“Don’t be sorry. You can’t help how you feel.” Grace stared across the dimly lit cab, waiting for something more. Anything. But again, silence.
Could their food have made him sick? Lines burrowed into Seth’s forehead, and there was tightness of his angled jaw.
She should be quiet and leave him be. For the rest of her visit to Santa Rosa.
But the house and all that mess...
Inwardly, Grace groaned. If Seth was sick, she’d handle whatever she had to about the water issue. She’d been learning to take care of life without the help of a man for a while. This latest disaster would be no different.
Maybe he wasn’t ill at all. Maybe he just really regretted kissing her.
Finally, they reached her driveway, and Seth punched in the code for the gate. He must’ve taken care of many household issues for Brooklyn if he knew the code. The truck came to a stop, and she popped open the door.
“Grace, wait.” Seth faced her, at last, and sighed, clearly uncomfortable. “I owe you an explanation.”
“I hope you feel better.” The last thing she wanted was someone’s pity. She stepped out of the truck. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Chapter 6
Bleary-eyed, Seth stared in the mirror the next morning. Wrestling with his demons all night had stolen his sleep but not accomplished much else. That hearty infant cry from the evening before had haunted him. He longed with every fiber of his being to hear a lusty wail from his little Noah again. If he could go back and be that anxious new father, trying to soothe those cries with gentle crooning, digging deep to pull up the lyrics of long-forgotten nursery rhymes and lullabies.
He pressed his lids shut only to feel a sense of free-falling from a towering cliff. Shortness of breath, vertigo, and the racing pulse. He jerked his eyes back open. The symptoms he suffered in these moments had been diagnosed as “mild” post-traumatic stress.
How had one dark night stolen so much?
Seth pulled a clean shirt over his head and clomped, barefoot, downstairs to press the button on the coffee maker. Likely the first brew of many today. The journal his sister-in-law had given him lay open on the counter, his scribbling attempts at working through his rocky jumble of emotions. After grabbing his cup of coffee, he tucked the journal under his arm and headed to the deck.
Outside, a chill clung to the misty, early morning air, though the first rays of sunrise streamed across the rolling Gulf waves. The American flag attached to the railing of Brooklyn’s crow’s nest flapped in the cool breeze. What must Grace think of him? He took a deep swig of coffee and sat at the outdoor table, the metal chair nippy even through his jeans. Setting his cup aside, he opened the journal to where a pen marked the place he’d left off.
Writing was supposed to be cathartic, so he’d tried, but he often felt as though he was only succeeding in waging war with his sanity. Might as well take another stab at it because if last night were any indication, something needed to give.
He lifted the pen and wrote.
Some days, it seems my heart stopped beating when Noah’s did. Perhaps Selina’s had, as well, and that’s why she could never get past the loss. Or past the guilt and blame and anger. Could never love or forgive me.
Though my arms ache to hold him and my mind pounds with unanswered questions, I need to find a new normal. I want to find a way to remember the gift from God that Noah was. I don’t want the focus from myself, my family, or my friends to be on “Seth’s baby who died.” I want Noah to be remembered as that cooing little boy who smiled and drooled and lived, if only for a few short months. Despite the sea of death’s grief, I want to remember the life.
How do I do that, though? How do I move forward and start a new life without fear, God? How were You able to give up Your son, Lord?
I know You are constant and good. I need Your help to find my way. To share my story. But how? How do I share my story with others...with Grace? Is it fair to ask Grace or any woman to bear the heavy baggage of my pain?
Slamming truck doors interrupted his deliberations. Seth closed the journal, stood, and ventured down the steps toward Brooklyn’s house. Already, the electrician stood knocking, waiting for Grace to answer. The plumber pulled up behind him.
Good grief, they were out early. He needed to get over there, but not without shoes. Too many broken shells had sliced into his heels the first year he’d moved here.
Brooklyn’s side door swung open, and Seth’s breath caught. Wispy strands of Grace’s honey-brown hair hung around her face while the rest poked out of a clip that allowed a nice view of her slender neck. Listening to the workman talk, she pressed her index finger against her lips.
