by Sarah Title
Henry even asked her out to dinner a few times, but Grace always turned him down politely. She just didn’t feel like dating. Henry was nice enough. He was handsome, and they had a lot in common. Helen said she was being an idiot, and that if she was going to let someone like Jake Burdette fizzle through her fingers, why not go out with Henry?
“On second thought, if you’re going to let someone like Jake Burdette fizzle through your fingers, maybe you don’t deserve Henry. You can’t have all of them, Grace.”
But she didn’t want Henry. She didn’t want Jake either, she was pretty sure. She just wanted to keep her head down and do her work. She didn’t need a relationship, and she didn’t need everyone in town telling her she did.
At least her house was leaving her alone. Helen didn’t mention anything breaking over the holidays, and when Grace came back, there were no floods or missing walls or holes in the floor. So, even if he came back, she wouldn’t have to see Jake.
Good, she thought. That was what she wanted.
One of the things the house had learned in all of its years was that people believed that absence made the heart grow fonder. The house couldn’t get a good read on the level of Grace’s heart’s fondness, but Jake was definitely absent. Even when the house did try to create a disturbance, Jake did not come to fix it. The other one, Henry, was around quite a bit. The house was okay with that because more Henry might make Grace realize what she was missing with Jake, or might make Jake jealous enough to realize what he was missing. It wasn’t working yet, but there was still time.
Chapter 20
Jake stayed out of Willow Springs until winter was good and done. Spending the winter in Florida was one of his smarter ideas. A buddy had bought a “handyman special” outside of Miami and hired Jake to take charge of the renovation. Jake didn’t have his contractor’s license in Florida, so he was more of a project manager, which was fine. It turned out to be a much bigger job than they had planned—black mold, asbestos in the basement. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. Well, the alligator in the decrepit swimming pool was new, but now Jake had the name of a wildlife removal company in Florida, so that was good.
He could have stayed down in Florida forever, although urban living was not his style. Nor were alligators. But he had a few contacts down there, and everyone was satisfied when the job was done, even if they persisted in calling him “Hillbilly Jake.”
It was Mary Beth who gave him a reason to come home. She was pregnant, she screamed at him over the phone in January. And even a pool-dwelling alligator wouldn’t get him to admit it, but he cried when she told him. A baby. He talked to Todd, who told him part of him wanted this baby to be Daddy’s Little Girl, but the other part didn’t want boys looking at his little girl like he looked at her mama.
“You might want to wait until the baby’s born to worry about that,” teased Jake, knowing that they were waiting to find out the gender. As if having a baby wouldn’t bring enough surprises.
“Yeah. You’re right.” Todd sounded so serious.
“Of course, the baby could be a boy.” Jake couldn’t resist taunting his brother-in-law.
“Sure. Yeah, of course. I’ve heard boys are easier, so that could be good.”
“Really? Who did you hear that from?” Jake asked, thinking back on all the trouble he’d gotten into since he could walk.
“I don’t know, somebody. Not Marilyn, obviously. Everyone’s giving us advice and . . . it’s a little overwhelming.”
“How’s Mary Beth?”
“She says she’s fine, but I think she’s freaking out.”
Jake knew his sister well enough to know that the signs of stress were a lot more subtle in her than in other people. He was glad Todd knew that, too.
“She’s kind of obsessed with the nursery,” Todd continued. “I don’t suppose—”
So Jake was headed back to Willow Springs to build a nursery for his niece or nephew. It wouldn’t take long, although he had some ideas for a convertible space that could grow with the kid. If he had his way, this would be a super-nursery.
Mary Beth told him that Grace had hosted the baby shower at her house, which was nice of her, he guessed. He didn’t like that MB was such good friends with Grace. It meant he would probably have to see her. Over the holidays, he’d started out texting Grace, but it took longer and longer for her to reply and he started feeling like an idiot, so he quit. But in a town as small as Willow Springs, it would be hard to avoid her. So he wouldn’t. This was his town, dammit.
Grace was reveling in the weather. Seasons didn’t change in California. It was pretty much the same all the time, which was nice if you liked sunshine and warmth. Grace did, but she liked this, too. She liked that every day could be something different, and that on the first warm day after a cold, gray spell, everyone poured outdoors. She even liked that she had to check the weather before she got dressed in the morning.
She was pretty bummed by the forecast for spring break. Thunderstorms were predicted all week, and although this morning it was sunny and unseasonably warm, said the local weather guy, expect heavy winds and rain before the sun goes down. She took the opportunity to ride her bike into town, checked out a few vacation books from the library, picked up some groceries, and had lunch with Helen and Mary Beth. Mary Beth was glowing, which was a vast improvement over the green shade she had been sporting at her baby shower. She told them that Jake was coming back to town to build her a nursery. Helen said that was sweet, and Grace felt both of the women watching her to gauge her reaction. That was sweet, she agreed, but it had nothing to do with her.
