“You do realize he can’t see you?” Ayden whispered.
She sent him an annoyed glare before clearing her voice and answering in her best seductive voice. “Hello.”
“Grace, where the hell are you?”
She cringed at Rick’s brusque question, her gaze lifting to Ayden as he shifted closer. “Charming,” he mouthed with a smirk.
She narrowed her gaze before showing him her back.
“Grace, darling. Why don’t you come back to bed? I’m getting cold.” Ayden spoke loud, seductive and clear.
“Who said that?”
Ironic, she thought, the conversation reversed from the last time her and Rick talked. Shaking off the memory of him with Tiffany, or was it Monica, she answered him with the first thing that popped into her brain.
“Uhhh…an actor on Days of Our Lives…I think?” She didn’t know why she lied.
Then she made the mistake of glancing back to Ayden who was now lounged against the headboard, hands behind his head, biceps flexed in a striking, calendar-like pose.
“A soap opera, at seven thirty in the morning?” Rick asked.
Grace closed her eyes, picturing him walking to his job as an information security analyst, impeccably dressed with not one wrinkle on his tailored Armani suit. It was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him. She liked order and neatness, although he caused the exact opposite in her life.
Several long moments passed before she heard him sigh. “It doesn’t matter, that’s not why I called.”
“Why did you call?”
“I just stopped by the bakery where you work and guess what?”
“I…I wasn’t there?
“No, Grace. You weren’t there. Betsy, your weirdo friend, said you took two weeks off to go to some place called Mistletoe, Washington. What the hell’s in Mistletoe, Washington?”
Unprepared for the onslaught of questions, she debated whether to tell him about Danielle or not. She opened her mouth and then closed it. “Rick, this really isn’t a good time, but I think we need to talk. Can I call you back?”
“What?” The shock in his voice threw Grace into a montage of speechless answers, causing her to wonder if she’d, in the three years of knowing him, ever posed the question.
“I’m taking a shower,” Ayden blurted into the discomforted lapse of conversation, the bed groaning and squeaking under his muscular weight and his legs swinging to the cold floor.
“Who’s taking a shower, Grace? That voice isn’t from some damn soap opera. Who are you with?”
Grace let her forehead fall into her hand before withdrawing the phone from her ear and tapping the end call button with a hesitant thumb.
Ayden continued his journey toward the door, she resisting the urge to hurl her iPhone at the back of his head. He’d messed everything up between her and Rick. Of course, she realized, it was easier to blame Ayden for the missed opportunity to tell Rick to go to hell, than herself. Still, she was angry, confused, and disappointed, hopping off the bed and scurrying to block Ayden from exiting the room.
Before his beautiful presence, Grace raised a shaky finger, hoping to scold him with a few choice words. Only those words stuck in her throat as he edged closer, his chest grazing her unbound breasts. The charge at his nearness sent a thousand delicious prickles through her body.
His hands grasped both her shoulders, encapsulating and sturdy. In a mesmerizing voice, he spoke near her right ear. “I’ll bet you Hearth’s Gate, Rick’s packing his bags right now and mapping out directions to get to you as fast as he can.”
Ayden then drew her closer, his warm breath a thrilling tickle against her exposed neck. “If he means that much to you, instead of wanting to throw that phone at my head, in a few days, you might want to thank me.” He paused, his gaze lowering to her lips. She swallowed hard, feeling his warm and delicious exhale. “Of course, I do expect a grateful kiss when he comes to whisk you away.”
Before she could say anything, Ayden let go and sauntered out of the room.
The air from the open window caused goose bumps to erupt all over Grace’s skin. At least, she blamed the frigid air. They could well have been from the wonder of how much she wanted to thank Ayden McCabe right now.
In a state of peculiar bewilderment, Grace floated to her suitcase and rummaged for a few warm clothes. More particular than yesterday, she searched for her brown and tan button-down hooded cardigan knock-off and dark brown pants. She’d finished applying some light makeup when the phone rang again. This time it was Betsy, her friend and confidant since starting their jobs at Neece’s Bakery six years before.
