by Mary Campisi
“I know.”
“So? Why are you talking about it now?” He was tired of the probing, tired of the curiosity and the comments. “Grace and I are sharing her aunt’s house for thirty days. Period. Got it? We’re not sharing a bed, not sharing much of anything. In fact, we’re avoiding each other, and it suits both of us just fine.”
“If you say so…”
“I do say so,” he ground out. “Why is everybody so interested anyway? Are we some friggin’ case study or just a way to pass time?”
“People are curious,” Nate said. “Especially your friends. You don’t think Cash hasn’t commented a time or two about it? It’s not that he’s trying to dig into your business, but we’ve been there. And don’t think Pop Benito isn’t spinning a tale to help his latest relationship cause. Pete Finnegan and his fiancée are having issues, and Pop’s using you and Grace as an example.”
“An example? Of what?”
“I’m guessing he’s going to spin destiny and meant to be together.”
“Damn, are you kidding me?” Max did not want to hear Grace’s name mentioned in destiny or meant to be together.
“You know Pop; he’s not going to let it go, not if he thinks you belong together. He and Frances were pretty tight, so who knows what she told him? There’s nobody craftier than that man, so all I can say is good luck.”
“Great, all I need is a senior citizen telling me how to live my life.”
Nate handed him another beer. “It’s not a bad thing to have Angelo Benito on your side. Take it from a guy who’s been there. I know all about having my heart ripped apart and falling so hard I couldn’t breathe.” His voice shifted, dripped regret. “I almost lost everything that mattered.”
“You mean you weren’t always Husband-of-the-Year?” Max meant it as a joke, but the look Nate gave him said he didn’t think there was anything funny about the comment.
“One day, you’ll understand exactly what I’m talking about, and then you’ll have to make a choice.” He paused, said in a quiet voice, “Go with your heart or your pride.”
This conversation was getting way too serious. “Since when did you turn into a dispenser of wisdom?”
“Since I started listening to my wife. It’s a big deal in a relationship, maybe it’s the deal, that and compromise. I learned about both…and admitting when you’ve been a jerk.”
That was a lot of touchy-feely crap. Who would want to do that? But even as the question flitted through his brain, he suspected the answer. If he and Grace had had a chance together, he’d have spit out touchy-feely crap and learned to listen. And compromise...
“Does Grace know about you?” Nate crashed through his thoughts, pulled him back to safety. “The real you, not the I-never-did-anything-with-my-sorry-life soul you pretend to be?”
“Nope.” Grace’s words filled his head. You’re not going anywhere, Max. You have no goals…
“Are you going to tell her?”
“Probably not.” If you don’t have a future, we don’t have a future. I’m sorry…sorry…
Those words had stuck in his brain for too many years, like the refrain from a song that wouldn’t leave his head, no matter how he tried. Hadn’t one of Frances’s doctors once said the brain was like a hard drive on a computer without the erase feature? All those annoying tidbits of information that would not go away...the lyrics to a song…the lines in a movie…the ultimate kiss-off from your girlfriend…
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Nate set down his beer, brushed his hands on his jeans. “Christine wasn’t feeling well this morning and I want to check on her.”
“Sure, take your time.” Max turned back to his magazine, but it wasn’t the roar of a motor he was thinking about; it was the commitment Nate and Christine shared. Who would have thought his friend would be concerned about a sick wife? Hell, who would have thought he’d care enough to marry again, have two kids? But Christine was kind and genuine and perfect for Nate. Max was still thinking about this when Lily Desantro entered the workshop carrying a tray of goodies.
“What did you bring me, Lily?” Max scanned the tray she held. “Chocolate chip cookies, brownies…lemon bars. Hmm. Are those double-fudge brownies?”
She grinned, nodded her dark head. “Your favorite. Go ahead, try one.”
He eased a brownie from the tray, bit into it. Lily watched him, her blue gaze intent as she waited for a response. Max gave her a thumbs-up and said, “Perfect. A little chewy, but not too much. Just the way I like them. You did a good job.”
