Too Good to Be True(32)

“So what’s he like?” Natalie asked. For a second I thought she was talking about Callahan O’ Shea.

“Huh? Oh, Wyatt? Well, he’s very…nice.”

“Nice is good. And how was your date the other night?” she continued, stirring sugar into her coffee to make herself even sweeter. Dang it. Nat had called the other night, and I could hear Andrew in the background, so I’d cut the conversation short by saying I had to meet Wyatt in Hartford. Oh, the tangled web…Callahan’s soulful blue eyes were looking at me. Mockingly.

“The date was good. Pleasant. Nice. We ate. Drank. Kissed. Stuff like that.”

So eloquent, Grace! Again with Callahan’s eyebrow.

“Grace, come on!” my once-beloved sister said. “What’s he like? I mean, he’s a pediatric surgeon, so obviously he’s wonderful, but give me some specifics.”

“Lovely! His personality is lovely,” I said, my voice a little loud. “He’s very—” another glance at Cal “—respectful.

Friendly. He’s incredibly kind. Gives money to the homeless…and um, rescues…cats.” My inner voice, disgusted at my poor lying abilities, sighed loudly.

“Sounds perfect,” Natalie said approvingly. “Good sense of humor?”

“Oh, yes,” I answered. “Very funny. But in a nice, non-mocking way. Not snarky, sarcastic or rude. In a gentle, loving way.”

“So this is a case of opposites attract?” Callahan asked.

“I thought I just fired you,” I said.

His eyes crinkled in a grin, and my knees went traitorously soft.

“I think he sounds amazing,” Natalie said with a beautiful smile.

“Thanks,” I said, smiling back. For a second, I was tempted to ask her about Andrew, but with the burly ex-con in the room, I decided against it.

“Are you going to the battle today, Grace?” my sister asked, taking a sip of her coffee. Honestly, everything she did looked as if it was being filmed…graceful and balanced and lovely.

“Battle?” Callahan asked.

“Don’t tell him,” I commanded. “And, yes, I am.”

“Well, sorry to say I have to head down to New Haven,” Natalie said regretfully, putting her cup aside. “It was nice to meet you, Callahan.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he said, standing up. Well, well, well. The ex-con had nice manners…when Natalie was around, at any rate.

I walked her to the door, gave her a hug. “Everything good with Andrew?” I asked, careful to keep my tone light.

It was like watching a beautiful sunrise, the way her face lit up. “Oh, Grace…yes.”

“Excellent,” I said, pushing back a lock of her cool, silky hair. “I’m glad for you, honey.”

“Thanks,” she murmured. “And I’m so glad for you, Grace! Wyatt sounds perfect!” She hugged me tight. “See you soon?”

“You bet.” I hugged her back, my heart squeezing with love, and watched her glide out to her sleek little car and back out of my driveway. She waved, then disappeared down the street. My smile faded. Margaret knew instantly that Wyatt Dunn was fictional, and Callahan O’ Shea, a virtual stranger, seemed to guess it, too. But not Natalie. Of course, she had a lot riding on me being with a great guy, didn’t she? Me being attached meant …well. I knew what it meant.

With a sigh, I returned to the kitchen.

“So.” Cal tipped back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. “Your boyfriend’s a cat rescuer.”

I smiled. “Yes, he is. There’s a problem with feral cats in his area. Very sad. He wrangles them. Herds them up into crates, gets them to foster homes. Would you like one?”

“A feral cat?”

“Mmm-hmm. They say your pet should match your personality.”

He laughed, a wicked, ashy sound, and suddenly, my knees were even weaker than the time I saw Bruce Springsteen in concert. “No, thank you, Grace.”

“So tell me, Mr. O’ Shea,” I said briskly. “How much did you embezzle, and from whom?”

His mouth got a little tight at the question. “One-point-six million dollars. From my esteemed employer.”

“One point…God’s nightgown!”

My checkbook, I suddenly noticed, was lying right over there, on the counter near the fridge. I should probably put that away, shouldn’t I? Not that I had a million dollars there or anything. Callahan followed my nervous gaze and raised his unbruised eyebrow once more.

“So tempting,” he said. “But I’ve turned over a new leaf. Although those are gonna be hard to resist.” He nodded at a shelf containing my collection of antique iron dogs. Then he stood up, filling my kitchen. “Can I go upstairs and measure the windows, Grace?”

I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it. It wasn’t worth it. How long would windows take? A couple of days?

“Um, sure. Hang on one sec, let me make sure it…um…”

“Why don’t you just come with me? That way, if I’m tempted to rifle through your jewelry box, you can stop me yourself.”

“I wanted to make sure the bed was made, that’s all,” I lied. “Right this way.”

For the next three minutes, I fought feelings of lust and irritation as Callahan O’ Shea measured my bedroom windows. Then he went into the guest room and did the same thing, his movements neat and efficient, zipping the measuring tape along the frames, jotting things down in his notebook. I leaned in the doorway, watching his back (ass, let’s be honest) as he opened a window and looked outside.