Those lips.
Last night’s kiss slammed into his mind.
Electricity inundated his senses, sent tingles down his empty arms. Waking up to a sweet woman like Grace could be worth taking a risk and sharing his story.
Though he’d determined to live unmarried and alone, meeting her yesterday had opened up an intense longing for companionship...and so much more. A partner for life, an intimate relationship, a best friend, a helpmate. He longed for the commitments and promises and blessings that marriage offered. Could that be possible someday? Maybe with the right woman. A woman who wasn’t hoping to start a family.
As if drawn by some magnetic force, Grace’s eyes found him. She offered a quick wave and looked away.
He had to figure out how to make things right. He’d really blown it last night.
SHE WOULDN’T LOOK IN Seth’s direction again.
Grace ran her fingers across her makeup-free, puffy morning face. How awful that he’d seen her like this. Last night had been humiliating enough. So much for building up her confidence. If this first date after her divorce was any indication of how starting over was going to go, she’d rather stay single.
After grabbing the pad and pen from her computer bag, she focused on the instructions the electrician and plumber spouted as they walked around the house. Sleeping had proved almost impossible after the romantic dinner and impromptu out-of-this-world kiss, then the abrupt and bizarre ride home. All that added to the early hour left her brain foggy and in need of coffee.
Except, apparently the coffee maker had been a casualty of falling sheetrock. And now, the power needed to be cut off in the entire kitchen as well as much of the rest of the house, including the room where the modem was connected. How would she work without the internet? Or caffeine?
The first order of business would be to locate a coffee shop. If Brooklyn said it was okay to leave the workers alone in the house, Grace might take her computer and hang out there. Away from Mr. Wonderful-Incredible-Kisser-But-Possibly-Crazy-Hot-Guy.
“You got all that, little lady? Or do we need to wait for Mr. Gibbs’s approval?” Mac-the-plumber’s scratchy voice grated on her nerves.
Little lady? Since graduating from the University of Georgia and joining Brooklyn’s staff, she’d learned how to assert herself among high-powered businessmen and politicians without being unpleasant. The same principles should apply with construction crews, right?
“I don’t need his approval.” Although his advice would’ve been helpful, he surely wouldn’t show his face again. She held up the pad. “I have my notes, and as soon as I can get on the internet with access to a fax and a printer, I’ll produce a simple contract for both parties to sign.” Outside the window, more workers parked in the drive and along the street. A whole parade of men would have to move their vehicles for her to back out.
“Well, aren’t you efficient?” Mac tipped his hat. “I need a good administrative assistant like you in my office.”
Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Just a little rough around the edges. “Thanks. Is there a business center within walking distance?” A mild headache already throbbed in her temples. “And a coffee shop?”
Mac pointed toward the opening door. “You may not need his approval, but you might want his coffee and internet.”
There stood S
eth, his strong shoulders and profile outlined by the hazy light hovering on the horizon. As he stepped closer, the touch of scruff on his face gave him a far-too-appealing, rugged-morning vibe that set off multiple warning alarms in her mind. Danger ahead.
“Hi.” A tentative smile lifted his lips, and he offered a silver go-cup. “Can you step outside a moment?”
If it weren’t for the delightful coffee aroma, her good sense might have listened to those alarms. But they didn’t. Okay, maybe his striking-but-apologetic blue eyes convinced her to follow him, too. Grace took the coffee and scooted past the men who seemed to be setting up camp in the kitchen.
On the stoop, she stopped, took a sip of the hot brew, and stared out at the frothy ocean. The wind kicked up, humidity practically dangling in the air. Clouds rolled in, dark and ready for the bottom to fall out any minute.
“I’m Seth Gibbs. Can we make a new start?” Seth gave her a sad-puppy face if there ever was one and held out his hand for her to shake. “As friends and temporary neighbors? Oh, and toilet-repair-and-remodeling project partners.”
