Drop Dead Sexy(59)

“Tell me about him.”

I blinked at Catcher in surprise. “Really?”

He nodded. “He obviously was someone very important to you, so in that token, he’s important to me.”

This time I blinked at him because I was fighting the tears that his words caused. “He was a lot like his dad—soft-spoken and reserved. He was fair and honest in all facets of his life. He was compassionate and caring, especially when it came to his family and to his job. He loved UGA football, dancing around to the oldies, and taking his old bird dog with him hunting.”

Catcher smiled. “He sounds like an amazing man.”

“He was,” I replied. And he had been. Whenever he called me Liv Boo in public, I had wanted to hide in embarrassment. But I’ve missed it. I’ve missed him so very much. He had certainly set the bar high when it came to men considering the way he had treated my mom like a queen. Of course, growing up, I’d found it a little sickening. Now I wanted the same thing—for a man to look at me with the same love and adoration my dad had looked at my mom. Someone who respected me as he had Mama. A love that lasted a lifetime and beyond.

After clearing my throat, I asked, “What about you? Did you always want to be a GBI agent?”

“Not exactly. I think I always wanted to do something that was helpful and useful. Like being a cop or a fireman. I never really imagined going to college.”

“You didn’t?”

“Surprisingly not, even with parents who were teachers. Elementary school was hell for me because I had a mild case of dyslexia. I didn’t get sorted out with reading and writing until middle school. I compensated for feeling like a dumbass in the classroom by being very physical. Whatever sport there was, I was going to play it and be good at it.”

“I totally saw you as a jock in school.”

“We don’t ever shed how we’re labeled, do we?”

“Sadly not. What happens to us as kids stays with us a long time.”

“Yeah. It does. But thankfully for us, we’ve both made a success of our lives.”

I smiled ruefully. “Yes, professionally I’m a success. Personally, I’m pretty sure I’m a small-town pariah for being single and unmarried. Well, there’s also the whole working with dead people thing.”

Catcher turned the heat on the stove. “It’s totally unfair how women are made to feel like failures just for not marrying early.” He added the pan and began searing the salmon. “Of course, I get tremendous pressure from my mother to settle down and procreate.”

“Same here.”

Turning around, he picked up his wine glass before throwing a grin at me. “Here’s to our pain-in-the-ass mothers whom we love dearly.”

With a laugh, I picked my glass up too. “To our mothers.”

I tossed back the rest of the wine and then waved the glass at Catcher. “This is so good that I think I’m going to need a lot more. Like the bottle more.”

A mischievous look twinkled in Catcher’s eyes. “It would be my pleasure to ply with you alcohol, so I can take advantage of you later.”



Well, it was official. Catcher was as good in the kitchen as he was the bedroom. I practically gorged myself on the delicious salmon and vegetables, not to mention buttery French bread. When we finished dinner, my dress even felt tighter.

As I reached for my sweater on the back of the chair, Catcher asked, “Are you cold?”

“Just a little.”

“Here. I’ll make us a fire.”

“That would be nice,” I murmured. Catcher had no idea that a secret fantasy of mine had always been to make love in front of a roaring fire. Of course the way my luck ran in the sex department, someone’s ass would end up getting burned, and it would totally ruin the moment.

Feeling domestic, I cleared the table while Catcher worked on the fire. Once the dishes were loaded into the dish washer, I joined Catcher in the living room where he had the aforementioned fire roaring in the stone fireplace.

I held my hands out to the flames, warming my chilly skin. “God, that feels good.

“Jem tried to get me to do gas logs because they’re easier and cleaner and blah, blah. But I wouldn’t hear of it. I love a real fire—the way it smells and sounds.”

“Me too. But since I’m not much of a lumberjack, I got gas logs at my house.”

Catcher smiled at me. “If you want real logs, I can take care of getting your firewood.”

Tilting my head at him, I replied, “Are you sure about that? You seem more metrosexual than lumbersexual.”

“Trust me, babe, I can chop wood with the best of them. And I have a few flannel shirts in my closet.”

“Mmm, you do?”

“Don’t tell me you have a lumberjack fantasy where you help a man with his wood?”

With a laugh, I said, “Um, no, I don’t. It’s more about liking a woodsy man in flannel.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Want me to go get that flannel shirt?”

The two glasses of wine I’d had fueled my response. “For right now, I’d rather you just be naked.”

Catcher’s eyes flared. “You would?”

I bobbed my head. “I want to see your fabulous body illuminated by just the firelight.” What the hell? Had I actually just said that? Damn, what was the alcohol content in that wine?