“I thought you’d be up,” she said in a chirpy mood. “So, how’s it going?”
“Well, aside from dodging hurtling rocks through a bedroom window and telling a man I’d play his girlfriend to teach his sister a lesson, just great.”
“Geez, Grace. You should have left San Francisco years ago.”
Grace had to disagree. “It’s not as romantic as it sounds.”
“If you take Rick out of your life’s equation, anything’s romantic. So, what’s this boyfriend’s name?”
Grace shrugged away the wary sensation and sighed. “Not that you’d know him, but his name is Ayden McCabe, and he owns a bed and breakfast here.”
“Is he nice?” Betsy asked, her question said in a whimsical manner.
Grace felt the warmth of a slow blush creep into her face. “He’s nice.”
“Cute?”
“No.”
“You don’t think he’s cute?” Betsy’s voice raised an octave higher before she paused to clear her throat. “I mean…with…a name like Ayden—”
“He’s sexy as hell, Bets,” Grace whispered. “If that’s what you’re getting at with all your questions.”
“I’ll change the subject.”
“Good idea,” Grace said.
“Have you found Danielle, yet?”
Grace moaned. She didn’t like that subject either. “We’re working on it.”
“We? Who, you and…Ayden? I think I smell a good love story. “
Grace leaned over to see if he might be lurking somewhere in the hallway. She hadn’t heard the shower running for one full minute now. “No. It’s strictly a business deal,” she said, leaving out the just physical, no emotion part. “He helps me find Danielle, and I pretend to be in love with him, until he’s ready for me to break his heart.”
There was a long pause before Betsy spoke. “And you think my schemes of getting you to dump that loser, Rick, are insane. Oh, speaking of the loser, he popped by looking for you.”
Grace dropped her head into her hands. “I know. He called.”
A heartbeat later, Grace heard Mr. Neece’s voice yelling for Betsy to get off the phone and get back to work.
“Useless psychology degree,” Betsy mumbled. “I’ll talk to you later, babe. Text me with any news. Love ya. Bye.” Her friend blew a quick kiss through the phone.
Grace hung up and finished getting ready. She’d taken one last look in the antique mirror when she turned to find Ayden in the doorway, tall, imposing and ruggedly handsome. No. Definitely not cute.
“We can grab a cup of coffee and some breakfast at Rosie’s Café on the corner,” he said, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, sporting a denim work shirt, a pair of dark jeans, and an irresistible grin.
She inhaled, his crisp and spicy fragrance infusing the cold air with a haunting scent. She forced herself to look away from him to start putting the pile of items she’d dumped earlier back into her purse.
“And then we’ll find out some information about Danielle?” she asked, checking to make sure her phone was set to its highest volume. One day soon, she needed to change Rick’s ringtone to something less insulting or humiliating.
“There are a couple places we can visit before we show up at Maggie’s dinner.”
Grace stifled a groan, the reality of the promise she’d made with Ayden setting her nerves
on edge. Girlfriend, she sighed to herself. After three long years with Rick, she wasn’t even sure she knew what being someone’s girlfriend involved.
On a whim, she halted halfway between the door and bed. “Are you sure you have the right woman for this? It’s been well established that I’m not your type, and my experience in relationships is somewhat limited.”
She’d blurted out the last part wishing she hadn’t given him the impression that she knew nothing when it came to men. By Ayden’s raised eyebrows and crooked grin, she knew he’d drawn the right conclusion of her dismal, if not nonexistent, personal life.
“Not one word.” She brushed past him toward the stairs. She wasn’t a virgin, but she couldn’t remember the last time she shared a night with a man who didn’t grab his cellphone a few minutes later to check his texts.
Wanting nothing more than to think of something else, she glanced down the other end of the hallway, the corridor dark and a tad eerie, as if shut off from the rest of the house. She believed four more bedrooms lay just beyond the staircase, maybe once with their own romantic theme or cultural motif.