Her faith wouldn’t allow her to hold a grudge, but Seth had been the one to suggest that Christians should feel their emotions. And her emotions were wounded with a touch of bewildered. A tad miffed, too. “I’m confused.” And fearful of how her body would respond, so she ignored his hand.
“Of course you are. I flaked out.” His hand dropped, and he shoved both into his jeans’ pockets, his gaze falling to the ground. “The way I acted had nothing to do with you. Long story I don’t want to go into right this second, but my behavior was brought on by the carolers.” His eyes mashed shut, so did his lips.
Pain pressed there in his expression. She recognized that much. Did he know one of the singers? All sorts of crazy scenarios entered her mind. His ex-wife was in the group. A horrific caroling experience as a child left him scarred. Supersonic hearing made him vulnerable to high-pitched noises. He had an unreasonable fear of people in costumes.
“What do you say?” His eyes opened, and his penetrating stare roamed her face, drawing her in and overrunning her efforts to remain aloof.
She held out her hand. “I’m Grace Logan. Nice to meet you. Can I use your internet and a printer?” Hopeful, she lifted her brows. “Maybe drink a bunch of your coffee and pick your brain about remodeling? I hear tell you’re a tool guy.”
His calloused fingers took her hand and gave a firm shake. Heat radiated from his fingers and his broad smile. “Or maybe just a tool. But yes to all of the above.”
And yes, her hand was on fire from his touch, but she would ignore her crazy feelings for her new friend and temporary neighbor. At least until she could get out of the driveway.
Chapter 7
Come on, brain, clear the fog. Grace Logan, you’re an intelligent woman. Stop with all the mushiness.
She had to let go of Seth’s hand and regain use of her mouth. Her fingers throbbed, but that didn’t compare to the bass drum pounding in her ribcage. There had been something she needed to find before she trekked next door with the man. “I needed coffee and...and...”
Blinking, Seth shook his head and released her. “Creamer? Sugar? Internet?”
“Internet.” That was it. Glad his mind still worked, she took one step forward but then stopped. “It would help if I brought my computer.” A hair straightener and makeup would’ve been nice too, but no time for primping.
Seth laughed, that hearty sound she’d loved. “Good thinking. I’ll—” He turned on the stoop, but one foot caught on the other, and he stumbled, then dropped to one knee with a thud against the wooden decking. “Ouch.”
“Are you okay?” She leaned beside him.
His cheeks reddened, as he stood and then recovered with a sheepish smile. “Just injured pride. I’ll wait here and recuperate while you get your laptop.”
“Pride?” She couldn’t stop a chuckle after she felt assured he was fine. “Remember you’re with Clumsy-Grace. No worries about pride.”
“Hey.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll not have you calling yourself by that name. If you have to add an adjective, go with Beautiful Grace or Intelligent Grace.”
Her cheeks blazed, likely turning as red as a bowl of her favorite Pace Picante Sauce. “I’ll pass on the modifiers. Be right back.” She measured her steps to be sure she wouldn’t have a similar mishap, especially with the comings and goings of worker-men plus the equipment inside the house. Once she gathered her laptop, her purse, and phone, while balancing the precious cup of java, Grace filled her lungs with a greatly needed breath of oxygen, held it, then slowly released the air. A grown woman could use the internet and drink coffee at a neighbor’s for a little while, couldn’t she?
A neighbor whose dreamy-steamy kiss had kept her tossing and turning all night.
Maybe a quick call to Brooklyn was in order. Just to be sure. A grown woman still needed to be careful.
She punched in her boss’s number.
“Good morning, Grace. Were you able to rest after the drama last night?”
“Drama?” Her pulse skipped. What drama did Brooklyn know about? Had Seth told her about the kiss-and-run debacle?
“The water breaking through the ceiling drama?”
Duh. “Right. I’m fine.” Of course, he wouldn’t have told Brooklyn the awkward rest of the story. “The coffee pot was practically flattened, and the internet is out, so do you think it’s safe for me to hang out next door? To use the internet?” And drink as much coffee as humanly possible in the short span of time she planned to spend there.
