Chapter 3 - SUNDAY MORNING
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Emma knew her father had met someone before Nathan admitted it.
Sunday morning began with him standing in the kitchen pretending not to care whether his blue shirt was wrinkled.
Emma watched from behind a cereal bowl.
“You’re wearing cologne.”
Nathan froze.
“I own cologne.”
“You’ve owned that bottle since the Obama administration.”
“Eat your cereal.”
Emma narrowed her eyes.
“Who is she?”
“There is no she.”
“Dad.”
“There’s coffee.”
“At ten in the morning?”
“People drink coffee at ten.”
“Widowers who spend Sundays cleaning gutters don’t.”
Nathan pointed at her with the car keys.
“You have become extremely judgmental.”
“You raised me.”
That ended the argument.
Forty minutes later, Emma stayed with Laura’s mother while Nathan drove downtown.
He arrived at the café at 9:56.
Catherine was already there.
No navy evening gown.
No executives.
No chandelier.
She wore jeans, ankle boots, and a cream sweater beneath a wool coat.
Nathan nearly walked past her.
Catherine caught his expression.
“You look disappointed.”
“Confused.”
“That’s worse.”
“I expected security.”
“There is security.”
Nathan glanced around.
A broad-shouldered man near the door lifted his coffee.
Nathan stared.
Catherine sighed.
“His name is Marco.”
“Of course it is.”
“What does that mean?”
“Security guards should legally be required to have names like Marco.”
Despite herself, she laughed.
They bought coffee and sat near a window.
For the first half hour, conversation moved easily.
Nathan told her about his workshop.
His father had started Cole Woodworks in 1987 with two saws and more confidence than customers.
Nathan had taken over when his father retired.
He employed four people.
Five during busy months.
Nothing about it sounded impressive by corporate standards.
But when he described hand-cut dovetail joints or restoring oak doors from houses built before World War I, Catherine noticed something unfamiliar.
Pride without ambition.
Not laziness.
Not lack of imagination.
Contentment.
Nathan wanted his business to succeed.
He simply did not want success to consume every other part of his life.
Catherine had never met anyone like that.
“What about you?” he asked.
“What about me?”
“You asked approximately forty questions about my life.”
“I’m curious.”
“That makes two of us.”
Catherine looked through the window.
“My father built the company.”
“You helped.”
“He would say I inherited it.”
“What would you say?”
She considered.
“I inherited seven hotels and eighty-four million dollars in debt.”
Nathan whistled softly.
“That sounds less relaxing.”
“Within six years, I reduced the debt, opened four new properties, and restructured the company.”
“Then I’d say you built part of it too.”
Her throat tightened.
It was ridiculous.
Board members had praised her performance.
Financial newspapers had praised her strategy.
Hundreds of employees depended on her decisions.
But Nathan’s simple recognition struck somewhere none of it had reached.
“My father never said that.”
Nathan studied her.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes. Florida.”
“You close?”
“No.”
The answer carried enough history that Nathan left it alone.
Instead he pulled out his phone.
“Want to see something humiliating?”
“Absolutely.”
He showed her a photograph of a dining table.
It was beautiful walnut with curved legs.
Catherine frowned.
“This is humiliating?”
“Swipe.”
She did.
The next photograph showed a shattered corner.
“What happened?”
“Client tried to move it downstairs alone.”
Another photo.
The table was wedged diagonally through a staircase.
Catherine laughed.
Nathan smiled.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That laugh.”
She stopped.
He immediately looked embarrassed.
“Sorry.”
“No.”
Catherine traced the rim of her cup.
“What about it?”
“At the wedding, you laughed like you were surprised you still could.”
She did not know what to say.
So Nathan rescued her.
“My daughter wants to be an astrophysicist.”
“Emma?”
“Unless she changes her mind again. Last year it was marine biology.”
“Ambitious.”
“She wants to discover something nobody knows exists.”
Catherine smiled.
“Maybe she will.”
“I keep telling her that.”
“You sound proud.”
“I’m obnoxious about it.”
“I’d like to meet her.”
The words escaped before Catherine considered them.
Nathan became quiet.
Not alarmed.
Just careful.
Catherine felt heat rise in her face.
“I didn't mean—”
“I know.”
“I’m not asking to enter your daughter’s life after one coffee.”
“I know.”
She nodded.
Nathan looked at her for a moment.
“Maybe someday.”
Something warmed inside Catherine.
“Maybe.”
They left the café two hours later.
Outside, light snow had begun falling.
Nathan walked her toward the hotel.
Halfway there, Catherine stopped.
Across the street was a bookstore.
A cardboard display filled the window with astronomy books.
She pointed.
“Wait.”
Ten minutes later, she emerged carrying a paper bag.
Nathan frowned.
“What did you buy?”
“Nothing.”
“Catherine.”
“It’s one book.”
“For Emma?”
“It’s a book about women in astrophysics.”
Nathan stared at her.
“You’ve never met her.”
“I know.”
“And you bought my daughter a book.”
“It cost eighteen dollars, Nathan. Your discomfort is disproportionate.”
“That isn’t why I’m uncomfortable.”
Catherine's smile disappeared.
“Then why?”
He looked at the bag.
Because Laura used to bring Emma books for no reason.
Because for five years, nobody had spontaneously thought about his daughter except family.
Because something about Catherine choosing that book had reached dangerously close to a part of him he kept guarded.
“It’s nothing.”
She knew it wasn't.
But she handed him the bag.
“Tell her it’s from the terrifying hotel woman.”
Nathan smiled.
“I might use different wording.”
His phone rang.
Daniel.
Nathan answered.
“Hey.”
Daniel sounded panicked.
“Nate, I need a huge favor.”
“What happened?”
“The staircase at the hotel.”
“What staircase?”
“The east ballroom staircase. One of the decorative panels cracked overnight. They have a donor gala Friday.”
Nathan looked at Catherine.
She was already checking her phone.
Her expression changed.
“That staircase,” she said.
Daniel continued speaking.
Catherine held out her hand.
Nathan passed her the phone.
“This is Catherine.”
A pause.
“Yes, that Catherine.”
Another pause.
Nathan watched her transform.
The warmth disappeared.
Her shoulders straightened.
Her voice became controlled.
Professional.
“Close the staircase. Nobody touches the panel until a structural assessment is completed.”
She listened.
“No, do not call the original contractor. Call Cole Woodworks.”
Nathan raised both eyebrows.
Catherine looked directly at him.
“He’s standing in front of me.”
When she returned the phone, Nathan stared.
“You just hired me?”
“I just asked for an assessment.”
“You haven’t seen my work.”
“I’ve seen the table.”
“That table was trapped in a staircase.”
“And you saved it.”
She walked backward toward the Bennett Grand.
“Eight tomorrow?”
Nathan shook his head.
“You are unbelievably bossy.”
“Eight-thirty.”
“Eight.”
Catherine smiled.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Cole.”
Neither of them noticed Richard Vale watching from the second-floor window of the hotel.
May you like
But Richard noticed everything.
Especially the way Catherine looked back at Nathan once before entering the building.