“I closed them up eight years ago,” Ayden offered and nothing else, placing a gentle palm against the middle of her back to urge her toward the stairway.
She respected his privacy enough not to ask any more questions, descending the stairs and reacquainting herself with the beautiful and inspiring first floor. At an antique hall tree he paused to secure their coats, Grace taking a moment to glance into the beveled mirror and its stained glass sides.
“Here, you’re going to need something warmer to wear.”
Behind her, he placed a wool jacket around her shoulders. Before she thought to ask if it belonged to the woman in the kitchen, he bent close to her ear, saying simply, “It’s Maggie’s.”
The sleeves hung longer than her arms, but she was grateful for his attention, and it kept out the draft much better than the jacket she’d brought from California. “Thank you.”
He nodded, his gaze drifting over her face to settle on her lips. She wondered if he thought about kissing her as much as she thought about kissing him. Well, if he did, he let the moment pass without even attempting to lean forward.
Too eager to take her mind off his mouth, Grace swung around toward the door, their fingers clashing as they grabbed for the doorknob at the same time.
“I’ve got this,” he instructed, reaching behind her.
“Are you always this chivalrous?”
“I can be,” he said with a lopsided grin. Outside, the wind whipped at her cheeks. Above, the sky was gray and thick, a teasing of snow beginning to fall onto her nose.
She didn’t realize she was lingering too long until Ayden grasped her hand and pulled her along at an easy gait to his truck. Like the times before, he opened her door, continuing his gentlemanly ways.
Grace liked having her hand in his. In the few times she and Rick had ever held hands, it was so loose she had to make an effort to keep them locked. With Ayden, their palms always touched, the heat from his skin and the sturdiness in his strength awakening a new want inside her. It also gave way to great disappointment whenever he dropped it away.
Inside the truck, she waited for him to join her. Unused to the glacial air, she sat bunched in a ball on the frozen leather seat, longing for the moment when the heater would defrost her nose and toes.
Several icy breaths later, Ayden slid in beside her, the engine roaring awake with the turn of the key. “I should have thought to warm up the truck for you,” he said, his face serious and remorseful. “I’m not used to having company.”
“I’m not that fragile,” she teased, settling back and admiring the snow-capped mountains ahead of her and Ayden steering the wheel with one capable hand. She thought he wanted to say something, several times, but stared straight ahead, instead.
After a few minutes, he maneuvered the front wheels into a square parking lot, half-filled with cars and weatherworn SUVs. He parked the truck but kept it running and the heater blowing toward them. She assumed he’d been trying to figure out what he wanted to say all the way from Hearth’s Gate.
“My sister’s flyer is still out there, and after last night’s events, I don’t know what to expect anymore.”
Reminded of the window, Grace touched his sleeve. “What did happen last night?”
He gazed at her for a few perplexing moments before propping his knee up and rotating around, his long arm coming over to settle behind her. “What you saw”—he paused to shake his head—“was nothing. She came thinking, believing, I wanted to rekindle something that never got started in the first place.”
“But—”
“Look, I’ve had a lot of women in my life, Grace, and I don’t regret any of them. Sometimes it was my fault, sometimes theirs, but once it was over, I didn’t look back and I didn’t think twice about the decision. I move on. It’s my way.”
Grace exhaled, bothered by his bizarre creed and sudden confession. She realized Ayden had more ex-lovers than she had excuses. Though he continued to move on, he remained as alone as she did, a woman who refused to budge even one inch forward when it came to Rick.
“Then I hope to God I don’t fall in love with you,” she laughed, half joking.
Only, a challenge flashed in his dusk blue eyes. For a moment, they didn’t move and they didn’t blink. She realized and accepted she wanted him to kiss her, not a peck, not a tease, but a kiss that would cause a systemic blip on the magnetic grid.
Chapter Seven
Frozen in place, Grace believed this was the moment that would test their physical, not emotional, agreement. Only, a breath later, he lowered his head, switched off the truck and opened his door with a sudden jerk. She sat baffled and confused as he hastened to her side, his strides determined and wide.
