by Debbie Mason
Grace would’ve rolled her eyes if she weren’t battling her nerves and temper. How was she supposed to convince Mr. Powell to advance her more funds with Jack looking on? Ask him to leave, she thought. But since, from Mr. Powell’s perspective, Jack had as much right to be there as Grace, that wouldn’t work. Then the answer came to her. She’d channel Madison. Grace stiffened her spine. “I’ll go in now,” she said and walked with fake confidence toward the office, ignoring the way the black high heels pinched her toes.
“Girl, did you hurt yourself in that fire?”
Hand raised to knock on the bank manager’s door, Grace turned. “No, why?”
“Well, honey, you’re walking like you have a poker up your derriere.”
Grace sighed. “Good to know. Thanks.” Forcing herself to relax, she pasted a smile on her face and opened the door. “Mr. Powell, Jack, I hope I’m not interrupting. Wanda said I should come on in.” The sight of the bald and bearded Mr. Powell with what looked to be a balance sheet open on the computer screen threw her for a loop. Or maybe it was the sight of her husband exuding all that testosterone-laden confidence. It was as if his commanding presence ate up all the air in the small space, and the lack of oxygen short-circuited her brain.
“No, of course you’re not. Please.” Mr. Powell waved her into the office.
Jack stood, his intent blue gaze focused on her face. “You okay?” he asked, an edginess in his deep voice. He was probably still ticked at her for making him sleep on the couch last night. Well, too bad. She hadn’t exactly been feeling the warm fuzzies after hearing his comments to Sawyer. And she was afraid this meeting wasn’t going to help matters.
“I’m fine. It’s just my shoes,” she said, sitting in the chair he held out for her.
He rubbed a hand along his stubbled jaw, looking dangerously hot and slightly confused. “Come again?”
“I thought you were talking about the way I was walking. It’s because of… Never mind,” she said in a perturbed tone of voice as his eyes drifted from her feet to the skirt riding up her thighs.
A slow smile curved his lips as he took the seat beside her and leaned in to whisper, “Wasn’t what I meant, but I really like those shoes.”
Mr. Powell cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind that I asked Jack to join us, Grace. I have some papers he needs to sign.”
“No, not at all.” She waved her fingers at the papers and files scattered across his desk. “Go ahead, I can wait. I know Jack has to get to work.” The nervous flutter in her stomach calmed at the thought he’d be leaving before she made her pitch to Mr. Powell.
“I’m good.” Jack folded his tanned arms over his black T-shirt, his long, muscular legs encased in well-worn jeans stretched out before him as he casually crossed his steel-toed boots at the ankles.
“Really, Jack, I can wait.”
The teasing light in his eyes disappeared. “Grace, I’m not leaving.”
“All right, suit yourself, but don’t blame me if you’re bored.”
“I won’t be bored.”
“I have another appointment after yours. So if you don’t mind getting to the point of the meeting…” Mr. Powell said.
At the hint of impatience in the bank manager’s voice and Jack’s hardheaded attitude, Grace’s palms began to sweat. “I need you to extend my line of credit. Thirty thousand dollars should about cover it,” she blurted out.
Mr. Powell’s bushy brows slammed together, while beside her, Jack speared his fingers through his hair. Since indirectly Grace was responsible for the situation she was now in, she’d wanted to be the one who solved the problem. Considering the men’s reactions, she should’ve let Madison handle it. But it was too late for Grace to second-guess her decision, so she forged ahead.
“Think of it as a short-term loan,” she suggested. “I’m sure it won’t take more than a month for the insurance claim to be settled.”
“You’re being overly optimistic, Grace. I’ve seen it take up to a few months. As it is, you’ll have a hard time meeting your existing loan payments. I don’t think—”
“I realize that, but”—she leaned forward in her chair and tapped the papers on his desk—“sales in the last quarter surpassed our forecast. We accelerated the payments on our business improvement loan. Surely that counts for something. And I have business interruption insurance. I can clear off the line of credit as soon as the settlement comes in.” From Mr. Powell’s expression and the frustration emanating from Jack, Grace knew it was time to hit them with some hard facts. By rote, she listed Madison’s talking points. After a somewhat halting start, Grace thought she’d done a pretty good job of it until she saw Mr. Powell staring openmouthed from his desk to Grace’s hand.
