Tara pursed her lips. “Let me know if she calls you.”
“Oh, I will.” Astrid’s mind was swirling with the details. None of it seemed to add up. And maybe that was Miranda’s point. Astrid’s theory went nowhere and she needed to leave it alone.
Four
Clay wanted to believe that he saw things others couldn’t. Possibilities. Potential. His sister Miranda, a gifted interior designer, was the same way. It was a talent they’d both seemingly been blessed with at birth, and according to their grandmother, they got it from their mom. Not that either Clay or Miranda was ever able to confirm this for themselves. She’d left them behind when they were still young.
This talent made Clay quite good at predicting how a situation would go. As much as he’d been thinking about the trip to LA for the Architect of the Year award, he had not seen it happening like this—Astrid in the passenger seat of his Bentley SUV, distracting him in every way imaginable. It was more than just her beauty and beguiling smell, a most intriguing mix of spring rain and vanilla. He’d trained himself to ignore a few of her more alluring qualities. But Astrid was a fidgeter. She couldn’t sit still. She was constantly shifting her weight in her seat, adjusting the direction of the air vents in front of her, and straightening her clothes.
“Everything okay?” he asked, hoping there was some way to make it stop. He needed to keep his eyes trained on the road and she was drawing his attention every few seconds. If there was a problem, he desperately wanted to fix it. He was already on edge knowing the awards show was awaiting him that evening.
“It’s not like you to ask how I’m doing,” she quipped.
“And it’s not like you to not offer a long-winded answer that somehow manages to weave in your entire life story.”
A breathy burst of indignation left her lips, and she smacked his leg with the back of her hand. “You’re so mean.”
He couldn’t help it, but the strike and her accusatory tone made him run about five degrees hotter. “I’m just being honest. You do like to tell people everything about everything.”
“That’s better than being so closed off. You don’t tell anyone anything.” She leaned forward and shot him a sideways glance with narrowed eyes. She had the most expressive face he’d ever seen, and of course, the most beautiful. “It’s one of your most annoying qualities.”
A corner of his mouth betrayed him by twitching with the beginnings of a smile. Astrid was normally so painfully kind that it felt as though he was dying a slow death. He liked it when she was being spirited and calling him out. He felt as though they were on a more even playing field. “If you want me to talk, I’ll gladly share the things you do that drive me nuts.” Your chest heaves before you sigh, which is often. And you are constantly gathering your hair in your hands, twisting it, and pulling it over one shoulder, when all it does is fall back into place in a pleasing cascade of waves. And I see you laugh when you talk to other people, and your face lights up like the brightest sunrise. You never laugh when you’re around me.
“Just tell me. You can’t hurt my feelings.”
Oh, but he sensed that he could. She’d tried to play things off the night he attempted to quit the Seaport project, all under the guise of wanting to work through their problems, but he’d sensed that he was getting under her skin. It was the only thing that had made him back off. He knew she could hurt him, but he didn’t have it in him to do the same to her. That was part of what made her such a dangerous, unknown quantity. “You ask a lot of questions. Personal questions.”
“I’m trying to understand you. You are a puzzle.”
“Do you think you can solve me?”
“I know I can. It might take some time, in part because you’re hiding so many of the pieces.”
He knew very well what she was getting at—she’d asked about Delia that day in the office when she’d brought him doughnuts and was trying to mend things between them. It had been an admirable attempt and he’d swatted it away, but she had no idea how deep his instinct was to protect Delia. “You asked about my daughter the other day. What do you want to know?”
“Is this a trick?” The thicker part of her Norwegian accent came out when she was particularly skeptical of something.
“No. I’m not saying I’ll tell you everything, but you are free to ask.”
“I don’t know a thing. What’s her name? How old is she?”
“Her name is Delia and she’s five years old. She’s in kindergarten.”
“What is she like? Is she like you?”
“Are you asking if she’s grumpy and no fun at parties? Because those would be odd qualities for a five-year-old.”
She unleashed a quiet laugh, and it did something to him. It propped up his ego and made him want to try for more. “I meant is she brilliant? Is she very smart?”
He hadn’t been prepared for that question at all, but he wasn’t surprised that Astrid would pick up on everything, even the things he tried to downplay. “She is exceptionally smart. I’m certain she’ll eventually outpace me in that department.”
“What does she like to do?”
“She loves books and playing outside. She’s crazy about anything with a rainbow on it or that sparkles. She’s very observant, so she likes to take it all in.”
“Just like her dad.”
“It’s true. I do like rainbows.”
Astrid burst into even more laughter, the musical tones filling the entire car. “That’s not what I meant. I was talking about being observant. You love to sit back and watch. You study everything and then
