the call.” I glance at the screen of my laptop again. “I’ll ask for an update on his niece when I meet him for dinner.”

I know better than to toss information like that at Arietta with no other explanation, but I know her reaction will bring a smile to my face.

“Wait? What?” She lets her hair down from the tight bun she wound it into this morning. Her golden locks bounce around her shoulders as she shakes her head back-and-forth. “Are you going on a date with your boss?”

“If you had the chance, you’d go on a date with your boss,” I counter.

Ever since I briefly met Dominick Calvetti, I’ve teased Arietta about him. His face and body should be plastered on a billboard, advertising cologne, or expensive clothing. He’s gorgeous.

Arietta always scoffs when I mention his name. I can tell by the grimace on her face that she’s about to tell me he’s not her type. “You know I don’t like him, Maren.”

“You love him, “I singsong. “Arietta Calvetti. How perfect does that sound?”

She playfully presses her hands to her stomach. “I think I may vomit.”