Nate’s sister laughed, whispered, “Nate made them. I just helped.”
“I see.” Max popped the rest of the brownie in his mouth, chewed. Nate Desantro was one domesticated husband, and the real shocker was that he didn’t seem to mind it. They’d known each other a long time, but the transition from angry man with a grudge and a heart of steel to faithful husband who recited nursery rhymes and baked sweets was mind-boggling.
Is that what real love did? The guy sure hadn’t been like that with his first wife, but when he looked at Christine, there was no mistaking the connection or the love. Whatever. Some people found a way to that kind of happiness, and others didn’t. Max was in the second category, and he’d stay there rather than get gutted again.
“Have another one,” Lily said, easing the tray toward him. “Nobody can eat just one.”
Max fished around the tray, picked up a chocolate chip cookie. “What’ve you been up to, Lily?”
She set the tray on Nate’s workbench, hoisted herself up on one of Nate’s stools, and said, “I’m helping Pop get ready for the fall ‘bake and whatnot’ sale.”
“The what?”
“The ‘bake and whatnot’ sale The Bleeding Hearts Society puts on every year in the fall. People bake all kinds of stuff and they donate things, too.” Her voice slid to a whisper, and she leaned forward, brows pinched together. “I hear the new lady in town is your girlfriend.”
“What new lady?” Of course, she meant Grace.
“You know—” her eyes grew wider “— the lady who’s living with you. The pretty one with the dark hair and soft voice.”
And curves. Lots and lots of curves.
“Her name’s Grace.” She giggled. “Pop says she’s your girlfriend.”
Pop should mind his own business. “Grace is a friend.”
“Oh.” Giggle giggle. “A kissy-kissy friend?”
“No, a friend.” Why were they having this conversation, and where was Nate? How long did it take to check on Christine?
Lily’s voice fell out in a singsong tone. “That’s not what Pop said.”
Max snatched another double fudge brownie. “You shouldn’t listen to everything you hear.”
“What did you hear, Lily?” Nate entered the workshop, slid onto the bench next to her.
Lily smiled up at her brother. “That Max and the new lady Grace are boyfriend and girlfriend. Pop says so, said they belong together and he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a wedding soon.” She paused, rubbed her cheek. “What do you think about a Christmas wedding? I like them because you can decorate a Christmas tree at the reception with all kinds of wedding stuff and hang pictures of the bride and groom on the tree. The guests can get mini stockings with treats inside… Elissa and Pete were going to have a Christmas wedding and do all of that, but Pop says they have to learn how to speak the same language first.” She scrunched up her nose, looked at her brother. “Nate, what does that mean? Can’t Elissa and Pete get married until they learn a new language?”
Nate cleared his throat, slid a glance at Max, then settled his gaze on Lily. “What Pop means is that Elissa and Pete have to talk things out and learn to listen to each other better before they get married.” He gentled his voice. “It’s all part of what grown-ups call communication.”
“Oh.” She turned to Max and said, “Make sure you and Grace learn the language so you can get married at Christmas.”
“Sorry, but don’t
count on a Christmas wedding from me,” Max said. Or any wedding… The thought had barely flitted through his brain when Lily countered with another possibility.
“How about a Valentine’s wedding? You could decorate with lots and lots of hearts!”
“She does have a point,” Nate said, hiding a grin. “Hearts would be appropriate.”
Max shot him a warning, followed with, “Uh, don’t think so.”
Nate ignored the look, grabbed a chocolate chip cookie, and smiled at his sister. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we, Lily?”
She gave Max a big grin, snatched a lemon bar from the cookie tray, and said in a matter-of-fact voice, “If you and Grace get married, Nate can teach you how to make double fudge brownies and chocolate chip cookies, maybe lemon bars, too.”
* * *
When he left Nate’s, Max headed out of town, along winding country roads that reminded him of the Sunday afternoon drives he and Frances took before she was too ill to move from her bed. She loved the golds and reds of the trees in the fall and the clumps of snow hanging from the branches in the winter. Like frosting, she’d said. He’d hoped she’d make it to see the first snowfall of the season, even if it was from her bed, but she’d died before the first frost.
