“Nice friends.”
He shrugged. “We all called each other names. My best friend’s nickname was Banana Nose. It’s what kids do. You grow out of it. Anyway, you’re not a kid anymore and you look great.”
“That’s because I work at it.”
“You’d look great even with another fifty pounds,” he assured her. “Some men like a babe with some back. My dad did.”
His father was ridiculously handsome. Griffin found it hard to imagine him with any woman who wasn’t gorgeous, and said as much.
“Yeah, my mom was really pretty. But she got kind of pudgy when she got older. She was so much fun, though, you didn’t notice.”
“It’s better for your health not to carry around extra pounds.” Oh, wait. Did that sound judgmental? “No offense to your mom,” she quickly added. “How did she die?”
His smile fell away. “Heart attack, not long after Dan and Charley got married. Totally unexpected. She and Dad were in Fiji for their anniversary. They’d saved for that trip for a year.”
Horrible. “I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged. “Shitty timing, huh? We all still miss her. But we’ve got a ton of memories. She was the best. She knew how to enjoy life.”
Was that a subtle dig? “I enjoy life,” Griffin insisted. “I just want to make sure I stay healthy.” And never get looked at with disgust again.
“There’s healthy and there’s paranoid.”
“I’m not paranoid.”
“Prove it. Take one more bite.” He dredged up a spoonful of ice cream and waved it in front of her.
Images of herself as a child swam before her eyes. She was never going to repeat that experience. But she easily could. This was how you fell off Slim Mountain and landed in Lard Lake, one mouthful at a time. “No judging, but are you positive you don’t have an eating disorder?”
She grabbed the spoon from him and stuffed the ice cream in her mouth. It still tasted good, but it didn’t make her feel good. She stuck the spoon back in the bowl and shoved it at him. “You’re an enabler.”
He smiled, unoffended, then scooped up a big mouthful of ice cream and downed it. “Goin’ to diet hell with a smile on my face.”
Now he was making fun of her. She frowned.
“Sorry. Seriously, I’d never encourage anybody to overeat, but I don’t think you should be afraid to enjoy your food.”
“I do,” she said. Not like Matt, though. He seemed to have a gift for enjoying not only his food but every facet of life.
“Well, I know you like taking pictures of it,” he said.
“And you like cooking it,” she retorted.
“So that makes us a pretty good team.” He smiled. “Hey, we’ve still got a lot of daylight left. Let’s go for a drive. I’ll take you to one of my favorite places.”
Before she could remind herself that she was leaving, she said, “Okay,” and next thing she knew, she was in his Jeep and they were headed away from town and up Sleeping Lady Mountain. Occasionally a cabin would peek out at them from behind the fir, pine and hemlock trees. She saw a few sprawling homes, too, granddaddies to her small Craftsman. Mostly, though, it was trees and rocks, salal and ferns, wild huckleberry bushes and an occasional deer bounding through bracken. He pulled off the main road onto an old logging road and they bumped along, climbing farther and farther away from civilization.
At last he stopped the Jeep. They got out and he led her to a rocky outcrop that offered a view of the town below and the surrounding orchards and farms, which looked like green quilt squares with the brown lines of the roads running between. The Wenatchee River was a thick ribbon making its way down the valley. And, of course, the mountains reigned in stately glory, craggy and almost bare, having thrown off their coat of snow in preparation for summer. She could hear a bird singing in the distance, and little wildflowers peeked out at her from between the crevices in the rock.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“I love it on this side of the mountains,” he told her. “I grew up in Wenatchee. Spent summers working for my dad. In fall I picked apples after school and on weekends.”
“How did you end up in Seattle?” she asked.
“Found a job as a sous chef. Then I met Lexie, my ex. Well, about-to-be ex.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out,” Griffin said.
Matt shrugged. “I tried and that’s all you can do.” He shook his head. “I didn’t get it right the first time around, but I’m moving on with my life.”
“Me, too. That’s why I’m going to New York. To start over.”
“Do you really want to go to New York?” He slipped his arms around her, turned her to face him. One hand went to her cheek and he brushed her lips with his thumb.
He was going to kiss her. She shouldn’t let him.
But she did. And she let herself enjoy it. She could still taste the chocolate from the sundae they’d shared.
What was she thinking?
Maybe that there were all kinds of ways to start over.
* * *
Grant had enjoyed dinner at Dan and Charley’s place. They had a charming three-bedroom fixer-upper that Dan had slowly been working on. “He got the kitchen done, and that’s all I care about,” Charley had said.
It was a kick-ass kitchen, with concrete countertops and a slick glass backsplash in earth tones, a pantry, a subzero fridge, plus a high-end stove and a kitchen island. Here his daughter-in-law cooked meals to rival what she offered in her restaurant.
Tonight they’d sat out on the deck and enjoyed salmon cooked in a puff pastry, twice-baked potatoes loaded with cheese, and broccoli salad that tasted just like the one Lou used to make.
“That’s because it’s Mom’s recipe,” Dan said.
“I’m really enjoying making everything in her recipe box,” Charley told Grant. “It was sweet of Matt to give it to me.”
