Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“I’m a mutt, I guess. A mix of European. Like German and—”
“I meant your name,” I clarified.
“Oh.” The redness in his cheeks intensified. “Tate. Harris. You can call me Tate.”
When I grinned, I watched something cross Tate’s face I was not expecting.
Interest. Cautious interest.
Hmm. Could he be gay? Or at least bi?
Could I be so lucky that my future husband actually liked men, too?
Nah, I was never that lucky.
I jutted out my hand. He stared at it for a second like I had just thrown him a curve ball. Then he adjusted his backpack over his shoulder more securely and placed his warm hand with its long fingers in mine.
And, holy shit…
I couldn’t wait to get my next class over with since I needed to head to the computer lab and start printing our wedding invitations.
I hoped Tate wouldn’t mind.
Ronan (Now)
In the quiet stairwell, I dropped my hands and lifted my head, taking a deep, cleansing breath to push out the memories.
Out of all of them I couldn’t shake, that had been a good one and I needed to stop before they turned to the painful, soul-crushing ones.
Rising to my feet, I pressed my lips together and set my jaw. I began the long hike up the stairs to the penthouse. And as I did so, I realized one thing…
There was no way in hell I was ready to go face to face with Tate Harris.
Not today and maybe not ever.
In the time between the last day I saw him and today, I’d been with plenty of men. But not one had ever been like him and I’d never loved any of them.
Because of that, I never had a loss as great as losing Tate.
After all these years, I thought I was over him.
Clearly, I was not.
CHAPTER 2
Ronan (Now)
I paced back and forth in front of the expanse of windows. The broad and impressive views were the whole reason I bought this building and turned the whole top floor into a penthouse. Like most buildings I purchased, this one had needed a lot of rehab, but now I called it home.
With most of the lights out, the whole city seemed to be within reach of my fingertips. As if I could stretch out my hand and touch everything good about Pittsburgh.
From my penthouse, my views included the city’s high-rises, the sparkling lights, and some of the numerous bridges. In the distance I could make out the Duquesne Incline, as well as PNC Park and Heinz Field, the two stadiums where the much beloved Pittsburgh Pirates and Steelers played.
On the nights they did the huge firework display for the baseball fans at PNC Park, I either headed up to the roof or turned off every light in my penthouse, settled myself on my couch in the dark and watched the night sky light up with explosions of color over downtown.
I loved this city. I loved the people. I loved the vibe.
I loved it from the moment I arrived and moved into my dorm room at Duquesne U when I was nineteen.
I loved it so much, I stayed after graduation.
It had everything I ever needed.
Including Tate in the beginning.
Then it continued to include everything I needed except for him.
Tate didn’t stay like he said he would. Instead, he left me and the city we both loved so much. The city I thought we’d both call home. Together.
I was wrong.
Even worse was how it happened.
I paused in front of the center floor-to-ceiling window and glanced down at the street. The movement of red and white lights a blurry trail as vehicles wound through the streets filled with people heading to where they needed to be. Tiny people also moved about on foot to head out to dinner or a show, or simply on their way home after a long day.
My attention was pulled from the calming, familiar view when my cell phone finally buzzed in my hand. It wasn’t a call but a text with the answer to my inquiry. Alicia was one of my senior property managers. She headed the residential division of Pak Property Management, Inc.
Unit 602. A copy of the sublease is on file if you want to see it. I can email it to you tomorrow when I’m back in the office.
Unit 602.
Before I could respond, another text popped up. Is there a problem with the occupant that I need to deal with?
Before I could text back, my phone rang. I swiped the green Accept button and put Alicia on speakerphone.
“Is there an issue, Roe?”
Not one I wanted to admit to. “No. No issue. I saw someone new in the lobby with the access code and just wanted to make sure he lived here. That’s all.”
Alicia’s attention to detail was why she had quickly moved up the ladder in my corporation. I paid her well to keep her and she earned every damn penny. So did the heads of both the commercial and home owners association divisions of my property management company, one of a few businesses I now owned.