Max accelerated out of a curve, pressed harder as the Chevelle’s engine revved. “I really don’t want to spend the next month with your niece, Frances. But you already know that, don’t you?” He gripped the wheel, maneuvered the next curve, faster than the one before. “I wish I hadn’t agreed to any of this. Hell, I wish I was packing up and heading back to Los Angeles tomorrow.” He hit a straight stretch of road, pressed the gas, and the Chevelle roared. “You know, twenty-two years and two thousand miles makes you forget certain things about a person: the exact color of her eyes, the way her hair shines in the light, the huskiness of her voice….” Max cursed under his breath, slowed the car to a manageable speed, and headed down a hill. “If I didn’t care about you so much, I’d be heading out of town right now. Damn straight I would.” He frowned, his gaze narrowed on the miles of road in front of him. “But I gave you my word, so I’m staying, no matter how much I want to run.”
He returned home late that afternoon, filled with resolve to get through the next month in a businesslike manner, focusing on tasks and goals and erasing the emotion from the equation. It shouldn’t be that difficult as long as he looked at the list and Grace Clarke as a means to an end. Complete the list, send the woman on her way. Nice and simple. If he could manage a multimillion-dollar empire, he could plant a flower bed and cook a meal with his ex-girlfriend—even if that ex-girlfriend had been the one he’d wanted to marry and build his life around.
Max opened the back door, stepped inside. The first thing he smelled was cinnamon and apples. The next was rosemary…then garlic…and was that nutmeg? Grace sat at the kitchen table, peeling potatoes, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, looking fresh-faced and domesticated. She glanced up, nodded.
“Hey,” he said, moving toward her, keys jingling in his hand. “Something smells good.”
She shrugged, her lips pulling into a split-second frown before she spoke. “I went to the grocery store and picked up a few things.”
“Guess so.” He glanced through the oven window, spotted chicken breasts topped with rosemary. When was the last time he had a real home-cooked meal? Probably right after Frances died and Nate invited him over for stuffed pork chops. Max followed the cinnamon scent to the cooling rack on the far counter and the apple concoction resting in a glass baking dish. He leaned close, sniffed. “Apple crisp?”
“Yes. I planned to make mashed potatoes, but if you don’t eat white, I can make you a sweet potato.” Her cheeks turned the faintest pink. “Or there’s brown rice, or quinoa, or farro…”
“Mashed potatoes sound great.”
“Okay. Dinner will be in about forty minutes.” Those brown eyes studied him. “Unless you have other plans?”
“Nope.” Why the frosty look? “Did I…do something to make you angry?”
“Why would I be angry?”
Okay, she was ticked, and it had to do with him. No doubt about it. Max rubbed his chin, eyed her. “I don’t know why you’d be angry, but from the ice daggers you’re shooting at me and the chill in your voice, I’d say you’re not happy.” She didn’t answer but went right on peeling that damn potato. “Grace?” He pulled out the chair next to hers, sat down. “What’s going on?”
She set the potato in a pan, met his gaze. “Are you going to spend the next thirty days hiding from me?”
“What? I’m not hiding.” Of course, he wasn’t hiding; what a ridiculous idea.
“No? You were gone when I woke up, no note, no telling me when you’d be back…”
“I wasn’t aware we had to answer to each other.” Now she was making him angry. “I ran some errands, took a drive.” Pause. “So what?”
The expression on her face said she didn’t believe him. “So, we were supposed to start working on the list. The sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll finish.” She picked up another potato, started peeling. “If you’re going to try and get out of it, just say so now and stop pretending.”
“I’m not pretending. I said I’d do it and I will.”
She threw him a look that said doubtful and who are you kidding and went back to her potato peeling. “Just let me know when you’re available.”
Nice bit of sarcasm, delivered with class. Max sucked in a breath, blew it out slowly. Why did he let her get to him? He knew what he was going to do, and that’s what mattered, not her opinion of what he was or was not going to do. But even as the rationalization flitted through his brain, he knew it was a lie. He did care about what Grace thought, especially what she thought about him.