The rain started before lunch was finished. Helen offered to drive her home, but there was no way Grace’s bike would fit into her car, so she rode as quickly as she could. By the time she got home, the sky was dark as midnight and rain was coming down in sheets and her egg carton was soaked through. As she unlocked the front door, a gust of wind blew across her porch and the door slammed into the house. She muscled it closed and locked it behind her. Almost as soon as she was inside, the sky turned an ominous black and the howling of the wind was only drowned out by the claps of thunder that shook her windows.
Grace saw Mr. Bingley dart under the couch, and as the rain battered her windows, she wanted to join him. But she had to be a responsible homeowner, so she ran around the house, making sure all the windows were closed and locked. Upstairs, she noticed her bike was still on her front walkway and thought about leaving it, but images of her one mode of transportation falling prey to rust had her rushing down the stairs. The door flew out of her hand as she opened it, and she could barely walk into the wind as she inched toward her bike. A bolt of lightning split the sky. This is dumb, she thought, but she was already out there so she went as quickly as she could. As she picked up the handlebars, a gust of wind lifted the bike practically out of her hands. She rushed back to the house—a little easier, with the wind at her back—and threw the bike into the foyer, then wrestled the door closed. She was just catching her breath, wishing she had a towel as she wiped water out of her eyes, when there was a small beep and everything went black.
Somehow the storm seemed worse with the power out. She felt her way to the kitchen and dug around for the emergency matches. She did a mental inventory of every room in the house that had a decorative, scented candle, and started gathering them up. She coaxed Mr. Bingley out from under the couch and under the blanket with her, and settled in. Then she decided she was too close to the window—California earthquake drills had taught her that windows were bad places in a storm—so she pulled the couch into the center of the living room, lit the candles, and settled in to read her way through the storm.
But she couldn’t concentrate. The wind was lashing rain against the house—it felt as if she were at sea. And every time the thunder clapped, Mr. Bingley dug his claws into her leg. The lightning made her jump, and something crashed upstairs. She ran up to check and found the windows of the turret had blown in. She ran into her ro
om for her sneakers and grabbed an armful of towels. She thought she could tack them to the wall and that would prevent more rain from coming in. Then she remembered that Jake had broken her hammer, and that dinky hammer probably wouldn’t have held up to the job anyway. So she focused on damage control. She grabbed the papers that were blowing everywhere and ran them down the hall to her bedroom. She snatched her laptop and yanked the printer out of the wall and deposited those on her bed. And her books. Her office had shelves and shelves of books, and the wind was blowing rain and glass around the room, so she gave up prioritizing and started grabbing armfuls off the shelves. She stopped running all the way to her room with them and started just tossing them in the hallway. All the while, the thunder clapped and she saw the wind blow a tree down into the street. There was noise everywhere—thunder, rain, limbs breaking, pounding.
She stopped in the hallway with an armful of books and realized the pounding was coming from downstairs. Someone was pounding on her door. Her mind conjured up an opportunistic mass murderer, but quickly shifted to someone stranded out in this weather. She raced down the stairs, tripping on books and sending piles down the stairs with her. She fumbled with the lock and yanked open the front door, preparing to hustle the person inside, then get back to her waterlogged office.
But when she opened the door, it wasn’t a stranded stranger. Lightning lit up the sky momentarily, but it was enough for her to see who it was, and the fear and relief she felt crashed over her like a wave.
“Jake,” she whispered.
Jake should have waited for Grace to invite him in—they were nothing to each other now, after all. But he was wet and cold and about to blow off the porch, and as soon as the door opened, Grace had broken down in tears.
Not exactly the greeting he was hoping for, but he chalked it up to the storm. He pushed the door shut and before he had even properly turned around, Grace was wrapped around him, squeezing him within an inch of his life. He clutched her back, taking a moment to revel in the familiar feeling of her body close to his. But he had come here to check up on her, so he pushed her back a step.
She was soaking wet, her hair drooping in stringy waves around her face. As he looked at her more closely, he saw that she had a small cut on her cheek. He held her at arm’s length and saw her legs were scratched up, and there were more little cuts on her arm.
“Grace, are you okay?”
She gave him a watery nod, wiping her eyes on the hem of her shirt. She recoiled a little when she saw the blood her cheek left behind.
“Am I bleeding?” she asked.
“A little. What happened? You’re all cut up.”
“Some of that is Mr. Bingley. The rest must be from my office.” He followed her gaze up the stairs and saw the mess of books. That was not like Grace, to treat books so badly. “The window broke. I was trying to get the books out.”
“Grace, you could have been seriously hurt! What if the glass had gone into your eye!”
“I wasn’t thinking, Jake. I was just trying to save my stuff.”
He wanted to argue that her books wouldn’t be much use to her if she was blind, but he saw that her hands were shaking and her lips were pursed so hard they were turning white. She was probably crashing from her adrenaline rush, but he knew Grace well enough to know that her books would come first. Or at least that she wouldn’t be able to relax until they were taken care of. He tried to feel sympathetic—they were her livelihood, after all.
“I’ll get them,” he said and headed up the stairs. She followed him, and together they made a mini-fire line and got the bookshelves clear. He was about to close the door, but she ran in and grabbed a box from behind the overstuffed chair. When she was out, she nodded and he shut the door.