“He doesn’t need a flowery recipe box. Anyway, he’s got them all in his computer,” Dan said.
Lou had gotten the recipe box as a wedding shower present from her mother, who’d shared recipes for some of their family favorites—meatballs, salmon loaf with creamed peas (never his favorite), snickerdoodles, chocolate cake. She’d added to it over the years, including recipes for enchiladas, cinnamon rolls, and the broccoli salad they were eating now. He hadn’t been able to look at the damned thing after she died. He’d given it to Matt, figuring he’d want it. Turned out he’d had just as hard a time looking at it and had passed it on to Charley when she and Dan got married. Charley treasured it, and that would have made Lou happy.
“Well, thanks for making the salad,” Grant said.
The topic of the recipe box had led them to a conversational dead end, and for a moment all that could be heard was the evening song of a robin.
Dan put them on a new road. “How are things going at Cass’s?”
“The roof’s pretty much done. I’ll fix her deck next.”
“That means more cookies,” Dan teased.
“She made shortcake today,” Grant said.
“Cass is good in the kitchen,” Charley said. “She’s a good woman, period.”
Grant nodded but said nothing.
“Why don’t you ask her out?” Charley persisted.
Hadn’t he just had this conversation with his son up on Cass’s roof? Were they tag-teaming him?
More to the point, how did you politely tell your daughter-in-law to mind her own business? “Oh, I don’t think so,” Grant said, taking another bite of salad. See, Lou? I’m eating my vegetables. She’d always been after him to eat well, and then she was the one who died. What kind of sick cosmic joke was that?
“You can’t be a monk the rest of your life,” Dan said.
At the rate Grant was going
, that was where he was headed, but the last thing he needed was his son pointing it out. “Worrying about your old man’s sex life is kind of kinky, don’tcha think?”
“What if I’m worrying about my old man being alone?”
Okay, this was getting out of hand. “Last I looked, I could manage to take a shower without falling.”
“You know what I mean,” Dan said with a frown.
“I know,” Grant said. “And I appreciate your concern.”
“Cass is awfully nice,” put in Charley.
“A little too young for me.” Actually, a lot too young for him.
“Come on, Dad. You’re not that old. You can still take a shower without falling down,” he added, making Grant smile. “Anyway, plenty of guys marry younger women.”
“Got me married off already?” Grant joked. “You want a stepmom to come in and steal your inheritance?”
“I’ll risk it,” Dan said. “Anyway, I’m not saying you have to run off and get married. But you guys could hang out, have some fun.”
All the more reason not to start something. It could get awkward down the road.
“You should think about it anyway,” Charley said and yawned. “Sorry. Being pregnant makes me tired.”
“I should get going anyway,” Grant said. Being on a roof on a hot spring day had made him pretty tired, too.
“You going over to Cass’s again tomorrow?” Charley wanted to know.
Women, they never gave up.
“No.”
“Back to the mess at the Stahls’?” Dan asked.
Only to give a certain woman some unrequested advice. “I’ll probably be somewhere else tomorrow.”
He thanked the kids for dinner and returned to Gerhardt’s. Thoughts of Cass Wilkes accompanied him. He gave them a mental boot, told them to climb into some other guy’s truck.
Thoughts were a lot like dogs once they were off the leash. They didn’t mind very well.
Chapter Eighteen
Stef assumed Grant would be at her house hard at work by the time she got home. But after she picked up Petey from Mountain Tikes, she arrived to find his truck parked in front of Griffin’s. Had Griffin stolen him right out from under her nose?
Angry, she steamed over to Griffin’s house, Petey in tow. Before Griffin could get out a hello she snapped, “Grant was supposed to be working for me today.”
Griffin’s eyes got big. “I didn’t know that. He didn’t say anything to me.”
What was going on here? “He told me yesterday he’d be over.”
“Maybe he’s planning on coming to your house next. He’s almost done here. He painted my bedroom today.”
Good for him. “I need to talk to him.”
“Uh, okay.”
At that moment Grant himself came down the stairs, wiping his hands on a rag. “Hi, Mr. Masters!” Petey greeted him. “Can I help you today?”
“We’ll see,” Grant said. Very noncommittal. Very irritating.
“I thought you were going to work at my house,” Stef accused. Sheesh. First her husband, now her handyman. You couldn’t depend on anyone.
“I was, but we need to talk. Griffin, mind if we use your front porch?”
Griffin looked curiously from Stef to Grant but said, “Sure. Hey, Petey, you want to help me make some lemonade?”
“Okay,” Petey said cheerfully and skipped off to the kitchen beside her.
With Petey occupied, Grant settled Stef on one of the plastic Adirondack chairs on Griffin’s porch. “I hear your husband’s not at home right now.”
Stef’s cheeks burned. Who had told him, Griffin or Cass? Probably Cass, since they’d been all chummy at her place the day before. What a tattletale.
“That’s why I need you to hurry up and finish,” she said. “So he can come home.”
“Is that what he wants, for me to finish?”
It was what she wanted. Didn’t that count for anything?
