Read Online Pursued by the Rogue (The Fairy Tales of New York Book 1) by Kelly Hunter - Free Book Online

mothers, something to comment on. A music stand sat in the corner of the room next to a wall lined with battered four-drawer filing cabinets of all different types and colors.
    He followed her gaze. “Picturesque, isn’t it.”
    “What’s in them?”
    “Sheet music.”
    “Ah.” She looked around for more signs of the music that dominated his life but found nothing. “No posters of your concerts?”
    “Are you serious? My family would never let me live it down if I turned this place into an ode to me.”
    “There’s a poster of one of your concerts hanging on a wall at Sully’s.” She’d seen it.
    “And it’s a good one,” he said. “Faith and Pop are allowed to brag. I’m not. Beer, wine or something else?” he offered as she set her bag on the ground and perched on a kitchen stool to watch him stir his home made stew. He had crusty bread to go with it.
    “I could stand to have a little bowl of your stew in the interests of celebration,” she said. “And a beer to go with it.”
    He got her one from the fridge and she studied the pictures on the door of that fridge as he opened it and set it in front of her. He got her a glass next and poured for her and her gaze was torn between those talented hands of his performing a task so menial and wanting to stare at the pictures of the little boy she’d seen with Finn at Sully’s. A child’s crayon drawing of a dragon had also been given pride of place, stuck to the door with bright fridge magnets from around the world. A stranger to Finn’s world might think he was a father, given the adornments on that fridge.
    Again, she didn’t quite know what to ask. Again, Finn followed her gaze and offered more information.
    “That’s Gil. Faith did tell you about Gil. Didn’t she?”
    Dawn nodded and looked at a picture of a young Finn and another young man in an orchestra setting with violins in hand. Both of them cracking up, mucking up, if the picture was anything to go by. “Is that Gil’s father?”
    “Yeah. Joey. Josef Hann. We studied together at Juilliard. Good violinist.”
    “How did he die?”
    “Bone cancer. First it was a sore wrist, then a dropped shoulder. Typical aches and strains that string players get. And then they made a diagnosis. He was dead six months later.”
    “Sad.”
    “He was a good friend. A good man. Gil’s a good kid.”
    “How often do you see him?”
    “Once every couple of weeks, if I can. Doesn’t always work out when I’m away on tour.”
    “That’s quite a commitment.”
    “It’s not a chore.” She could feel his eyes on her, intent in spite of his relaxed stance. “What about you, Dawn? Do you want kids?”
    She hesitated, torn. As a child growing up she’d always thought that one day she would have kids of her own, more than just one, and a husband to go with it. That was back before miscarriage had filled her to overflowing with feelings of inadequacy and loss. And then there was her gene pool. “I’m fifty-fifty when it comes to wanting kids. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t,” she offered quietly. “Not exactly good odds. I told you before – my attitudes towards having a family of my own are complicated.”
    “Because you were abandoned by yours?”
    “There are other reasons.” She shrugged. “Best I can do is say that I’m undecided. There are other paths through life and I’m not against them.” She took a deep breath. “What about you? Is having a family on your agenda?”
    “It is eventually. A wife to love, kids to bug, a home to come home to. I want all that.”
    “It’s a pretty picture.” But there was a whole lot of fantasy wrapped up in it. “You going to have time for all that and a performance career?”
    “I hope so.”
    “It’s going to take a special kind of woman.”
    “It is.” His smile grew crooked. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re not that girl?”
    “I thought I already had,” she offered coolly. “Would you like to hear my stance on