P.S. You're Intolerable (The Harder They Fall, #3)(55)

Her tenderness and devotion to Josephine had done me in completely.

Catherine’s bright eyes skimmed over her reflection as her hands trailed along her curves. She wasn’t frowning, and there was nothing critical in how she studied herself.

Dipping my head, I brought my mouth beside her ear. “What do you see?”

She turned slightly, and my lips grazed her skin. She gasped. “Elliot, I—”

“Look at the mirror and tell me what you see.”

I let my hand slip from her jaw and return to her shoulder. I was treading a fine line here. If I wasn’t careful, I would go further than either of us were prepared for.

She sucked in a breath, her breasts testing the delicate fabric once more. “I don’t hate this.”

I raised a brow. “If that’s all you’ve got, I’m not sure you’re really looking. Try again.”

“You’re not allowed to be my boss outside of the office, Elliot.”

I huffed, scattering a few of her fine, flyaway hairs. “Says who?”

Her bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth as she scrutinized her reflection. “I don’t look like a mom.”

“You do.”

Tension immediately drew up her shoulders. “What? Why—?”

“You are a mom, but that’s not all you are.” I tapped her collarbone, drawing her attention to me rather than her thoughts, which were so obviously spiraling I could almost hear them. “Look at yourself, Catherine. Really look.”

She did, but it took some time for the tightness in her muscles to ease. Little by little, her shoulders relaxed as she sucked in long, deep breaths.

“I recognize a part of me I thought was gone for good,” she murmured. “How can I be this and Joey’s mom?”

“You just are. This is you as much as being a mother is. You’re getting this dress.”

“The work clothes, maybe, but I don’t need a dress like this. I have nowhere to wear it.”

“You’ll wear it to the grand opening of the Rockford building. And the work clothes aren’t a maybe; they’re a yes.” I slid my palms down to her wrists and squeezed. “Go change. I’ll be waiting out here with Josephine.”

When I let her go, she spun around, our chests grazing. Her brown eyes were rich soil, full of life and questions. “Are we friends now?”

I laughed at her bluntness, not her question. I didn’t know what we were, but I couldn’t say we were friends. “We’re more than that.”

She nodded, blinking rapidly in confusion. “How did that happen?”

My mouth hitched, and the fist in my chest sprung open, scratching at my inner walls. I didn’t have an answer to that either, even though I’d been asking myself that very same thing.

“Go get dressed.”

Her nose crinkled, but she listened. Walking away with a sassy sway to her full hips that would have brought a lesser man to his knees, she let me hear her mutter, “So bossy.”

At least she wasn’t calling me intolerable.



Josephine passed out as soon as we put her in the car and started driving, so we stopped at a food truck for lunch and ate tacos in my car, with the windows cracked. The cool, crisp winter air filtered in.

“I bet you’ve never eaten tacos in this car,” Catherine teased.

“Absolutely not. I’ve never considered it.” I took a big bite of my taco, chicken, cilantro, and avocado bursting and mingling on my tongue. “I’m questioning a lot of my choices right now.”

She snorted behind her napkin. “It’s okay to be human and messy sometimes.”

“I don’t mind mess.”

“Oh, so it’s the human bit that bugs you?”

“I have a strong need for order. It keeps me sane.” I popped the rest of my taco in my mouth and let my head fall back on the seat.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as it doesn’t take over your life.”

My need for order had most definitely taken over my life. There was no question I avoided situations and people who had the potential to be chaotic. Luca was as far as I veered off the path, and his chaos was predictable, except for his sudden marriage—that had thrown me for a loop. Fortunately for all of us, I’d recovered.

Some might have seen my choice to bring Catherine and Josephine into my home as another veer off my perfectly controlled path, but I didn’t. It had been a spontaneous decision, yes, but it hadn’t been without foresight. Catherine wasn’t an unknown entity. Her life might have been in chaos, but she wasn’t. Her presence was relaxing and calm, soothing and bright. She wasn’t a ray of sunshine, more like a cool breeze on a scorching day. That had been true about her from the moment I’d spotted her.

“There’s a question I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

She wiped her mouth, her brows raised. “Ask it.”

“Is Little Women your favorite book?”

Shifting so one leg was bent under the other, she faced me, elbow on the console, chin on her fist, settling in to talk about books. “Jo March is my favorite character. The book is up there too.”

“So you named your daughter after her.”

“Yeah.” She wadded her trash up and stuffed it in the paper bag sitting on the console between us. “The first time I read the book, I identified myself as an Amy, but I really wished I was a Jo, so I promised myself if I ever had a daughter, I’d name her that to give her a head start.”