A Home by the Sea

by Christina Skye

  “Seven. No, make it seven-thirty.”

  “Got it.”

  Another car horn sounded, just to her right. Grace looked over and caught a breath when Noah stopped in front of her. She ran to the car and slid inside. “How did you get here so fast?”

  “I was doing an errand around the corner.” He leaned across the seat, kissed her hard, then pulled back into traffic. “I’m pretty damned proud of you, Grace Lindstrom. Just for the record.”

  She sat back with a sigh. For long seconds she simply squeezed Noah’s hand. It was a massive project and there would be at least a dozen people looking over her shoulder, checking details and questioning her recipes every step of the way. The time frame was a killer, but it would be the most exciting thing she had ever done. She had to carry it off—not because of money or ego, but because she could really showcase the rich history of cooking here at the White House—and even before the country’s formal founding. She couldn’t wait to start.

  Grace leaned over and kissed Noah’s cheek, then smoothed away the lipstick mark. “Just for the record, big guy? I highly doubt that you were ‘doing an errand around the corner.’ But we’ll let that pass because I’m so glad to see you.” She looked down and smiled. “I’m still jittery. But it’s going to be amazing, Noah. They have access to all kinds of archives, both here and in France. There will be complete digital footage made of every recipe, with great tips and techniques that will be posted online, available exclusively to those who buy the book and DVD. We’re going back as far as General Lafayette and the American Revolution, including the first contacts between our countries. The research is going to be fascinating. Nothing watered down, either.”

  He nodded, his eyes on the snarled traffic. “Just the kind of thing you can do in your sleep. They chose the right person.”

  “But it’s scary.” Grace pressed a hand to her chest. “I keep telling myself that I can handle all this. Book, DVD and audio. It’s the new world, a cooking revolution. I can’t believe I’m going to be watching it happen.”

  “Not watching. Making it happen,” Noah said. You’re going to knock this one out of the park. Mark my words.” He reached over and pulled her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm. “And I am going to tell everyone that I knew you when.”

  “Don’t talk that way. This won’t change me or my life beyond making for a crazy twelve months. And…we’ll find time, if you can just be flexible.” It took courage for Grace to ask, to open herself to rejection. “My life is going to be crazy when this gets rolling. Will you wait for me? Not for a week, but months while I travel.”

  He bit the soft skin at the base of her thumb. “I can wait,” he murmured. “Not forever, but a few months should be fine.” His beeper chimed as he eased his car into a parking spot.

  Grace looked up, surprised to see that she was back at her apartment. How did he do that so well? She had never liked to drive in city traffic, and D.C. was known to drive grown men to tears at rush hour. “I—I don’t know what to say, Noah. Thank you. Just—thank you.”

  “Thanks not needed or wanted. Now get going. You’ve got important work to do. Vive la Révolution,” he quipped. He walked around the car and held open her door. “But remember we’ve got a date tonight.” He skimmed one finger along her cheek, waited a moment and pulled her into his arms. “I’m bending our rules,” he murmured, kissing her slowly with a focused intensity that sent little warnings through her body. “Tonight, I’m bringing all the heat we can handle. We’ll see where it takes us and then reconsider your rules.”

  He would always affect her this way, Grace thought. He would make her feel beautiful and desirable, but he didn’t pressure her for a response. He didn’t need to push because he took her as she was, not as an extension of some image he wanted to project about himself. He didn’t need that kind of shallow ego boost.

  He was strong, not like James. Never like James.

  At her door, Grace looked back. Noah gave her a nod and a little wave.

  Some instinct made Grace turn back and reach through the open window. She pulled him down, kissing him with sudden urgency, struck with a harsh sense of passing time. In a second everything could change. She didn’t let go, not even when her heart began to pound and his breath thickened. “Noah, be careful. Whatever you do, please be careful. And I’ll be thinking about tonight,” she whispered.

  “So will I. Now get moving. The food revolution is about to start, and you don’t want to be late.”

