Page 17 of Storm Warning
What stories hid behind those brilliant green eyes?
Zach sat back, his chair scraping against the floor. “What do you write? I didn’t look into the books themselves.”
She hesitated, her fingers finding the smooth edge of herplate and tracing it, a nervous habit she’d never quite broken. She tried to keep her voice strong and confident, though a small part of her still wondered if her work would seem silly to men like these—men who built empires while she built imaginary worlds from words.
“Fiction. Mostly romantic suspense novels, but I do write some other genres under pen names, including cozy mysteries, fantasy, and paranormal romances.”
Nick arched a brow and leaned forward. “How did you start writing? It’s an unusual career.” He waved his hand in mild frustration. “I don’t think that came out right. I meant it’s not one career counselors tend to mention, so how did it come about?”
Kate smiled at his visible discomfort, finding it endearing. “It’s fine. I knew what you meant.” She took a sip of coffee, gathering her thoughts. How much to tell them? The truth cut too raw for a breakfast table with near-strangers, but something in Nick’s open expression made her want to share the full story.
“My parents died in a car accident at the end of my first semester of college. There was no money to finish, so I dropped out to work. My school advisor was an English professor, and when I told him I was quitting, he helped me find a job. He also encouraged me to audit his writing classes. He thought I had talent.”
Kate glanced at the others before looking back at her hands. This must sound silly to someone like Nick. He was wealthy, educated, probably never worried about tuition or rent, and she… wasn’t.
“With his encouragement, I started writing short stories. He showed them to his wife, who was an agent, and before I knew it, I published my first novel. I quit my job to write full time after I sold my fifth book.”
“Isn’t it hard to sell a book?” Nick asked, curiosity flavoring his tone.
“Yes, very. Writers can shop their manuscripts for years without getting a nibble. I was lucky I had a personal connection to one. When I finished my first full-length manuscript, Alice forwarded it to another agent at her firm who worked in my genre, who bit.” She shrugged, attempting to minimize what had felt like a miracle. “I’m lucky. I earn enough to live doing what I love.”
Nick smiled, and the warmth in his expression chased away the chill talking about her parents always induced. “You are indeed lucky, but I’m sure talent has a lot to do with it. I don’t think you’d be living on only luck.”
Kate blushed, confused by the rush of pleasure his words brought. The look he was giving her hit differently—deeper, more substantial. Before she could respond, a tiny silver-haired woman swept into the room, and the atmosphere shifted—from camaraderie to something warm and unexpectedly intimate.
This woman didn’t enter the room—she transformed it, changing the very energy of the space with her presence.
“Mes bébés! You are here!” Her voice was accented, musical. “I thought you would not be back for a few weeks! When did you arrive? Why did you not tell me you were here? David is here too?”
The petite whirlwind dashed over to the two men with surprising speed, a hummingbird in motion. She pulled each one into a tight hug, laughing and talking as she did so, a rapid stream of English peppered with French endearments. They both laughed and hugged her back, their faces softening, revealing an unguarded affection that made Kate ache with longing. This woman was important to them.
She turned her sparkling eyes on Kate, and it was like beingcaught in a welcoming spotlight. Delicate lines crinkled at the corners of those eyes, telling stories of laughter and wisdom. “Who is this lovely lady? Did one of you smarten up and catch a girlfriend?”
Before Kate could process the question, the woman rushed over and tugged her into an effusive hug, her arms surprisingly strong. Kate found herself engulfed in softness, the embrace maternal in a way that made Kate’s throat tighten. The scent of floral perfume surrounded her, sweet and comforting, evoking images of a grandmother’s comforting presence. It had been so long since anyone had hugged her like this, as if she mattered.
“I am Marguerite, but please call me Mémé,” she declared, pulling back to cup Kate’s face in soft hands, her voice a melodic blend of excitement and joie de vivre. “I want to be a grandmother, and my babies here are not cooperating, so I am going to make everyone call me Mémé until my boys take the hint. What do you think?”
Marguerite leaned back, her hands sliding down to grip Kate’s arms, her eyes dancing with mischief. Her face presented a roadmap of joy—every wrinkle earned through smiling. The warmth this vibrant woman exuded filled Kate with unexpected comfort, like sunlight flooding a room left in the dark too long.
Whatever she’d expected from this impromptu breakfast meeting, it hadn’t been this—the easy banter, the unexpected chemistry, or the feeling that something significant had just shifted. The morning had started with questions about sabotage and ended with her standing in Mémé’s maternal embrace, caught in Nick Ivory’s knowing gaze.
Chapter 7
Intrepid
Kate smiledat the whirlwind before her.
“I think,” Kate said, her voice hitching with an emotion she couldn’t quite name, “that’s a wonderful idea, Mémé. Shame on your boys for not cooperating! Though I’m just a guest, not a girlfriend. I’m Kate.” She glanced at Nick as she said it to see a flicker cross his face—disappointment? No, surely she imagined it.
Her heart sank a little as she glimpsed a trace of sorrow in Marguerite’s eyes—a dimming of that brilliant sparkle. Marguerite’s expression was so sincere, with such earnest hope, that Kate felt she’d somehow failed this woman she’d just met.
“Pfft!” Mémé brightened and waved a dismissive hand, her bracelets jingling. “Details, ma chérie, just details. You have kind eyes. Good eyes. You are here for breakfast, yes? These boys need more softness in their lives, too much business, business, business.” She patted Kate’s cheek with a tenderness that made Kate want to lean into the touch.
“Yes, Marguerite. She’s joining us.” Nick said, the smile in his voice caring and indulgent. “We were getting to know each other.”
“Bon!” Mémé clapped her hands together. Her soft French lilt curled around each word like a gentle embrace, making the simplest phrases sound musical
Nick brought Marguerite’s attention back to him with the smooth efficiency of someone well-practiced at redirecting this particular whirlwind. “Weather delayed our trip to the island, so we detoured here. We arrived late last night and didn’t want to wake you, and just in time to assist Kate with her reservation issue. She’s staying in the guest suite.”