“I want you to promise me something, Catalina. That you’ll really think through …”
“Okay,” she agrees reluctantly.
“If you were willing to climb a tree and risk your life for a crotchety, grumpy, spoiled tabby, how much more should you risk for a chance at something bigger than yourself?” I really want to sayfor a chance at love. But the look on her face warns me away from that word.
She’s not ready. Not sure I am, either. Nevertheless, what she does to me is unreal. It has me thinking about all sorts of things I’ve never thought about before.
“It’s the answer to that question that scares me the most,” she confesses, grabbing her shake and bag of leftovers. Moving towards the door, she makes it clear the night’s over. My heart sinks.
She apologizes, “Sorry to cut things short, but I really do need to get home.”
“And we need to stop by my place to do the Dumpling exchange.”
“That, too,” she agrees, face so fucking breathtaking I can’t look away and so unreadable it’s pure torture.
Chapter
Nine
CATALINA
Dumpling greets us happily by the door. I get a cursory glance and figure-eight twirl around my legs before she focuses on the fireman. She purrs extravagantly, rubbing against his pants and covering his dark Wranglers in orange fur.
“Oh, shoot,” I exclaim. “I’m sorry. She’s kind of in the middle of shedding.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he replies graciously.
“It’s obvious who her new favorite is,” I remark, voice icier than before.I’m jealous of a cat.
Leaning down, he scoops her up, corded forearms straining teasingly against the button-down plaid shirt rolled to his elbows. Dumpling melts in his arms, purring so loudlyshe sounds like a lawnmower. Yep, green with envy.
Ambrose smells of spicy sandalwood and evergreen, my favorite fall fragrances. And his home is equally inviting, with warm wood tones, spicy, woodsy scents, and overstuffed, custom-made leather furniture that invites me to sit.
He turns on a row of lights, and the massive place illuminates. I gasp, craning my head to look upwards, throughthe center of the Great Room, reaching all the way to the third-story ceiling.
“This place is breathtaking,” I gape.
“Thanks.”
“For all your support of rescue animals, I’m surprised you don’t have your own pets, though.”
He shrugs. “I plan on building a stable and getting a few horses. Same with some dogs or cats from the shelter. But it hasn’t been my main priority, yet. Especially with how hectic and unpredictable my job gets.”
“Makes sense,” I say, moving around the Great Room slowly to look at photos hanging on the wall. Off to the left-hand side, I spy a darkened hallway.
“How about a quick tour before I get you back to your car?”
I nod, throat tightening at the thought of being in such an intimate space with this man.
He takes me from room to room downstairs, showing me the kitchen, massive dining room with a long, hand-carved table, a rustic guest bedroom, laundry area, and mudroom that lets out onto the area where he plans on putting his stable. Next comes the home office, billiards lounge, and TV room, and that’s not even all of the first floor.
The TV room is really a home theater, featuring a wall-sized screen. Promo photos forSoCal Hotshotsdecorate the space with rows of seats. Mouthwatering images of Ambrose bare-chested. No wonder women go feral for him.
“My mom decorated this room,” he says ruefully. “I really do hate those photos up there like that.”
I shrug. “They’re still a part of you.”
“Don’t feel like it.”
