Susan Mallery - Why Not Tonight

Ronan hadn’t expected a happy ending to her story—he knew Natalie wasn’t married—but he hadn’t expected that.

“He dumped you over the phone? What a jerk. Did he help cancel the wedding?” He held up a hand. “Never mind. I know the answer.”

Her mouth twisted. “Yeah, not so much with the cleanup. I was stuck doing everything and paying for most of it. It took me a full day to grasp what had happened. Then I had to scramble. What I hadn’t expected was how nice everyone was. Pallas only charged me her expenses to date at Weddings Out of the Box. In fact, everyone did that. I had to pay maybe thirty percent of what I owed, but it was still a lot. It wiped out my savings and left me with some credit card debt.” She sipped more wine. “A lot of credit card debt. But I was so surprised by how supportive everyone had been that I decided to just stay put until I figured out what I wanted to do next. Then I found the job with Atsuko at the gallery and a little apartment and here we are.”

He felt an odd flush of pride that his adopted town had come through for her, along with a very understandable need to find the ex-fiancé and smash in his face. Maybe he would take one of his brothers along so they could do a good job of teaching the asshole a lesson.

Natalie leaned toward him. “I’m fine and you’re sweet to be protective.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. You looked all mean and scrunchy. Thank you.”

Scrunchy?

“I know,” she told him. “Not an expected compliment, but I mean it that way, all the same. Once I settled in Happily Inc, I realized that I had found here what I’d been looking for with Quentin.” She lowered her voice. “Family. If you don’t have one, you make one. At least, that’s what I learned. I have friends and my art and there are giraffes at the animal preserve just outside of town, which you know because your sister-in-law is the curator.” She shook her head. “Is that the right word?”

“I’m not sure someone can curate giraffes. At least not legally.”

She giggled. “Oh, wow, the wine is so going to my head.”

It had been a quarter of a glass. “I’m glad you’re not driving.”

“That would take a car.” She did a little dance in her seat. “I’m getting a red car. I can’t wait.”

“You have other criteria, don’t you? Other than the color?”

“No.” She sighed. “Okay, fine, yes, safety, but red. Red, red, red.”

“I’m going with you,” he muttered. “You aren’t allowed to go on a car lot alone.”

“Mr. Bossy Pants. Just like I said. Do you have any kids?”

He’d been swallowing and nearly choked on a piece of chicken. “No. Why do you ask?”

She drank more wine. “Kids are great. The unlucky-in-love thing is a serious drag, but just because I can’t have romantic love doesn’t mean I can’t have children, right?”

He cleared his throat against an imaginary tight collar. Somehow the conversation had gone in a direction he hadn’t expected. “Ah, sure.”

“Your family is pretty healthy. There aren’t any big diseases in every generation, are there?”

The question touched a sore spot, but Ronan kept his face emotionless. “Not as far as I know.”

How could he know?

“You’re athletic—I’ve seen that. Did you do well in school?”

“I guess. Math was easy. I didn’t love history. Why are you asking all these questions?”

“Practice.” She reached for her wineglass, then put it down. “Can you keep a secret?”

He could but he had a bad feeling that, in this case, he didn’t want to. But instead of saying no, like a man with a working brain, he found himself nodding.

“I have a new app.”

Not the secret he would have expected. “Congratulations.”

She giggled again. “No. That’s not the secret. It’s what the app is for. It’s called Baby Daddy.” She frowned. “Or maybe Daddy Baby. I can’t remember. It’s for finding a sperm donor. You know, so I can have a baby.”

He was on his feet before he realized he was moving. “Are you—”

“Asking you?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “No. You can sit down. The app comes with a list of questions and I was trying out a few. Don’t panic. I’m sure you have great sperm but you can keep it to yourself. Or not. I mean, I don’t need it. Or them. I don’t need a donation.”

He lowered himself back onto his chair. “No more wine for you.”

“MBP,” she whispered.

It took him a second to realize she meant Mr. Bossy Pants. Well, hell.

* * *

BY MIDNIGHT NATALIE was sober, slightly chagrined and wide-awake. It made sense that half a glass of wine would metabolize quickly and she’d always been a night owl. Working a job with traditional hours had been a challenge. Given the choice, she would be up all night. She loved to create when the rest of the world was asleep. The quiet, the darkness, seemed to fuel her creativity. As for chagrined, well, she had no one but herself to blame.

In retrospect, she had to admit that maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to test her find-a-sperm-donor app on Ronan, only she’d just downloaded it the day before and she was curious about how it worked. There were tons of questions—she’d barely started with Ronan and now she doubted he would be willing to answer any more.

Not that she wanted him to donate sperm. Sure, he was good-looking and smart and gifted and funny—in fact, nearly everything she would want in the father of her child. But he was someone she worked with and kind of knew. Having his baby would be awkward, to say the least. No, if she went the baby daddy sperm donor app route, she was hooking up with a stranger.

She paused on the landing outside her bedroom. Not hooking up, she corrected. Making medical arrangements with. She had no interest in sex with a stranger.

The house was dark and quiet. She could hear rain and wind outside, but with the thick stone walls, the weather seemed to be at a safe distance. She was itching to work—her fingers practically trembled with the need to do something , only she didn’t have any supplies with her. Just her usual stash of origami paper and she’d already left little animals, flowers and shapes all over the house. She wasn’t in the mood for TV, so maybe she should try reading. There was a whole library of books in Ronan’s office. She would creep downstairs, collect one and return to her bedroom to wait for elusive sleep.

She grabbed the waistband of the baggy sweatpants—she’d hung up her dress for the night—and tiptoed down the staircase. When she reached the foyer, she paused to get her bearings in the dark, turned toward what she assumed was the hallway and ran smack into something big, solid and warm.

She screamed and the big, solid, warm thing grabbed her arms.

“It’s me,” Ronan said in the dark. He released her and clicked on a light. “You okay?”

She blinked in the sudden brightness. Ronan had changed his clothes, or pulled on new ones. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt. They were both barefoot, which felt oddly intimate or weird, depending on one’s perspective.

“Did I wake you?” she asked. “I was trying to be quiet. I wanted to get a book.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“I’m a night owl.”

“Me, too.”

He gave her a slow smile. It was one she hadn’t seen before, or if she had, she hadn’t been paying attention. Or maybe it was different because of the time of night. Regardless, the curve of his mouth was unbelievably sexy and totally caught her off guard. She suddenly felt breathless and young and intensely aware of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

He pointed down the hall. “Go find a book. I’ll make us hot chocolate and maybe that will help you sleep.”