Why Not Tonight. Susan Mallery
stood open; the other was closed. She moved to the open door and stared into sacred space.
Ronan’s workshop was enormous—probably at least a couple thousand square feet. The ceilings soared. There were two ovens, equipment everywhere. Benches, bins, raw material for making glass and, on the wall opposite, a to-scale-size drawing of his current commission.
On the left was a beautiful swan, on the right an equally stunning dragon. The ten feet in between showed one creature transforming into the other. It was magical enough on paper, but the finished product would be done entirely in glass.
There was a similar rendering back in the gallery workshop. She knew parts of it were finished, but not enough, mostly because these days Ronan wasn’t working. Even now, both ovens were cold and dark.
It occurred to her a second too late that coming into the studio uninvited was much more of an intrusion than going into Ronan’s bedroom. He was an artist and this was—
“Natalie?”
She jumped and turned as Ronan approached. He stepped out of the shadows, all handsome and broody.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
He didn’t look mad or concerned about her being in his studio, which was a relief. She managed a smile.
“Yes, I’m doing laundry. It’s going great.” Ack! That was an incredibly inane thing to say, but he’d startled her.
“I talked to the head of the county road crew. The way down the mountain is blocked. They’re going to try to get it cleared as soon as possible, but the storm has to pass first and the main roads will have priority.”
He paused as if waiting for her to react. She replayed his words and realized the significance. She wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“So I’m stuck. Sorry. You must hate that.”
His expression turned from concerned to quizzical. “You just lost your car and now you can’t go home. You’re the one who gets to be upset.”
“I’m totally fine. The house is great and we have power and food. It’s not a problem. Really.”
“I would have expected more demands.”
She laughed. “From me? Seriously?”
“No, not from you. You always seem to take things in stride. There’s a guest room at the top of the stairs. Make yourself at home.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry I left my phone at the office. I didn’t mean to make you come all this way and then lose your car and get trapped.”
“Let the car go.” She grinned at her own pun. “You know what I mean. It’s really a happy thing. Now I can get a new one. It’s going to be red, that’s for sure. Bright red, if they have one. Anyway, I’ll go get settled.”
“Dinner at seven?” he asked before she left.
“Sure.” For a second she nearly added, “Thank you for asking,” only to stop herself in time. He wasn’t asking her out on a date—he was feeding an uninvited guest. She wasn’t a stranger—they knew each other from work, but she doubted he was superexcited about her presence. The one thing she knew about Ronan for sure was he loved, loved, loved to be alone.
She gave a little wave as she left. She’d had plenty of alone time since she’d lost her mom nearly seven years ago. Alone was something she didn’t like at all. People should be together, preferably surrounded by those they loved. She didn’t have family, but she was doing her best to build one of her own making. Ronan had his brothers so close and yet he rarely spent time with them. Talk about stupid and wasteful.
Not her rock, she told herself. She was a temporary guest, nothing more. He wasn’t interested in her opinion and she wasn’t going to give it. Really.
* * *
RONAN FOUND HIMSELF in the uneasy position of feeling out of place in his own house. He couldn’t believe one petite, unassuming woman could have that much of an impact on him, but although he couldn’t see Natalie or even hear her, knowing she was around was unsettling. He was torn between avoiding her and wanting to find her and...and...
Best not to go there, he told himself. She was his guest. He knew better, which was something because he didn’t seem to know much else.
When had it happened? When had he left the world of normal people and become some kind of misfit recluse? It hadn’t been his plan. When he’d first bought the house, he’d assumed he would have his brothers over all the time to hang out. He’d figured they would come up here to work as a change of pace from Atsuko’s studio. Only none of that had happened. Instead he’d used his house as a retreat, at least at first. Now it was little more than a self-imposed prison.
Which was way too dramatic, he thought as he set out a casserole left by his housekeeping service. It would serve two and looked like something Natalie might like.
He read the label with a list of ingredients and the heating instructions. There was chicken. She ate meat, didn’t she? He was pretty sure he’d seen her devour a hamburger more than once and she’d had no problem with the soup earlier. She’d been at the gallery at least a couple of years. He should know more about her aside from the fact that he thought she was attractive and maybe a little sexy. And he sure as hell shouldn’t be worried about talking to her. Dear God, what was wrong with him? He’d always been the smooth twin when it came to women. He’d been the one to approach the girls in high school, the popular one as he and Mathias had gotten older. But it, like so many things, had been lost. He wasn’t sure when that had happened—he hadn’t been paying attention—but that confidence was gone now.
He turned on one of the two ovens, then returned to the refrigerator and pulled out fixings for salad. Not that he ever ate salad, but the service left the vegetables every week. Women liked salads, didn’t they? Women...
His brain flipped over as he realized Natalie had lost her car, was stuck in his house and he’d basically left her to do laundry on her own. He hadn’t asked if she was okay or sat with her or anything. He’d walked out like some brooding gothic figure.
He swore. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t dealing with an alien species. He wasn’t some thirtysomething virgin alone with his first woman. He had to get a grip, or at least fake it better.
Natalie breezed into the kitchen. She had changed back into her dress.
“Doing okay?” he asked, wondering if she’d bothered to look around when she’d been alone in the house. It wouldn’t matter if she had—it wasn’t as if he had secrets. At least, not the kind he kept in drawers. There wasn’t even a dirty magazine for her to find.
“Much better. Not that I don’t appreciate you lending me clothes.” She wrinkled her nose. “Which I’m going to need to continue to borrow while I’m here. I was going to say I should keep a packed bag in my trunk, but that wouldn’t have helped, either.” She held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize about my car again. It’s really a lucky break.”
Something he didn’t understand, but was going to have to believe, based on how many times she’d said it. He supposed the real problem was that he’d been so successful for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to have to save up for something like a car.
He wondered if it would be okay for him to offer to replace hers, then realized that was not a topic they should get into while she was stranded in his house. He might not know how to talk to a woman anymore, but he knew better than to say something that might be considered upsetting. And “Hey, let me buy you a car” fell firmly into the scary, weird-guy category.
“I like your hair,” he said instead, thinking everyone enjoyed a compliment.
She groaned. “The curls? Really? I hate them. Hate.” She squeezed several in her hand. “They were torturous when I was growing up. What is it about boys in elementary school and a girl with curls? I was teased constantly.”
“You