“To Seth’s?” A peculiar snicker laced Brooklyn’s voice. “He’s as safe as a teddy bear, and just as sweet. Poor baby. He’s had a tough go of it, and his family worries about him. I’d hoped you two would meet when I sent you down there.”
Her boss was giggling? “Right. Okay.” A teddy bear was not how she wanted to imagine Seth. Not that she should be imagining him at all.
“It would be incredible if you would spend time with him. You’re strong and kind and secure in your faith, Grace. I know you can help Seth.”
Something fishy was going on. “You know his family? I thought he was a handyman doing construction next door.”
“He’s handy all right. Comes from a long line of handy Gibbs Hardware men. They’re part of the Hardware Association.”
A lump formed in Grace’s throat. “The Gibbs Hardware Stores? Like the North American chain based in Atlanta?”
“What other would there be?” Brooklyn’s voice returned to the usual brisk business tone.
He did say he was a tool guy. But he didn’t make it clear how many tools he was talking about. And she’d thought he was... “I better get to work.”
“Keep me up to date.” Brooklyn cleared her throat. “On everything and everyone.”
The implication hung between them. Her boss seemed to be trying to take up matchmaking. Not the kind of issue Brooklyn normally took the time to lobby. The woman centered her life around her business and supporting causes she was passionate about in an attempt to stay sane after grief and loss. If Brooklyn felt sorry for Seth, his story must be tragic.
SHOOT. THAT HURT. SETH blew out a long breath. How long had it been since he’d taken a spill? High school football, maybe? And that was deliberate falling. His mind must really be off-kilter today. Or since he’d met Grace. He shifted his weight to his non-injured side. The pain where his foot twisted far outweighed the throbbing where his knee hit the decking. But neither compared to the ache in the vicinity of his heart when he’d seen the bewildered look on Grace’s face both last night and again this morning.
At least she’d allowed them to clear the air so they could start over and move forward. As friends. They’d only just met anyway. And it wouldn’t be fair to waste her time on a romantic relationship that had no future. She was younger than he was. Even if she said she didn’t care about having children, she might change her mind in a few years.
&nb
sp; He couldn’t chance that nightmare again. His heart couldn’t bear the loss of another child.
Thunder rumbled overhead, drawing his gaze skyward. If she didn’t hurry, they’d be wet.
“I’m back.” Grace’s sweet, perky voice pierced his weather assessments. A smile lifted her lips, a place his eyes longed to linger, but with a good shove of mental effort he was able to pry his gaze away, only to be sucked into staring at her luminous blue eyes.
Blinking, Grace toed the wood below her feet while he stood there speechless. “I’m ready to drink more coffee, bum your Wi-Fi to download some docs, and use your printer, too, if you have one.”
Stop gawking. “I’m your guy.” Seriously? “Your guy for Wi-Fi, a printer, and coffee, I mean. I have plenty more where that came from.” Good grief. Just hit mute.
A chuckle slipped through those adorable lips. “That’ll do. I should be able to get access to more when I can back out of the driveway. I’ll replace Brooklyn’s coffee maker when I find the store.”
“I have an extra brewer next door you can have.”
“You bring your own to every job?” Her arched brows lifted, and her mouth twitched after speaking.
If they’d been playing cards, she’d be easy to read. His brothers had always loved a rowdy game of Rook, and they loved to try to bluff. Obviously, Grace knew he wasn’t a construction worker, but he could still have a few more minutes messing with her. “Not all of them.” Of course, maybe he’d messed with her enough already.
“Just the long-term, luxury beach house situations?” Her voice held a tease, so maybe she was okay playing the game a bit longer.
He gave a single nod. “Something like that. Let’s go get you set up.” Pointing as he took a step, he led her forward. The pain in the side of his foot almost earned a wince, but he held it in. No sense worrying her. If it still bothered him later, he’d ice it.
Silence crept between them and slid down Seth’s shoulders. Ignoring the tension from the previous evening proved more difficult than he’d imagined. Especially if Grace would be hanging around his house for the day. He could ignore his online work and finish his projects in the garage, leaving her inside.
Falling For Grace Page 4