An awkwardness passed between them until he bustled her inside the cafe, tipping his head to the old, the young, and the in between while bypassing a sign that read Seat Yourself.
Heads turned and whispers heightened until she and Ayden settled into a secluded booth next to the rear exit door.
Unsure of what to say, she grabbed up a menu and shielded her face from his sight. It stung her pride that he didn’t even attempt to take advantage of the moment between them. Maybe being pretty was not enough to lure Ayden McCabe over to her side of the truck.
Embarrassed that she’d let herself believe there was a mutual attraction, she hid behind the menu, reading the breakfast items for the fourth time. Then his finger appeared between the creased pages and pulled the crayon-marked, coffee-warped, list of options down toward the table.
“You’re angry?” he simply asked.
His recognition of her sulky change in mood humiliated her further. God, if he attempted to apologize for not being attracted to her, she might resort to stabbing him with a fork.
“I’m not angry with you,” she admitted grudgingly. “I…”
“Wanted me to kiss you.”
Grace’s mouth dropped open, stunned by his blatant comment, though true. Still, mortified, she swung her head around to see if anyone could hear them. He, of course, glanced around, as well, mocking her paranoid behavior.
“It’s okay, Grace.” This was all he said, his head dipping to survey the menu, his light brown eyebrows drawing together in perplexed thought.
Left dangling by his comment, she hissed toward him. “What’s okay?”
He didn’t even attempt to gaze up, his long and dark lashes lowered to shade his aqua blue eyes. While skimming the multiple breakfast choices, he answered her, nonchalant. “I wanted to kiss you, too.”
She prepared herself for a response, just not that one. If they both wanted to kiss each other, how in the world didn’t it happen?
At last, she found her voice, though high and embarrassingly squeaky. “Okay…but why…didn’t you?”
He leaned across the table toward her, coming inches from doing the exact thing they were discussing. “Because,
we should keep anything physical between us where there are enough people to talk about it. Gossip spreads fast in Mistletoe, and we need Maggie to believe everything everyone sees. Besides, I’m the one who ends up with a broken heart, not you.”
Now that was very arrogant. Grace drew away from him, believing if they shared a moment, a touch, a kiss, a night, did he conclude he’d step away an unscathed man, incapable of…well, looking back?
She harrumphed aloud, drawing his attention and a narrowing gaze.
“Hey there,” said a bouncy auburn-haired girl with green eyes. She propped a writing tablet onto her rounded belly, her face aglow with the expectancy of motherhood. On the left side of her uniform rested her lopsided nametag, her name imbedded in the black rectangular frame. Sarah.
Grace braced herself for another one of Ayden’s admirers, afraid to wonder if he’d somehow left this woman with more than what both of them expected.
“You must be Grace,” the woman said in a gleeful tone. “Neil told me all about you last night. Said you swept poor Ayden here off his feet, and sure enough you did.”
Left astonished, Grace opened her mouth to dispel the outlandish fabrication when Sarah rotated to Ayden, swinging her pen like a sword in her manicured hands.
“The usual?”
Ayden nodded.
“And how about you? The French toast is fabulous, and Henry back there squeezes the oranges fresh every morning.”
Since Grace was too distracted earlier to pay any attention to the menu, she agreed to the suggestion.
“French toast and the usual, coming right up.”
Sarah stuffed the pad in her apron, thrust the pen into her red ponytail, and waddled away. Unable to resist, Grace followed her form, surprised to see Neil slip into view from the entranceway. Wearing his cowboy hat, he accosted the young pregnant waitress, laying a long and hard kiss upon her ruby lips.
The crowd cheered him with vivacious claps. When the public display of affection ended, Neil tipped his hat and swaggered toward their table.
“Well, good morning. Glad to see you two worked everything out,” he said, making himself comfortable at Grace’s hip. She gawked as he withdrew his hat and, with an intimate stretch, placed it on the other side of her lap.
In Mistletoe Page 6
