He climbed the front steps, noting that someone had fixed the loose board he’d been meaning to repair before he’d been pulled away. The sound of music drifted from somewhere inside—classical piano, soft and melodic. Patrick knocked on the front door, then waited.
“Just a minute!” Kathleen’s voice called from what sounded like the back of the house.
When she opened the door, Patrick’s breath caught. She wore paint-splattered jeans and an old button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A streak of pale blue paint decorated her left cheek, and her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked younger somehow, more relaxed than he remembered, and absolutely beautiful.
“Patrick?” Her eyes widened with surprise, then something that might have been joy flashed across her face before she composed herself. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I should have called,” he said, suddenly feeling uncertain. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”
Kathleen glanced down at her paint-covered clothing and laughed—that warm, genuine laugh he’d missed more than he’d realized. “Only my long-overdue attempt to paint the office. I’ve been putting it off for months, but since we found Florence’s room, I finally had the motivation to tackle it.”
She stepped back, gesturing for him to come inside. The familiar scent of her house, lavender and old wood and something uniquely Kathleen, washed over him.
“How long have you been back?” she asked as she led him toward the kitchen.
“About an hour. I drove straight from the airport.” Patrick followed her down the hallway. As they passed the office, he saw drop cloths on the floor and paint supplies stacked neatly in the corner. The walls were half-finished and complemented the house’s original woodwork beautifully. “The color looks perfect.”
“Thank you.” Kathleen was already in the kitchen, washing the paint from her hands. “I probably look like I’ve been in a war zone, but I was determined to get at least one wall finished today. I haven’t had a spare moment since you left. Between the café and coordinating with Chloe and Percy about Florence’s documents, it’s been hectic. And now with the Smithsonian wanting to create an exhibition...”
She trailed off, her back still to him as she dried her hands on a dish towel. Patrick could sense the careful control in her voice, the way she was keeping their conversation safely focused on mundane topics.
“Kathleen,” he said quietly. “I need to tell you something.”
She turned to face him, and he saw the wariness in her eyes. “About the board position?”
“I told them no.” The words came out more abruptly than he’d intended. “I’m not returning to Wilson Enterprises.”
Her expression shifted, surprise replacing caution. “But Noah?—”
“Noah understood. Better than I expected, actually.” Patrick leaned against the kitchen counter, suddenly needing the support. “We’ve developed a comprehensive defense strategy against Meridian Capital. The board now has everything they need to fight the takeover without me being there.”
Kathleen set down the dish towel and studied his face. “I thought you wanted to go back to Manhattan.”
“It was never my choice, but I needed to be there for Noah. His marriage is struggling,” Patrick said sadly. “Cassie’s been patient about his long hours and constant travel, but having young children has changed their priorities. She’s told him that if he doesn’t find a better work-life balance, she’s considering taking the kids and moving back to San Francisco.”
Kathleen’s expression softened with understanding. “That must be terrifying for him.”
“It is. And I know exactly what he’s going through.” Patrick’s voice grew quieter. “I made similar mistakes when Noah and Jack were young. I was so focused on my company that I missed too many birthdays, school plays, and ordinary moments that you can never get back.”
He paused, watching Kathleen’s face. She was listening with the same focused attention she’d given him during their conversations about Florence Buckley, but he could see the questions in her eyes.
“Noah needs someone who understands the corporate world but isn’t trapped by it,” Patrick continued. “Someone who can help him see that there are other ways to measure success. I might be the only person who can have that conversation with him right now.”
Kathleen nodded slowly. “I hope he listens to you.”
“So do I.” Patrick met her eyes. “I want to be a special part of your life, Kathleen. If you’ll have me.”
His words hung between them like a bridge neither was quite ready to cross. Color rose in Kathleen’s cheeks, and Patrick watched her touch the locket at her throat—the one he’d given her weeks ago.
Kathleen took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before you left, about wanting to be in two places at once. I understand why you left. Family obligations are important.”
Patrick stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “My time in Manhattan has shown me something I was afraid to admit. I don’t belong in that world anymore. Every board meeting, every strategy session, every corporate dinner felt like playing a role in someone else’s life.”
“But you’re good at it,” she said quietly. “Noah wouldn’t have asked you back if you weren’t.”
“Being good at something doesn’t mean it’s what you’re meant to do.” Patrick ran his thumb along the streak of paint on her cheek. “When I think about where I want to be and who I want to spend my time with—it all comes back to this house, this town, and you.”
Kathleen leaned into his touch for just a moment before stepping back.
