Page 58 of The Perfect Snipe

My heart rate picks up at the thought, a nervous energy thrumming through my veins, making my hands twitch with the urge to do something, anything, to distract myself. “Rosa, I don't know.”

“Those are my terms,” she says firmly, her tone brooking no argument. “Take them or leave them.”

I sit there for a moment, weighing my options. On one hand, telling Cat how I feel terrifies me. On the other, getting Rosato even consider assisted living is a huge step. And maybe she’s right.

Maybe it's time to stop letting fear dictate my life. “Counter offer, I’ll talk to Cat if you not only agree to read through the brochures seriously but also pick a few of them to visit.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then nods. We shake hands, her grip stronger than I expect.

“You know, Leo, you never did tell me why you're so invested in this. Catharina, I understand—I'm her grandmother. But you? You barely know me.”

It’s a question I’ve asked myself more than once, but the answer comes easily now, like it’s been there all along, just waiting for me to acknowledge it. “Guess it’s because I care about Cat, and I know how much you mean to her.”

“You're a good man, Leo Hartman. My granddaughter is lucky to have you in her life.”

“I'm the lucky one.”

“How about we agree to disagree?” She extends her hand. “Do we have another deal?”

With a smile, my heart suddenly full—this woman really is something else—I take hers and shake it again. “Deal.”

Chapter 24

Cat

I drum my fingers on the kitchen counter as Stella unwraps a red velvet cupcake from the school bakery. The sweet aroma fills the air, but it does about as much to lift the mood as a fart in an elevator. “Spill it. What’s bothering you?”

She shrugs, her small shoulders drooping as she picks at the frosting, her finger tracing aimless swirls in the white fluff. Normally, there’s a spark in her eyes, a mischievous glint that says she’s up to something. Today, though, they’re dim, like someone dialed down the brightness.

“Stella?”

“Dad still hasn't talked to me about quitting dance. But he found time to coach the Rockets.”

“Ah, mierda,” I mutter under my breath, sliding onto the stool next to her. The legs scrape against the floor with a grating sound that matches my mood. Sometimes I seriously want to kick Leo’s ass. Like right now.

Her head snaps up, her hazel eyes—carbon copies of Leo's—widening. Then her lips twitch, a ghost of a smile flitting across her face before the frustration takes over again. “I know what that means.”

Of course she does.

“Look, your dad can be as dense as a potato sometimes, which means you have to be the assertive one here.”

She bites her lip, gnawing on it until there’s a faint indentation in the soft flesh. “Yeah, but maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Before she can respond, the front door opens and a moment later, Leo walks into the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late. Stopped by your grandmother's after practice.”

My mouth opens and closes as I blink a few times. Did I hear him right?

His lips press into a tight line for a minute as he stares at me. “Why do you have to look so surprised?”

I clear my throat, rubbing my palms against my leggings. “I just wasn’t expecting you to go there on your own. But, uh, how did it go?”

Stella shifts beside me, her chair creaking as she starts to slide off, abandoning the cupcake she’d been mutilating. I reach across, catching her hand in mine, and give her a reassuring squeeze, then turn my attention back to Leo. “Actually, before we get into that, you and Stella need to talk. Like you were supposed to over a week ago.”

Leo scratches the back of his head, ruffling his blond hair. “Sorry, kiddo. Time got away from me. What’s going on?”

As he takes a seat across from his daughter, I grab one of the cupcakes myself. My stomach is rumbling. I hate having such an early lunch period, especially on days when eating dinner won’t be until later.

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