  FIVE O’CLOCK CAME AND WENT.

  Six, too.

  When Grace glanced at her watch, she was stunned to see that it was almost seven. She closed her research folders with a snap and stretched. Her muscles ached from sitting too long and a headache hammered from too much coffee. As a further complication, she had dropped her cell phone in the snow that afternoon, and by the time she dug it out, it was ruined. Tomorrow she had to get a replacement. Grace didn’t know how she’d fit that errand into her jammed schedule.

  Meanwhile, she had twenty-two new emails waiting, all of them connected to the new project. She had met the two editors and had a rough outline of the variety of dishes to be included. In a stroke of luck she had located a handwritten note from George Washington praising General Lafayette’s chef.

  She needed a break.

  Rubbing the tense muscles at her neck, she went to check her refrigerator.

  Baby organic lettuce. Sundried tomatoes. Two grapefruits.

  Hardly fare to feed a hungry man. Where was Alton Brown when you needed him? Gnawing at her lip, she checked her pantry and made some quick calculations. There was a small Greek grocery at the corner, where she could buy what she needed for a rich, chipotle-flavored chili. While that was simmering, she would make double chocolate brownies with Grand Marnier icing. Definitely whipped cream for the top.

  Feeling better, she skimmed her emails and signed off.

  Twenty minutes to go. Time to switch gears.

  Grace ran a hand through her tumbled hair and grabbed her coat. Cowboy chili to the rescue. What red-blooded man didn’t like steamy layers of chipotle and roasted tomatoes, with a hint of espresso at the base?

  IT WAS A RACE, BUT THE CHILI was nearly done and the brownies were just going into the oven when her doorbell chimed. Grace took a step back and pressed a hand to her chest at the sight of Noah, lean and dangerous in thigh-hugging worn blue jeans and a black turtleneck that fit his muscular chest like a dream.

  Her heart turned over as he handed her a bunch of scarlet roses and then a bunch of white ones. “I couldn’t decide so I got both.” He leaned down to nibble the curve of her ear. “You look wonderful.”

  “Actually, I look tired. And I’ve got food in the oven. Don’t distract me, you hunk.”

  “I can smell it. Something smoky and hot. It almost smells like…” He sniffed. “Is that coffee?”

  “Chili simmered with coffee, chocolate and three kinds of beans. An old family recipe. Not exactly Swedish, but it was my grandmother’s best creation. Chocolate brownies for desert.”

  “How did you manage all of that?”

  “Lindstrom’s rules—always have a Plan B. Thank heavens there’s a little grocery around the corner, and I knew they stocked just what I needed.” She took his coat and found a glass pitcher for the roses.

  “That smells incredible.” He walked to the kitchen, watching her stir the chili. “I guess it won’t make your White House series.”

  “Not too much cowboy chili at the Cordon Bleu,” she murmured.

  “They don’t know what they’re missing. So what does your family think of this new job?”

  “There’s just me and my grandfather now. My grandmother died six years ago. Lupus complications. I called him earlier, but he was out. I’ll try again later.”

  “And your mother?” Noah asked quietly.

  It was the first time he’d asked for details about her family. Grace sensed the reason—that they were moving to something deeper. He wan
ted her to know that. He was giving her a chance to agree to the implications.

  Or not.

  “My mother is dead. She died in a car accident a long time ago.” Grace took a deep breath, methodically arranging the roses in a vase. She thought of the flowers at the church that rainy winter day so many years before.

  The roses she had tossed into her mother’s grave.

  She had been dry-eyed, not filled with sorrow or loss. Just relieved that her mother was gone. There would be no more drunken phone calls, no pleas for money or angry shouting at her grandparents.

  Grace took a sudden wrenching breath. “The truth is, I hated her. Even the day she was buried, I hated her. That makes me a very twisted daughter,” she whispered.

  Noah touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Grace. We don’t have to discuss this.”