She followed the direction of his gaze to the pens she’d unconsciously been organizing according to height and color. She put them back in the holder. It looked like she’d also straightened the papers and folders on his desk. Embarrassed, she sat back in her chair, gripping her purse in her hands. Jack’s cough sounded suspiciously like a laugh. She shot him a glare. “It’s not funny.”
Laugh lines crinkled the corner of his eyes. “I know it’s not,” he said once he got his amusement under control. “Dave, Grace made some good points. You—”
“I did?” she asked, unable to contain her surprise.
“Yeah, you did.” He patted her leg, then returned his attention to the bank manager. “You floated Libby, and her profit margins weren’t anywhere near as good as Grace’s. Besides, there’s no risk here. It’s a bridging loan until the claim is settled. You do them all the time.”
Grace couldn’t believe it. She was in total shock at Jack’s one-eighty. And so happy about it that she wanted to jump in his arms and shower that too-gorgeous face of his with grateful kisses.
Jack must have sensed her surprise because he winked and smiled before saying to Mr. Powell, “And, as I mentioned to you, I’ll be bringing in extra income from consulting on the book. So you—”
Grace’s mouth fell open. “Wait. What do you mean you’re…” Her voice trailed off as she caught the change in Mr. Powell’s expression. Seconds ago, he’d looked like Jack had won him over, and now in the face of Grace’s objection… If she wanted the money, she had no choice but to agree to Jack working with Maria. “Go ahead,” she said, leaving little doubt by her tone of voice that she wasn’t pleased at how Jack had outmaneuvered her.
He cocked his head and gave her a long look.
Mr. Powell clicked away on his keyboard, adjusting numbers on the computer screen. “All right, you’ve convinced me, Jack. I’ll approve the increase on your line of credit. Good luck with the tasting at the Pines, Grace. That contract should keep you afloat until the claim is settled.” Grace was going to use her kitchen, and Patrick’s if need be, to fulfill the Pines’ orders as well as her regular customers’.
If she still had regular customers, she thought, remembering yesterday. After the damage Maria had wrought, the idea of Jack working with the woman rankled. And she couldn’t get past the feeling that Maria had had something to do with the fire. But Grace had accomplished, with Jack’s help, what she’d set out to. And for now, she’d be satisfied with that.
Jack stood and shook Mr. Powell’s hand. “Thanks, Dave.”
“We can discuss that other matter at another time, Jack,” the bank manager said.
Before Grace could ask about “the other matter,” Mr. Powell shook her hand. “Good luck.”
She’d barely gotten out her “Thank you” when Jack ushered her from the office with a firm hand at the small of her back.
Wanda, who had a long line of customers, gave Grace an exaggerated wink and a thumbs-up. “What’s that about?” Jack asked, holding the door open for her.
“Nothing,” she said, stepping into the morning sunlight, “but maybe you’d like to explain to me why I had to hear that you’d accepted Maria’s offer from Mr. Powell. How could you do that to me, Jack?”
; He took her by the hand and drew her to the side of the building. “I’m not going to argue with you about this, Grace. I have my reasons for working on the book. And because I am, you got what you wanted, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Thanks for helping me out in there, Jack,” he said with a flash of strong, white teeth.
She sighed. She wasn’t going to win on this, and she did appreciate what he’d done. Besides that, she was thrilled he’d come around about the bakery. “I do appreciate you going to bat for me. Thank you. Why didn’t you tell me you’d changed your mind about keeping the bakery? It would’ve saved…” The words stalled on her lips when he averted his eyes. “But I thought—”
“Yeah, I know what you thought.” He rubbed his chin. “Whether we sell or keep the bakery, it doesn’t change the fact it needs to be rebuilt. And after last night, you already know which way I’m leaning.”
