Page 6 of This Time Around (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #3)

When he turned to face Allie again, she was standing, too. Something in her eyes made him stop. It looked a lot like longing, or maybe he was imagining things.

“Thank you for having us over,” he said. “Dinner was excellent.”

“My pleasure.” She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, then stopped. When she closed it again, Jack knew that was the end of the conversation.

“It was good seeing you again,” she said at last.

“Likewise.” He shifted Paige in his arms and started to turn toward the door. He looked at Allie again, saw her hands twisting in the side seam of her dress, saw uncertainty flicker in those dark green eyes.

“You’re still beautiful, Allie,” he murmured. “For what it’s worth. More beautiful than you were sixteen years ago. That’s saying a lot.”

He wasn’t sure which of them felt more surprised by his words. Did her eyes look misty, or was it just a trick of light?

She didn’t say anything for a long time, and Jack stood there with his sleeping daughter in his arms wondering if he should have waited to pick her up. He’d missed his chance to hug Allie goodbye, but it was probably for the best.

“Thank you,” Allie said at last. “You look good, too. Congratulations.”

“On?”

“Your career. Your daughter. Your amazing, perfect life. Everything.”

They were the words he’d wanted her to say, the reason he’d come here in the first place. But they didn’t make him feel smug.

They made him feel hollow.

She gave him a small smile, and the hollowness filled with something warm. “I’m glad you’re doing well,” she added.

“You, too,” he said, though it occurred to him they’d hardly talked about her life at all. About what she was doing now. God, he was such a self-centered prick.

“Hey, if nothing else, it was a good chance to remember why we’re lucky we didn’t end up together,” he offered.

She gave a bark of laughter and tossed her hair. “That’s for damn sure.”

Her answer stung a helluva lot more than he expected.

The first things Allie noticed when she stood on the front porch of the Rosewood Bed and Breakfast were the heavy brocade drapes. Faded and dusty, they were the same ones her grandmother had ordered from Paris at least a dozen years ago.

The second thing she noticed was the swath of tiny holes marring the cedar trim over the window. It looked like someone had jammed a kebab skewer into the wood over and over again. Allie squinted at the holes, wondering what the hell could do that sort of damage.

She didn’t realize someone was staring back at her until she heard the squeak.

“Aaah!” She jumped back, nearly knocking herself off the porch. She grabbed hold of the railing and peered through the window at a cat who peered right back with clear disdain.

“Jesus,” Allie muttered. “I didn’t see you there. Who are you?”

The cat didn’t answer, probably because it was a cat, and also because it had better things to do than converse with thirty-six-year-old single woman standing on the porch of a B&B that looked a lot rattier than Allie remembered.

The cat looked ratty, too. Its fur was the color of an old gym sock and stuck out in all directions.

Her grandmother had always had a cat or two around, but Allie didn’t remember this one.

Bored by the human attention, the cat lifted one paw and began cleaning behind a ragged ear.

“What’s wrong with your paw?” Allie stared at it, trying to remember if cats were supposed to have thumbs. This one had at least three extra digits on the left front paw, and on the back?—

The door flew open and Allie tore her gaze off the cat to size up the woman standing in the doorway. “Hi.” Allie smoothed down the front of her navy sheath dress and tried to look presentable.

“Hello,” the woman replied as she studied Allie with a curious expression.

The long, dark hair she wore loose around her shoulders had a few cobalt-blue streaks running through it.

Her feet were bare, and her flowy, tie-dyed dress looked like she’d been attacked with a paint sprayer.

Her face bore no trace of makeup, and she had a porcelain complexion with a smattering of freckles.

Allie couldn’t begin to guess if she was eighteen or forty-eight.

The woman scrunched her brows a bit and regarded Allie with a curious expression. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Allie.” She stuck out her hand, and the woman took it with a firm shake. “Allison Ross. My grandmother is Victoria Ross.” She closed her eyes, and swallowed the wave of grief that threatened to grab her by the throat. “ Was Victoria Ross.”

A pair of warm arms enveloped her, and Allie opened her eyes to find herself wrapped in a patchouli-scented hug.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “Your grandmother was such an amazing woman. I just adored her. I can’t believe she’s gone. You must be so heartbroken.”

“I—yes, thank you.” Allie tried to spit out the woman’s hair, not sure how to disentangle herself from the hug.