“I’m going to board up the windows.” He had thrown plywood into his truck before heading to his mother’s house. They had a big sunroom and he wanted to get their windows covered. But by the time he got there, his dad was already there, and he and Will were hammering the boards into place.
Grace shook her head. “I don’t have—”
“I have the stuff in my truck.”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t go out in the storm!”
“We have to get that boarded up or the floor will be destroyed.”
“What if you get struck by lightning!?”
He smiled. She did care.
“Don’t give me that stupid smile. I just don’t want you dying on my property!”
He wanted to laugh then, because if she was teasing him, she was fine. The color was coming back into her face and she wasn’t shaking anymore, so he took her face in his hands and kissed her. Just quickly, but not so quickly that she didn’t have time to grab onto his arms and hold him in place a little longer.
“I’ll be right back,” he assured her. He got out to the truck and was swinging the first sheet of plywood out from under the tarp that covered it, and he almost hit Grace with it.
“Get back inside!” he yelled over the wind.
“Shut up!” she said, and grabbed an end. He let her take it, then followed her with another one. They got the broken windows boarded up, Grace holding one end of the board and the flashlight, Jake hammering as fast as he could. With the windows covered and the power out, it was easy to believe that the storm had passed them over, that it was a normal, quiet night, just him and Grace, standing in a turret.
But Grace was shivering again, her shirt soaked through. Jake’s jeans were heavy with water, and he thought his feet might be pruning inside his shoes.
“I think you left some stuff here if you want dry clothes,” she said.
He nodded. “You should change, too. Try to clean out those cuts.”
She led the way to her room, flashlight first. She pointed it at a pile of folded clothes on top of her dresser. Shorts, boxers, socks. No shirt, but she handed him an oversized Pembroke sweatshirt and he put that on. He felt his way into the bathroom and hung his clothes over the shower curtain, hoping they would dry by the time he had to leave. Kyle would never let him hear the end of it if he saw him wearing a Pembroke shirt.
When he got back to Grace’s room, she was sitting on the bed, the flashlight in her lap pointing to a random spot on the wall. “Hey,” he said gently, and she slowly lifted her head to him. “You okay?” He brushed a finger under her chin.
She nodded weakly. “Just tired.”
“Let’s get you dry.” He pulled at the hem of her shirt and she lifted her arms and let him pull it over her head. He took the flashlight and found her least sparkly cat sweatshirt while she shimmied out of her wet jeans. She slipped on the sweatpants he handed her while he tossed her clothes over into the shower as well. When he got back to the room she was fumbling with a pair of thick, wool socks.
“Here,” he said, and he slipped them on over her icy feet. He held her hands tight in his, trying to warm them. “Okay?” he asked. She nodded, but when he got up to go, she clutched at his sweatshirt, so he sank down on the bed next to her and wrapped his arms around her and together they rode out the storm.
The house was quiet. The storm outside was terrifying, but the house had endured worse. The beautiful stained glass was shattered, but Grace had barely noticed. What were a few broken windows when Jake was back?
Chapter 21
Jake woke up alone. It took him a moment to recognize Grace’s room, even with the sunlight streaming through the window. Sunlight. Obviously it was morning, and obviously the storm was over. The alarm clock was dark, so the power must not be back on yet. He rolled out of bed and looked out the window. There were branches everywhere, and one of the old maples in Mrs. Wallace’s yard had fallen, blocking his truck in the driveway and taking out part of Grace’s fence. Maybe that was the worst of it: no power and some cosmetic damage.
He knew that would be a miracle, and he needed to get out to see what needed to be done. But first, he had to find Grace to make sure she was okay.
It didn’t take long. She was si
tting in the hallway surrounded by stacks of books—she had been busy. But she wasn’t looking at the books. She was sitting cross-legged in front of the box he’d seen her pull from the office last night. She was thumbing through the contents. They looked like pictures from where Jake was standing, but he couldn’t really tell. Her hair hung over her face, so he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. From where he stood, she was as distant to him as those fallen trees outside. And he wanted in.
Grace had woken up to the sun on her back and her hands under Jake’s sweatshirt. He was sleep-warm and breathing heavily on her hair where she lay cuddled into him. Then last night came back to her in a flash—the storm, the broken windows, and Jake coming in and saving the day. She eased away from him and watched him for a minute, his face relaxed in sleep. She ran her fingers lightly over his brow, this strong, hard-working man who always seemed to know when she needed him. When he stirred, though, she stopped. When she was sure he was still asleep, Grace crawled out of bed and went to survey the damage.
The view outside was pretty bad, but she would deal with that later. In the hallway, her books were still in the haphazard piles she and Jake had made last night in their rush to get the office cleared out. She was grateful that he hadn’t asked any questions, just followed her lead and got her books out of danger. A lot of them had sentimental value, but they were also her work. Since she was a kid, books had been her calling, and the fact that Jake was willing to help her rescue them meant a lot to her.