Grace had a new appreciation for how her son felt when he didn’t get his way. She’d like to throw a temper tantrum, too. Since nothing she’d done or said so far had changed Jack’s mind, she decided to change tactics. Stuffing down her true feelings had worked in the past. Sort of. “Yes, and I understand why.” She did. He’d been worried about them, and he was worried about her. She reached up and brushed her lips over his. “Let’s not talk about the bakery anymore.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” She smiled, looping her arm through his as she walked him to where he’d parked his truck. “Are you coming over after work?”
“Yeah, I planned… You know, princess, you’re making me kind of nervous here,” he said, pressing the button on his keys.
“I’m smiling. How can that make you nervous?”
“It’s just… You’re right. How about I pick up little Jack from the sitter and grab a pizza on the way home?”
“Great. That sounds great. We can celebrate…” Not talking about the bakery was going to be more difficult than she thought.
“Good luck with the Pines. I mean it,” he said at her doubtful look.
“Thanks.” She smiled as he got in the truck.
“If we’re going to be celebrating tonight, make sure you wear that outfit and keep on the shoes.”
* * *
Grace still had on her outfit and shoes, but they wouldn’t be celebrating tonight.
The manager at the Pines had withdrawn their offer before the taste test had even begun. Due to the negative publicity generated from the press conference, they didn’t feel Grace’s sugar plum cakes were a good fit with their clientele.
“Don’t worry about it,” Madison said as they stood by the stove in Grace’s apartment waiting for the water to boil. “We’re going to fix this.”
“Whoa, you two are putting out some wicked negative energy,” Skye said as she joined them in the kitchen. “Do you have any sage, Grace? I can… What’s with the face?”
“Um, well…” Grace trailed off.
“You did your energy-clearing thingy yesterday and look how that turned out. Grace’s bakery went up in flames,” Madison said.
“I didn’t do the kitchen. I did the eating area. And FYI, Miss Doubting Thomas, that escaped unscathed.”
The kettle’s piercing whistle ended further discussion. Grace removed it from the stove and automatically turned off the burner. Madison met her gaze. “I know what you’re going to say. And I spent half the night trying to convince Gage of the same thing. But we just have to wait until the fire inspector renders his decision. Right now, let’s focus on how we’re going to repair your reputation,” Madison said.
“Here, let me.” Skye took the kettle from Grace’s hand. “You go take a load off. Well, Maddie needs to take a load off, anyway.”
“Thanks a lot,” Madison said as she led Grace to the living room.
Grace flopped onto the couch, numb with disappointment. Madison and Skye had accompanied her to Aspen. She didn’t know what she would’ve done without their support. She’d probably still be crying at the side of the road if not for them.
“Grace, where do you keep your herbal tea?” Skye called from the kitchen.
“First shelf in the cupboard to the left of the sink.”
“Got it.”
“Please tell me your tea’s organic and from a fair-trade company. If it isn’t, we’re going to have to endure a twenty-minute lecture from her, and I don’t think I can take another one.”
As someone who’d had to endure Madison’s lectures on finances more often than she cared to think about, Grace had a hard time working up any sympathy for her.
“I can hear you, you know.” Skye popped her head out of the kitchen, waving a bag of jasmine tea. “You see, I’m not the only one. And Grace”—she held up a cupcake—“these are amazing.”
“I don’t know why I’m friends with the two of you,” Madison grumbled. “I’ve got Miss Thing there, who can eat like a horse and never gain an ounce. And then there’s you, Mrs. Perfect, who doesn’t have to scour two counties for organic, fair-trade tea bags. You have them in your frigging cupboard. I’m starting to get a complex. I need some normal friends.”
Grace snorted. “After yesterday, I seriously doubt anyone thinks of me as Mrs. Perfect.”
“You’re right. Thanks. I feel better now.” Madison grinned, then grew serious. “But honestly, with all you’re dealing with, you’re handling it a lot better than I would.”
