Free Meet Cate by Fiona Barnes Page A

yes, follow Cate− John went back to his paperwork.
    True to her word, Cate left the store (without any suspiciously large, guitar-shaped, wrapped packages in her arms), twenty nine and a half minutes later. Cate had listened to different, beautiful tones on several instruments, but again, finding something small and particular to Nic wasn't easy. The story would have to suffice.
    When they were younger, each child had piled on Cate's fluffy bed, waiting for her suitcase to open. Long before she'd had extra money, Cate had brought each child heartfelt gifts. A beautiful seashell. A napkin from a new haunt. Each gift came with a fantastic tale, and the children sat rapt, listening to Cate transfix them with words. She missed those days, and vowed to find two thoughtful and extra-special gifts once she landed in LA.
    As the women rushed to the limo, Cate brushed into a man hurrying by.
    "Excuse me," she said automatically.
    He grunted, his face down, as if watching the movement his feet made as he scuffed along the sidewalk. His hat, a tired gray fedora, was pulled down, masking his eyes.
    Cate couldn't shake the thought that he felt familiar.
    Climbing back into the limo, she ignored John's words: "All set?"
    "Hmm?" Cate's attention was focused on the tinted window as the limousine picked up speed and rolled past the shuffling man. The limo driver slowed, making a smooth left with one hand on the wheel. They were passing the stranger, who stepped to the curb and stopped, his face downcast. He seemed in his own world. She picked out graying brown hair poking out from under the cap. As the limo slid by, Cate stared. His eyes would be blue, she guessed.
    The man's surprise at the big vehicle registered at the last minute and his face shot up, shocked.
    Blue eyes, Cate thought, yes.
    Eyes she knew.
    It was Tom.
     

Chapter Thirty Eight
    "Stop! Turn around!" Cate edged forward on the wide seat, waving at the driver.
    He glanced in the rearview for only a second while steering through traffic.
    "Cate, we don't have time to stop. We have to go," John said calmly.
    "I−I think that was−"
    "We have to catch our plane," John spoke despite the phone at his ear. "They're waiting for us."
    "−Tom," Cate whispered, her closed fist against her mouth.
    The limo pulled up in front of the large private plane. John stepped out, effortlessly leading Cate toward the staircase used for boarding. Once seated, she stared out the window, seeing nothing. Cate's thoughts were on Tom.
    When she couldn't take it anymore, she fussed in her carry-on until she located earbuds. Poking them in, she searched through libraries of music. Finding Pick Up The Phone , the distraught woman cranked the volume. Ronnie Radke's smooth voice filled her ears. Cate closed her eyes and dreamed as the plane taxied down the runway, then cruised up into the waiting skies.

Chapter Thirty Nine
    Home again, as if nothing had happened, the scene grew less important in Cate's mind. She settled into a routine, taping shows for the new year and planning holiday events. As often as she could get away with, Cate carried her papers out onto the large deck. There, she'd watch the leaves fall while she worked up menus and shows, guests and ideas. She loved to watch little flurries of them fall all at once.
    Tom's face grew dim in her mind. She convinced herself she'd only pasted his face onto a stranger. She'd done it throughout LA, seeing him on a room service waiter, the publishing giant, and even strangers she passed on the street.
    Caught up on the backlog her trip had created; content with the work Melissa had done while she was away; safe in the knowledge that the guest host they'd chosen satisfied Cate's hunger to travel; Cate was happy. Organized over-preparation was the key, she thought. Sitting back in an Adirondack chair with her papers spread out before her, her eyes swept over the vibrant reds and oranges of the tall, majestic trees. Smiling, Cate imagined the satisfying