  “Yes, we do. It’s time I told you the things I never mention. Whatever happens, I want this thing between us to be real and strong, Noah. That means with warts and shadows included.” Her shoulders hunched and she looked him straight in the eyes. “My parents were both alcoholics. My father left when I was seven. My mother wasn’t so bad then, but after he left she fell apart. By the time I was eleven she’d been in and out of rehab half a dozen times. My grandparents kept hoping it would stick, but it never did. Then one day she left. Just walked out for coffee and cigarettes and never came back. I was alone in Portland and I had no money or food. I called my grandfather and he came for me. He didn’t say a word against her and didn’t ask any questions, just took me out to the car. We went straight to a restaurant and I remember how good my sandwich tasted. Ketchup was a miracle. Onions were a prayer. I…I hadn’t eaten in three days. She hadn’t left any money.” Grace rubbed her eyes slowly. “He told me to pack what I wanted and then he drove me home to Summer Island. I never went back to her.” She paced the room restlessly. “Summer Island was the first place I’d lived where I didn’t have to worry that she’d come out to the school bus with a can of beer in her hand or answer the door with her blouse all unbuttoned and nothing on underneath. I didn’t have to worry where she was drinking or who she was with.”

  “And in spite of all that, you still loved her,” Noah said quietly.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “It’s what children do. It’s what makes us human. It’s the warts and the shadows, honey. Like it or not, family’s in the blood.”

  After a long time Grace sighed. “I did love her. I still have faint memories of her laughing as she pulled me in some kind of red wagon. We had a little dog then, called Buster. I loved that dog, but never knew what happened to him. Maybe he went to a friend or maybe he ran away. All I knew is that I cried every night for weeks, asking God for an other dog, but I never got one. I asked for a different mother, too.” Grace rubbed her eyes. “Why am I telling you all this? We’re supposed to be having a romantic dinner.”

  “It’s important. Family is always with us. While we breathe, we remember.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Grace frowned at the bleak memories. “But my real life began on Summer Island. For the first time I had friends and a room of my own. My grandparents helped me start over, and I can’t ever repay them for that. They always told me that whatever I wanted to do, I would succeed. I never heard the word no growing up with them. I love them so much.”

  Noah nodded. “I know the type. That makes us both very lucky.”

  “I want the kind of love my grandparents had, Noah. I’ve seen the mistakes and how badly life can go wrong. I don’t want that,” Grace said slowly.

  “It’s a journey, honey. Thing can go wrong. People can be weak and make mistakes. You just move ahead.”

  A timer chimed in the kitchen. “That’s the brownies.” Grace ran a hand through her hair and then pointed to a chilled bottle. “No more sad family history. Let’s have some champagne.”’

  When Noah saw the label, he whistled.

  “You’re worth it. Whatever happens, this has been amazing.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “It’s not nearly over yet, Grace.” His mouth skimmed her ear, her cheek. Against all her intentions Grace felt her heart turn over. Would it be so dangerous to trust him, to follow her heart down this crazy, wonderful path?

  Boots echoed outside in the hallway. The doorbell chimed. Frowning, Grace peeked out the security hole. “Yes?”

  “FS Express. I’ve got a delivery for Grace Lindstrom.”

  “From whom?”

  “Paragon Productions. I need a signature.”

  The man carried in three boxes, waiting while Grace signed for each one. When she was done, he sniffed the air. “Man, those brownies smell good. Too bad I’m on a diet.”

  When he was gone, Grace opened the boxes, which were filled with files, old documents and photographs. The letter from her new editor noted possible directions for the first part of the book, as well as questions about each section. All sensible and helpful.

  Except that Grace was supposed to go through three boxes of material in twenty-four hours. She sat down slowly and blew out a breath, the letter in her lap.

  “Not good?”

  “Not good. They want me to dig through all of this in twenty-four hours. How can I do that?” She looked at Noah, feeling her joy fade. “I wanted this night to be special.”