“That’s true. Our little mama bear has been a tad cranky these days,” Skye said, placing the tray with the Dresden-blue teapot and teacups on the coffee table.
“What are you talking about? I’m not cranky.”
Skye sat cross-legged on the floor and poured the tea. “It’s all right, sweetie. You’re pregnant. It’s all those nasty hormones overloading your body. But if you’d listen to me and get rid of the sugar and dairy products, you’d be back to your old sweet… Well, you’d feel much better.”
“Name one instance where I’ve been cranky.”
Skye named ten, ticking off her fingers as she did.
Grace decided to throw herself under the bus in the name of friendship. “So,” she said as Madison opened her mouth to refute Skye’s list, “how am I going to turn this mess around?”
Skye stared at something above Grace’s head. “Maybe I should’ve made chamomile instead,” she murmured, then said, “Breathe in the jasmine.” Grace lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled the exotic, floral scent. “That’s it, nice deep breaths. All right, now I want you sit back and get comfy.” Skye was beginning to make her nervous, but Grace did as she directed. “See how she listens, Maddie? You could take a lesson from her. Okay, now find your happy place. Got it?”
“Yes.” Grace was making a sugar plum cake in the bakery with her husband and little Jack at her side. Jack loved the bakery, and her son adored his father as much as Grace did. And Maria, well, she was doing time for arson.
“Maybe you should sprinkle some fairy dust on her, too.”
Grace blinked her eyes open. “Madison, that’s it. Skye’s the Sugar Plum Cake Fairy.”
“I’m a what?” Skye asked as Grace got up and went to the bookshelf along the far wall. Withdrawing her sketch pad, she flipped to the page where she’d been doodling ideas and handed it to Madison.
“There is a resemblance with all that curly, long hair, but…” Madison began.
“Hang on.” Grace opened the drawer of the coffee table and took out a pencil. Looking at Skye, she started to sketch. A few minutes later, she showed Madison.
“Okay, that’s incredible and depressing at the same time. Grace, I didn’t know you could draw like this. Is there anything you can’t do?”
Grace gave a self-conscious shrug. “I’m not bad, but it’s not like they’re good enough to sell.”
“Let me see.” Skye reached for the pad. “Wow, that actually looks like me. Stop underselling yourself, Grace. You’re really talented. But what’s wit
h the wand and the skimpy costume I’m wearing? Hey, is that a cake on my head?”
“Thanks. Umm, it’s actually a crown. But we can work on the costume. It’s just what I envisioned a cake fairy would wear. But once Vivi finishes the story, we can play around with it. And Mrs. O’Connor is really good with this sort of thing. I’m sure she—” Grace stopped to frown at Madison, who shook her head, drawing a finger across her lips.
“I really wish you’d stop acting as if I’m not here. I can see you. And Grace, Mrs. O’Connor is more likely to design a body bag for me than a fairy costume. Honestly, talk about an overprotective mama bear. The woman got bent out of shape because I had a difference of opinion with he who will not be named.”
Madison sighed. “You dumped the bowl of champagne punch on his head.”
“How would you feel if he said Fred and Ted shouldn’t marry? Love is love, that’s what I say, and gay couples have as much right to marry as you and me.”
“I didn’t know Fred and Ted were gay. When did that happen?” Grace asked, wondering how come she was the last to know.
“They’re not. I’ve explained this to you before, Skye. They were both married. They live together to share expenses.”
“Just because they were married doesn’t mean they’re not gay. As a society, we certainly don’t make it easy for them to come out.” Skye wound a long, spiral curl around her finger. “I think I’ll offer them my services. I can marry them, you know. I’m a licensed minister.”
“No, I, ah, didn’t know that,” Grace said.
“You got your license off the computer.”
Skye waved Madison off and started flipping through the pages of the sketchbook before Grace thought to stop her. “Oh my, if your husband looks like this naked, I don’t know why you kicked him out.” Skye grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. His hotness fried my brain for a minute.”
“Let me see,” Madison gestured for the sketch pad.
“No. Those are not for public viewing,” Grace protested.