He waited a moment, then obviously gave up on getting an answer. “Look. I’m happy to help you two once you’re back together, but right now working for you is not a good idea.”
“What are you saying?” Please let it not be what she thought he was saying.
“I’m quitting.”
No, no, no! No. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad. “But you can’t quit and leave everything like it is! The whole floor still has to be done.”
“Your husband can handle that. I’ve already put down the moisture barrier. I’ll lend him the tools he needs and leave him instructions.”
Stef slumped against her chair. “He’ll never finish it.”
“I think he will. If he needs help, he can call me.”
“This is not right,” she said bitterly.
Grant leaned forward and took her hand in his big work-calloused one. “You can always buy another house. It’s not so easy to replace a good husband and father.”
That made the tears prickle her eyes. “I don’t want to replace him.”
“I know you don’t. Take some advice from a guy who’s been around awhile. Put your marriage first. Show your man you’ve got some faith in him.”
Petey was back on the porch now. “We made lemonade, but not from a can. Griffin let me squeeze the lemons and she took my picture. Come see.” He grabbed Stef’s hand and towed her inside the house and into the kitchen, where Griffin had several glasses out as well as a pitcher filled with lemonade and ice. She poured Petey a glass and he sat down at the table and began gulping it down.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Stef scowled. “My husband’s left me and now my handyman’s quit. And—”
“Daddy’s visiting a friend, Mommy,” Petey interrupted. “You said.”
“Yes, I did say that, didn’t I?” Covering for Brad, who didn’t deserve it. Okay, yes, she’d started this mess, but she’d said she was sorry. Why was this all her fault? Grant’s advice stung.
“What are you going to do?” Griffin asked.
“Drink lemonade,” she said and poured herself a glass.
“When’s Daddy coming home?” Petey wanted to know.
At the rate they were going, never. Something had to be done.
“You know, I think I’ll take some lemonade out to Grant,” Griffin said and beat a hasty retreat, leaving Stef to spin out a fairy tale for her son.
“Mommy,” Petey nudged.
Daddy needed to come home now. His son missed him.
So did his wife. But the house...
“Soon, honey,” she said. Surely Brad would change his mind. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
* * *
Grant had showered and was leaving Gerhardt’s to go to Dan’s when he encountered Stahl coming down the flower-lined walk from the opposite direction, obviously making his way to his own room.
He hesitated at the sight of Grant, then set his chin and began speed walking, nodding as he got close.
He would have sped right past if Grant hadn’t moved and blocked him. “Got a minute?” Grant asked.
Stahl frowned. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
“To get to that room you’re in by yourself?”
The frown turned into a glare. “Not sure that’s any of your business.”
“You know, it’s not,” Grant agreed. “And you can tell me to go to hell. It’s no skin off my nose.”
“Okay. Go to hell,” Stahl said and tried to walk away.
Grant blocked him again. “I get that you’re pissed. It makes a man mad when his wife disrespects him.”
Now he had the guy’s attention. “Yeah, it does.”
“You had the best of intentions.”
Now Stahl was looking at him as if he were an oracle. “I did
.”
“And she screwed up.”
Stahl nodded his agreement, his jaw tight.
“But wives do that sometimes. So do husbands. You still love her, right?”
Grant knew the emotions behind that expression. Every man felt them at some point in his marriage—pride and regret duking it out.
“I do.” Stahl said it as if it was his cross to bear.
“You made your point. Go home to your wife, son. In the end, you’ll be sorry if you don’t.”
With that parting remark, Grant stepped away and continued down the path. He hoped the kid had gotten the message. But who knew?
* * *
The house was not only a mess, it felt...empty. Stef sighed. Brad shouldn’t have stomped off. He should’ve gotten the point she was trying to make. Most of all, he should’ve accepted her apology. He was the one who was in the wrong, not her.
But did she want to be right or did she want to be happy? She’d spent a lot of time complaining what a mess her house was, but apparently the house wasn’t the only thing on Blackberry Lane that needed renovation. She had a wall of her own that needed to get torn down, a thick wall of pride that she kept building higher and higher.
“Would you like to help me with something special?” she asked her son after she’d fed him dinner.
He practically quivered with eagerness. “What?”
“Let’s bake some cookies for Daddy. How does that sound?” Maybe she wasn’t the world’s best baker, but she could handle chocolate-chip cookies. She could also handle giving up the battle.
“Okay!”
“Chocolate-chip cookies are Daddy’s favorite,” she told Petey as she pulled out the ingredients.
“I like chocolate-chip cookies, too.”
“I think we can spare one for you.”
Petey got a cookie from the first batch, still warm, along with a glass of milk. “This is good, Mommy. Daddy’s gonna like these.”
She hoped so. He’d had no interest in the cream-puff swans. But then, those had been more a bribe than an apology. This offering was coming along with a big change of heart.
An hour later, they were at Gerhardt’s Gasthaus with a plate of cookies and an envelope containing a note that said “He’s gone and I’m sorry. Please come home.” She signed it “Love, Stef.” She did love him. She could only trust that this would prove it.
Starting Over on Blackberry Lane--A Romance Novel Page 21