And why was that?
So she’d realize what a big mistake she’d made all those years ago?
Or maybe so she’d see what a good guy he really was?
And once she admitted the first and second, was he hoping she’d want another chance? With him?
They didn’t even know each other, not anymore. Twenty-two years of choices had changed them. He didn’t know the woman sitting two feet away, peeling potatoes like she was preparing to feed a dozen people instead of two. Did he want to know her? Maybe. Max blew out another breath, said in a gentle voice, “I’m sorry I bailed on you today. I needed time to clear my head, and it wasn’t fair to leave without telling you.” He shrugged, added, “I should have stayed and dealt with the list.”
The potato peeler stilled. “This can’t be easy for you. My guess is you aren’t used to answering to anybody but yourself, and now, here I am, thrust in the middle of your life.” Her lips pulled into a faint smile. “Talk about a nightmare.”
He laughed. “Not a nightmare.” Another laugh. “Maybe a bad dream. And who says I don’t have to answer to anybody but myself?”
She raised a brow. “Do you?”
Max shook his head. “No, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t.”
It was her turn to laugh. “Right. Spoken from a man who’s never been in that situation.”
“Let’s just say the opportunity didn’t present itself.” Oh, there’d been women who wanted to tell him how things were going to be, as in what they expected of him and the relationship. They loved throwing the relationship word around and thought sleeping together equaled the R word. But the truth was, most of them were more interested in his money than him. Attitudes changed when people found out a person had money. Some made it their mission to get a chunk of it, whether through honesty or deceit, while others were afraid to be in the same room with him, as though he had a right to take up more oxygen than they did. It was a strange shift, one Max didn’t like, and that’s why he let the people of Magdalena think he was still just Max Ruhland, car mechanic, drifter, son of the town drunks…good friend and guardian of Frances Romano.
“The opportunity didn’t present itself, huh?”
H
e grinned. “Or maybe I didn’t take the hint.”
“Or maybe you squashed it.” Those brown eyes softened. “Is that why you’re still in Magdalena, working as a mechanic—” her gaze slid to his left ring finger “—unattached?”
Was that an attempt to find out personal information about him? Okay, he could answer those questions without actually answering them. “I like small towns, and I’ve got a knack for working with cars. What’s better than doing something you love and getting paid for it?” He shrugged. “As for the other part, who says I’m unattached?”
“Oh. I…just assumed.” Her face turned to paste. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She stumbled over her words, tried again, “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”
“But you must be curious or you wouldn’t have asked. You’re right, by the way. I’m unattached. I was engaged once, but it wasn’t a good fit. Guess I did it for all the wrong reasons: the desire to settle down, find that special someone instead of several someones, maybe have a kid or two…” Memories of the beautiful ex-fiancée he’d thought could bring him happiness filled his brain. She’d accused him of holding back, not trusting their relationship 100 percent. Some woman really burned you bad, she’d said. How long are you going to make me pay for that? Guilt and the desire to bury the past and have a chance with Leanne forced him to open up…to almost trust her. But a person’s instincts aren’t usually wrong and his had been dead on. Seemed Leanne’s interpretation of opening up and trusting meant let me have whatever I want and trust me not to screw you. By the time he realized she’d been siphoning money from his accounts, she’d probably taken $30,000. His accountant wanted him to press charges, but what was the point? Max had been played for a fool and he’d lost a hell of a lot more than money; he’d lost the ability to ever trust a woman again.
“Max?”
Grace pulled him back, made him forget about Leanne and his stupidity. “Yes?”
“I’m so sorry things didn’t work out for you. I know what it’s like to have such high hopes, such dreams, and then it all falls apart. What I learned is that you can’t make someone do something they don’t want to do. No matter how much you care, no matter how much you love them, it doesn’t matter.” She paused, eyes bright, right hand clutching the potato peeler. “They’re going to do what they’re going to do. And I think that’s the most heartbreaking realization of all.”