  “Hey, you still have to eat. We can do that. Then you can attack these boxes. We’ll see how the rest works out.”

  “I don’t think—”

  The doorbell chimed again. Grace shook her head. “Please not another box,” she muttered.

  But a different man stood outside. Grace recognized the manager of her building.

  “Sorry to bother you, Ms. Lindstrom.” The man looked worried. “I just got a call from someone named Carolina Grayson. She says she’s been trying to reach your cell phone all day.”

  “It’s broken. I have to—” Grace stopped. “What’s wrong? Why did she call? It’s not Gage or my grandfather, is it?”

  He held out a sheet of paper. “She said to give you this number and tell you to call her as soon as possible. That’s all I know.”

  Grace felt Noah behind her, his strong grip on her shoulder. “There’s a calling code for long distance somewhere.” Grace tried to think, her mind racing. “I have to call my friend Caro. I need the calling code. It’s here somewhere.”

  “Use my cell.” Noah pressed his phone into her hand. “Don’t waste time looking.”

  Grace’s hands shook so much she almost dropped the phone. She tried to dial, then felt Noah ease the phone from her fingers. “Give me the number. I’ll do this while you drink some of that champagne and try to relax.”

  Grace took the phone, waiting impatiently, relieved when she heard her friend’s voice. “Caro, it’s Grace. I just got your message. Sorry, but my cell phone is broken. What’s happened?”

  “Thank heaven I found you, Grace. They finally located this number at your grandfather’s office. I didn’t want to bother you, but Gage is with him now.”

  “With my grandfather? I don’t understand.” Grace felt dizzy. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “He’s been hurt, Grace. He and Gage are on the way to the hospital. I’m leaving in a few minutes, but I had to find you first. I—I think you need to come home right away. Your grandfather is—he’s in bad shape.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GRACE’S TRIP TO OREGON was a nightmare, blurred by worry and exhaustion. Because of her last-minute arrangements she had to change planes twice. By the time she reached the Portland airport, she was dead on her feet.

  She had left a message for Noah, then left a message at her new job, explaining that she would be gone for at least five days because of a family emergency. Until she got a new cell, she was forced to use a pay-as-you go phone as her contact number, along with her grandfather’s home number. From what she had learned from her friend Caro, Grace knew she would be spending most of her time at the hospital.

  The medical r
eport had left her chilled. Broken ribs. Possible punctured lung. Lacerations on the left hand and leg and trauma to the head.

  No one knew what had happened. Her grandfather frequently worked late at the animal shelter, doing whatever tasks needed to be tackled. Given their lack of staff, it wasn’t surprising that he had been alone the night before. Caro said it looked as if a heavy supply bookshelf had overturned, knocking him down and pinning him to the floor. When one of his volunteers showed up at ten the next morning, the elderly vet was delirious from cold, trauma and blood loss. At the hospital one resident speculated that he might have had a stroke and knocked the shelf over as he fell.

  They were currently doing a battery of tests, and only the thought that Caro and her husband were at the hospital kept Grace calm during the last leg of her journey. She couldn’t bear to imagine her grandfather waking up alone, in pain and confused.

  As she drove her rental car from the airport though midnight streets, Grace felt guilt wash over her. Staring into the darkness, she prayed for her grandfather. He was all that mattered now.

  GRACE WAS FIGHTING exhaustion when she finally reached the hospital. Stiff and disoriented, she was searching for the intensive care unit when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  Deep mahogany eyes probed her face. “You look like you’re going to crash any second, Grace. Sit down while I get you something to drink.”

  Lt. Gage Grayson was as handsome as ever. Grace had seen him twice since he had married her best friend. He looked thinner since the last time she had visited, and there were deeper lines on his sunburned forehead. Grace felt awful that he had spent his precious leave time here at the hospital instead of at home with Caro.

  “Thank you for being here, Gage. I was so worried. Am so worried,” she finished. She sat down, then stood up almost immediately, pacing the narrow hall. “Where is he?”