Faking It to Making It

Considering he’d wire-transferred those life savings into her bank account only a couple of days before, he knew that wasn’t much. But she was right. “You?”

“A dog.”

“Really?”

“You don’t like dogs?”

“I like them just fine. So long as someone else is in charge of feeding, washing, walking, cleaning up after them. What kind of dog? Please tell me it’s not the kind that fits in a handbag.”

“Ha! He’s an Airedale named Ernest. He belonged to an ex who thought he was going to be the next Hemingway. Turned out he was more opportunist than writer—he left Ernest behind as payment for the TV and stereo he took in his place.”

“Ever get them back?”

She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. But he was a master of body language, knowing when to attack a deal and when to take a breath, and by the hunch of Saskia’s small shoulders it mattered.

“Charming,” said Nate, his tone belying his sudden desire to find out the guy’s name and hang him from a balcony till he coughed up the goods.

“I came out with the better end of the deal.”

“Good dog?”

“Sheds like nobody’s business, has a wonky ear, will take a man down for an Oreo. But he’s never gonna steal my TV.”

Finding it hard to reconcile the woman before him being involved with the kind of man who could do that kind of thing, he moved on. “Family?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a middle child—older sister, younger twin sisters.”

“A psychologist’s dream.”

“I’m an only child, remember, so get in line.”

He laughed and settled back in his corner of the couch. She settled back in hers. Game on, her smile said as she spoke. “Your mother is still about. Your father died when you were fifteen. A day before your fifteenth birthday, in fact.”

Nate’s throat closed over at that last part—a small fact he usually left out, as if it was one intimacy too far. But he’d brought up the subject of family. He’d asked for it.

She opened her mouth as if to say more, but he quelled her with a look. Then she brought her knees to her chest and snuggled in against the cushions as if she belonged there.

“Women?” Nate asked, even while he wondered instead about this woman, about the kind of men she normally dated. No doubt men with goatees and sandals swarmed around her in droves. Unless she preferred her men clean-cut in suits.