* * *
LUKE SAT ON Nick’s patio, a beer can balanced on his stomach, his bare feet crossed and propped up on the wrought-iron railing. It had been a swelteringly hot day, so they’d ordered pizza and taken a cold one outside. Now soft, damp fog misted around them as they sat in the dark and watched the lights across the Bay twinkle. Appear. Disappear. The fog oddly amplified, then dampened audio and visual details, making the foghorn sound close enough to touch tonight.
“Hey,” Nick said lazily. “Guess who called today? Rochelle Lemmon. She wants us to design the addition, after all.”
Luke glanced at his partner. “Our way?” The Lemmon’s Queen Anne Victorian was a magnificent lady. He and Nick had refused the commission the month before because the couple had insisted on modernizing the extension they wanted on the back of the house. Remodeling Victorians was not only Luke and Nick’s specialty as architects, it was their passion.
“Balconies, stained glass, roof finials and all,” Nick told him triumphantly, taking a swig of his beer. “I gave it to Christy to schedule.”
Luke’s mind raced ahead. He wanted their best craftspeople on this important job. There weren’t that many artisans capable of doing the detailed and intricate work required. The characteristic excesses of the style—projected bay windows, towers, turrets, porches, wall carvings and acres of decorative trim and elaborate brackets—required a sure hand and a keen eye for detail.
“Willie to craft the chimneys. Mike McGuire for the crestings.” Luke glanced casually at his watch. “If those two aren’t done on the Simpson job, the Lemmons will just have to wait.”
“They’ll wait,” Nick said with confidence. He and Luke had a sterling reputation, and their clients were prepared to wait. “Got a late date or something?”
“Cat’s late. Monday was Ted. Tuesday night she went to a Giants game with one of the Bobs. On Wednesday, Allan took her over to Ghiradelli Square. Tonight she’s at the symphony with Kevin. I’ve stopped asking who’s next.”
“That’s the whole point, right? Meeting guys?” Nick shifted on his cushion. “What’s the deal? Are you p.o.’d because she’s a big hit and can change her dates twice as often as her underwear?”
“Do me a favor.” Luke paused with the rim of the can poised below his mouth. He lowered the cold metal to his bare chest. “Don’t mention Cat and underwear in the same breath, okay?”
He looked out at the faint phosphorescent line of the waves breaking on the beach beyond the wide swath of the park across the street. Several people were out walking their dogs despite it being eleven at night. He wondered what Cat and Kev were doing right now. The show would be over. Coffee, he guessed. Hopefully in a crowded place.
“You know, old son, sometimes you sound more like a jealous lover than a concerned big brother. Why is that, I wonder?”
“You should write fiction, Stratton. I’m merely concerned that Cat makes the right choices.”
Luke felt as though he was going to jump right out of his too-tight skin. He wished to hell he could confide in Nick. He and Nick shared damn near everything. Not only did they own a business together, they were closer than most brothers. There was no one on this planet Luke respected and trusted more.
But Nick wasn’t the problem. Luke was.
This was one secret he’d take to his grave. The second his feelings for Cat broke free from their tightly sealed box, he’d be in a world of hurt. Once out, he knew he’d never be able to shove those explosive emotions back where they’d been forced to lie dormant for years.
“And have you seen my place lately?” he said, desperate to change the subject. Which seemed to go from Cat to Cat without missing a beat. “It’s overrun with foliage. If she buys one more plant I’ll need a machete to get in the front door.”
“She’s nesting.” Light glinted off the can as Nick lifted his beer to his lips by radar. “Look at all the antiques she’s suddenly acquired. Shoot, in three weeks she’s transformed the place. Plants, furniture, all those pillows, candles. Girl things. Hell, old son, if I didn’t know better... Nah. Nothing. Neither of us has ever shacked up with a woman. So how would I know what it all means?
“Oh, by the way,” Nick added lazily, “in case I didn’t mention it before, Catherine’s going out with me next week.”
“You?” Luke heard a strange noise, then realized it was his teeth grinding. “‘By the way?’ Since when have you and Cat had that sort of relationship?”
“Hmm. Relationship.” Nick’s voice came out of the misty darkness like The Phantom of the Opera. “I kinda like the sound of that.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Luke dropped his feet from the railing to the floor with a thump. “You keep away from Cat. She’s not sophisticated like the women we date. She doesn’t know how the games are played. She might fall for all your baloney, and you’ll break her heart.”
“I won’t play with Catherine’s heart. Trust me.”
“I don’t. Trust you, that is. And would you stop calling her ‘Catherine’ like that?”
“Like what? Her name is Catherine.”
Luke’s jaw hurt. “You’d better treat her as you’ve always done. Like a sister.” His voice sounded like gravel in the thick darkness. He didn’t wait for Nick to remind him that neither of them was Cat’s brother. “She trusts you. Behave accordingly.”
Their silence was punctuated by a mournful toot of the foghorn. A dog barked. A car shifted gears as it turned the corner. Ted and Cat? Impossible to see from this high up.
“How come you haven’t taken her out?” Nick asked lazily.
“Me? I take her out all the time.”
“I don’t mean to your house to slave, you jerk. I mean on a date.”
Luke crushed the can he held, then tossed it in the general direction of the pizza box on the floor. “That would be...not a good idea.”
* * *
OVER THE NEXT couple of days Luke couldn’t stop thinking about Nick’s question. Why couldn’t he ask her out? They lived together. They were friends. Nothing wrong with asking a friend to the movies or a ball game, was there?
Offhand, he could think of several very good reasons why it would be a bad idea.
The promise to his dad.
The promise to Cat.
The promise to himself.
His—thus far contained—all-consuming lust.
On an “official date” he’d feel as though there was a chance of having more. And the reality was that this was Cat’s time to shine. To get what she wanted. To get what she deserved.
She’d spent years cloistered in that big old house taking care of his father. Without complaint, without a murmur as life passed her by. She deserved every good thing there was.
A promise was a promise. It wasn’t in him to renege, and he’d rather jump off a cliff than hurt her. Yeah, Luke decided, feeling sanctimonious, the least he could do was keep a low profile, and give Cat what she wanted.
* * *
VAN BUREN AND Stratton owned an immaculately restored 1860s Italianate Victorian on the Avenues. It not only housed their flourishing business, it was a shining example of their talent as architects and restoration specialists. Every inch had been lovingly restored, then intricately painted.
There were memories for Catherine in every room of this house. There was a photograph of the three of them in Luke’s office the day they’d opened