Chapter Five #2
Back in the kitchen, Cat moved between stove, counter, and table with focused determination, sleeves rolled up, hair escaping its knot.
The buns were unevenly toasted, the lettuce slightly wilted, and the burgers were thicker than she’d hoped, but it was dinner and no one would go to bed hungry tonight.
“Smells good,” Rhys said, entering the kitchen.
She glanced at him over her shoulder and tried to ignore the flicker of attraction she felt every time she looked at him. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not,” he said. “Just impressed. We haven’t had hamburgers in ages.”
“They’re a morale booster,” she said, flipping a patty. “We needed one of those tonight.”
Before he could reply, footsteps came from the stairs—slow, deliberate. Jillian appeared first, posture stiff, followed by Olivia, clutching her small stuffed horse.
Cat turned with an easy smile. “Perfect timing. Dinner’s ready.”
The girls took their seats quietly, their faces carefully neutral. Rhys sat across from them, waiting.
Olivia spoke first. “We’re sorry, Miss Hayes,” she said, voice soft.
Cat smiled. “Thank you, Olivia.”
Jillian’s turn took longer.
She looked down at her plate, then at her father, and finally at Cat. “I’m sorry too. For disappearing.”
Cat nodded, her tone kind. “I appreciate that. I was just worried, that’s all.”
Jillian gave a small nod, the faintest shift of guilt softening her expression.
Rhys cleared his throat. “All right then. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
The first few bites passed in silence, punctuated by the faint clink of cutlery.
Olivia’s face brightened immediately. “It’s good!” she said, beaming.
Jillian gave her sister a sidelong glance, then picked up her own burger. She took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and frowned a little.
“It’s okay,” she said at last, then tilted her head, eyeing the plate. “It’s just … weird having baked beans with hamburgers. We usually have chips.”
Cat laughed, caught off guard. “In America, baked beans are a proper side dish. It’s practically patriotic, well at least in summer at a BBQ.”
Jillian wrinkled her nose. “That’s odd.”
“It’s comfort food,” Cat said, “at least for me. My grandmother always heated up beans to go with our hamburgers. Now I can’t imagine them any other way.”
“We don’t have a grandmother in England,” Olivia said.
That was right, Rhys’s mother had died when he was young. Cat glanced at Rhys, but his expression gave nothing away.
“You do have a grandmother,” he said mildly. “Just not in Britain.”
“That’s what I said,” Olivia answered, frowning.
“Well, the beans aren’t terrible,” Jillian said, bringing the conversation back to their dinner. “I can see why you like them. But they’re sweeter than our beans. Did you add sugar?”
“A smidge of ketchup and a smidge of brown sugar,” Cat answered.
The conversation flowed during dinner. Olivia chattered about the old dairy and how it was now a big ballroom for parties and other things.
Jillian corrected her with halfhearted superiority, and Cat saw Rhys lean back in his chair and just take it all in.
He looked better than he had earlier—less tightly wound, the tension easing from his jaw and shoulders.
The fact that he’d relaxed helped her too.
She hadn’t realized until now how worried she’d been about everyone and everything.
This job wasn’t in her comfort zone. Losing the girls earlier had made her sick, awakening the old fear that life was dangerous and unpredictable, and even good people could just be lost … disappear.
When the plates were cleared, Cat cut the brownies and set the plate in the middle of the table. The smell alone was decadent.
“Chocolate diplomacy,” she said.
Olivia’s eyes widened. “Can we have two?”
“Only if your father agrees.”
Rhys pretended to deliberate. “Just this once.”
Both girls cheered, and Jillian’s laugh, quick, genuine, unguarded, drew a smile from Cat, who realized she’d never heard Jillian laugh, really laugh, until now, and it was a sound Cat hoped she’d hear again soon.
When dessert was done, Cat gathered the plates and then shooed everyone from the kitchen. “I’ve got the dishes, and then if it’s okay with you all, I might sneak off to bed.”
Jillian hesitated in the doorway, then turned around. “Goodnight, Catriona.”
Cat’s heart gave a little thump. “Goodnight, Jillian.”
Olivia waved from the hall, a smear of chocolate next to her mouth. “Thanks for dinner. I liked it. But to be honest, I liked the brownies more.”
Cat smiled. “You’re welcome, and I agree.”
Rhys was the last to leave. “You did well tonight. With everything.”
Cat wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t burn dinner and no one cried. I’m calling that a success.”
“Better than most days around here.” He leaned past her, reaching into the brownie pan to cut himself an extra square. “By the way, Livy was right. These are very good.”
He took a bite into the brownie even as his gaze met hers, and suddenly Cat went hot all over, and her mind went blank.
Rhys was a lot of different things but right now all she felt was him …
his energy, his warmth, his wit and vitality.
Spending this much time with Dr. Rhys Harmon was not going to be good for her. Not at all.
“Good night, Rhys, and thank you for having my back today.”
“Always.”
*
In her room, Cat could hear Rhys and the girls downstairs.
They’d begun playing cards at the low coffee table in the sitting room as she headed up for the night, and every now and then she could hear their voices when one of the girls would laugh or shriek.
They were clearly enjoying the game and having their father’s undivided attention.
Having bathed and changed into sweater-topped pajamas, Cat stood at her bedroom window, her mug of tea cooling between her hands, and watched the rain beat against the glass.
She should have been tired; her body was tired, but her mind wouldn’t rest. It had been a long day—her first real day in this beautiful, complicated place—and she could still feel the drama in her bones.
It hadn’t been an easy day. The tension had at times been nearly unbearable.
But the walk with Rhys had helped, his conversation had helped, the girls’ awkward apologies over dinner had helped.
Soon, she’d be in bed and, if all went well, tomorrow she’d wake up and do this again. Hopefully with a lot less drama.
Tonight, making dinner, she’d thought of her grandmother, and how when Cat was struggling as a girl, her grandmother would find ways to distract her.
Her grandmother Betty would suggest they bake, or go see a movie, or go window shopping.
And then other times her grandmother just held her as Cat wept, crying for the parents and home she’d lost.
Gradually, Cat had settled in, and gradually she accepted the love and security her grandmother offered. It took a year or two, but eventually, Grandmother Betty became her world, and her best friend, which only made her loss during Cat’s senior year of college more devastating.
One phone call, one quiet funeral, and Cat was on her own again.
Cat finished college on autopilot and even as her friends began accepting jobs, Cat just wanted to get away, as far from Michigan as possible.
Graduate school and London sounded like a good escape plan, and it had been.
Thankfully, she’d met Sarah almost right away and London had been everything Cat had hoped and more.
But now she was nearing the end of her time in England, and this job was her ticket—literally—to get her home.
She wasn’t looking forward to it, but Cat couldn’t run away from reality forever.
She had things to do in Kalamazoo, decisions to make, and hopefully once back in the States, she’d settle into the life she would lead there.
First, though, came the holidays, this family, and helping get Rhys and the girls through what was clearly a difficult time.
Just thinking of the day she’d spent, she pictured Olivia’s quick shy smile, Jillian’s wary gaze, and Rhys’s deep voice when he’d said thank you earlier, so gruff but sincere, so much like the man himself.
Cat turned out the light and climbed into bed, setting the now cold tea on her nightstand. From downstairs, she heard a phone ring, and then Rhys’s voice as he answered.
Suddenly, Olivia’s voice rose, carrying, “Mummy! I miss you.”
Cat blinked at the wash of bittersweet emotion.
Mummy. Mommy. Mom.
The word slid through the floorboards and lodged in her chest. Some losses didn’t soften with time.