She’d never loved physical affection from strangers, but there was something about this hug that felt familiar and warm, so Allie relaxed and let the woman hang on for a few extra beats. “I didn’t catch your name,” Allie said.

“Oh, sorry.” The woman drew back and tucked the wild curls behind her ears. “It’s Skye. Skye Collins. I guess that didn’t show up in the email we exchanged?”

“No, just the info@rosewood address and the signature lines at the bottom—all the stuff my grandma’s web guy must have plugged in years ago.”

“Right,” Skye said. “Sorry, it’s been a little crazy around here.”

“Were you not expecting me?” Allie glanced at her watch to see it was half past five, right on the dot. “We did say Thursday at five-thirty, right?”

“Yes, of course, it’s my fault. I was studying for exams. I’m a student at the Aesthetics Institute. Hair, nails, facials, that sort of thing. I guess I lost track of time. You know how it is.”

Allie wasn’t sure she did. Punctuality had always been her forte, and she kept track of her appointments in duplicate using both her iPhone and her Erin Condren LifePlanner.

But Skye seemed warm and sweet, so Allie gave her a smile. “So you’re one of the caretakers?”

Skye’s smile seemed to falter just a little. “Oh. Well, yes. But it’s just me. I’m the only one who lives here.”

Allie frowned. “I thought my grandma said she hired a couple to look after the place.”

“Yes. Um, she did. But Brody—that was my boyfriend—he moved out a few months ago.” Skye’s expression went a little bit shaky. “Things weren’t working out between us and—well, anyway. It’s just me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, it’s fine, really. I mean, I’ve been doing my best with upkeep and everything, and Brody wasn’t much help anyway. I’m managing just fine on my own.”

Allie nodded and wished there were a way to rewind and start this conversation over. She hadn’t meant to pry into the other woman’s love life so soon after meeting her. Eager for a subject change, she tilted her head toward the window. “What’s wrong with that cat’s feet?”

Skye followed the direction of Allie’s gaze and laughed. “Felix? You mean the extra toes? He’s a polydactyl. They all are. Come on inside so you can meet them.”

“Them?”

But Skye was already walking through the foyer of the historic West Hills home, her bare feet slapping on travertine floors that looked clean, but more weathered than Allie remembered.

She hesitated, then followed Skye into the parlor.

She stopped on the threshold of the arched doorway and looked down at the rose-printed carpet.

She remembered how she used to hop from flower to flower while her mother shushed her and her grandma laughed and said, “Oh, let her be a little girl, Priscilla.”

Allie looked up to see Skye standing in the middle of the room. She held an orange tabby cat cradled in her arms, and two more cats—one black and one gray—stood on the back of the sofa, one of them batting at Skye’s elbow with a paw that looked like an oversized catcher’s mitt.

“Oh my God,” Allie said.

Skye laughed and set down the cat, who gave a growl of displeasure before wandering off.

Tossing her hair, Skye scooped the gym-sock-colored cat off the windowsill and looked around the parlor.

“Isn’t it great? Vicky had the cat playground built about three years ago so they’d all have somewhere to play.

It’s a little extravagant, but it’s what she wanted. ”

Vicky? Cat playground?

Allie looked up to see an intricate network of ramps and sisal-covered walkways lining the top edges of the walls.

A cat door opened out into the sunroom, and the wide bay window Allie remembered had a bird feeder tacked to the other side.

Another cat sat perched in a corner, its left ear looking like someone had bitten off the tip.

Allie looked back at Skye, trying to piece everything together.

None of this was making any sense, nor was the fact that she had three mutant-pawed felines twining themselves around her ankles.

She stared at the cats, trying to figure out if these were some of the ones she’d already seen.

Good Lord, how may were there? A black and white one looked up at her and gave a plaintive meow.

Allie looked back at Skye. “Cats,” she said, wetting her lips as she realized how moronic she sounded. “How many cats are there?”

“Let’s see, there’s Matt, Luna, Sassy, Farrell, Kenny, Barabbas, Maestro, Maggie, Boo, Maple, Felix?—”

“And they’re all—what did you call them?”

“Polydactyl.” Skye smiled. “Extra toes. Yes, every single one of them.”

“And they belong to you?”

Skye cocked her head, her expression somewhere between amused and perplexed. “No, of course not. They’re your grandmother’s. She just hired me to be the caretaker.”

“Of the B&B,” Allie said slowly, still not understanding. “Taking reservations and cleaning rooms and?—”