Besides, even wishing for another outcome left him conflicted. If Eliza had a shot of making it work with Ben’s father, shouldn’t he be rooting for them?
The garden gate creaked, startling Grant from his thoughts.
Stan rested his fishing rod against the white picket fence before carrying the Coleman ice chest toward the back porch.
“Is that dinner?” Grant nodded to the cooler, and Stan flashed a wry grin.
“Are you kidding?” he chuckled, the corners of his eyes revealing laugh lines Grant hadn’t noticed before. “Your mom won’t cook anything that doesn’t come prepackaged from Mac’s Mercantile. I use the cooler to keep my sarsaparilla chilled. I’m strictly a catch and release fisherman these days.”
Grant watched his father stop and set the cooler on the lawn, baffled by his cheery demeanor.
After peeking into his office earlier that morning, Grant noticed Stan had moved a chess piece, leaving behind the same note. Did his father’s chipper mood have anything to do with their unconventional chess game? And Grant’s even more unconventional apology?
“What are you working on?” Stan leaned over Grant’s shoulder to get a closer look at his laptop. “Morris Bio Tech, huh? That’s quite an account.”
Grant sat a smidge straighter at the twinge of pride in his father’s tone. “It’s my biggest one to date.”
“They’re a manufacturing company, right?”
“Yes. Their focus is on sustainable packaging materials.”
“So, how does the cupcake with a coffee bean on top tie in?”
Grant followed his father’s gaze to a drawing he’d done for Eliza’s website. He quickly covered it with loose papers. “Oh, that’s nothing.”
A small knowing smile tugged at the corner of Stan’s mouth. “I’m sure it is.”
Stan hovered over Grant’s shoulder a few more minutes, the air between them thick with awkward tension despite the cool breeze rustling through the dogwood trees.
Grant waited for Stan to retreat inside, only to balk when he pulled out a chair and sat down. His mouth hanging open, Grant stared, dumbfounded, as Stan shuffled through the papers, unearthing a few of his other sketches.
“These are quite good.”
Grant suppressed a sarcastic retort, making some progress on his vow to think before he spoke. But his father had never cared about his artistic talent before. And Grant had often wondered what direction his life would have taken if his dad hadn’t wrenched them from New York. His mom had him on track to attend the Pratt Institute, claiming that one of the most prestigious art colleges in the world could land him any job he wanted. When she’d lost most of her social connections after their cross-country move, they’d switched their focus to a more attainable goal, as she’d put it.
“Thanks. It’s a small side project. I’m helping Eliza and Cassie with a website for The Calendar Café.” Grant hesitated before adding, “But maybe don’t mention that to Mom.”
Stan nodded with a look that said, Say no more. “I’m partial to this one.” He selected a watercolor showcasing an old-fashioned coffeepot filled with cheerful daisies.
“Oh, yeah?” Grant tilted his head, studying it from the sideways angle. He’d liked that design, but not as much as the others.
“Daisies always seem so… optimistic.”
Grant chuckled. “Dad, they’re a flower.”
“Make fun all you want, but it’s true. Plus, they remind me of something….”
Not Mom… Grant almost mumbled. She was the furthest thing from a daisy. Maybe a bird-of-paradise or lobster claw, both sharp and angular but regal in their own unique way.
“That’s it!” Stan slapped his palm against the table. “The Daisy Hop is coming up soon, isn’t it?”
“I guess so. I’d forgotten all about it.”
Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. The Daisy Hop had always been one of his and Eliza’s favorite traditions. Millie Rogers, an eccentric salon owner and musical theater enthusiast, founded Poppy Creek’s first dance studio specializing in both ballroom and swing. Each year, the Dancing Daisies hosted an elaborate shindig and invited the entire town to join in the waltz and jitterbug. The Daisy Hop was the last time he and Eliza had danced together, save for the night in the bakery. And most notably, it was the one and only time they’d successfully executed the Charleston Flip.
“Are you and Mom going?”
“I doubt it. Your mother finds the dances in this town depressing. She says they can’t compare to the events she used to attend in New York.” Stan lifted his shoulders in a small resigned shrug before adding, “But you should go.”
“I might….” Grant trailed off, although he already knew he wouldn’t. Not without Eliza. And getting her to agree to a date with him seemed about as likely as getting his mother to attend.
Stan studied the painting again, his eyebrows pinched in thought. “How does the tradition go? When you want to ask a girl to the dance.”
Grant smiled, recalling the first time he’d invited Eliza their freshman year of high school. “You give her a daisy chain.”
“That’s right. I seem to remember you making a necklace for Eliza. I wonder if people still do that?” Stan rose from the wrought iron chair, set the painting on Grant’s keyboard, and strode to a nearby planter box.
“Probably. Traditions in Poppy Creek rarely die out. If anything, they get more extreme.”
“True.” Stan dipped his head in agreement, plucking a single white daisy from among its sage and lavender companions. “And you know what? Maybe I will ask your mother if she’d like to go. After all, stranger things have happened.”
“Maybe. But I think the daisy’s optimism might be rubbing off on you.”
Stan chuckled. “Well, I won’t know if I don’t ask, right?”
On that note, Stan tossed the daisy onto the table before grabbing his cooler and heading toward the house.
Grazing the soft petals with his fingertip, Grant stared at his father’s retreating back, watching him disappear through the screen door.
Had his dad just encouraged him to ask out Eliza?
The moment Cassie descended the sweeping staircase and stepped into the cottage’s cozy living room, Eliza forgot all about her disastrous evening with Grant. Her friend looked breathtaking in ivory lace that melded to her curves as effortlessly as buttercream frosting on a white chiffon cake. And the sight of five women who loved and adored her, all standing in her new home, seemed to leave Cassie speechless.
Eliza stole a glance at Maggie, who fought back tears at the resplendent vision of Cassie clothed in her hand-me-down gown.
“You look stunning,” Maggie murmured, dabbing her eyes with a leftover swatch of cappuccino-colored charmeuse.
“It’s the dress.” A modest blush dusted Cassie’s cheeks as she ran her palm along the delicate fabric.
“Luke doesn’t stand a chance,” Penny grinned. “He’s going to fall apart the second you walk down the aisle.”
“He’s just like his father,” Maggie mused with a soft, dreamy smile. “Leonard cried the first time he saw me in that dress. Then several more times throughout the ceremony.”
Eliza nearly cried herself as Maggie and Cassie embraced, knowing with complete certainty that her friend couldn’t have hoped for a more loving, accepting mother-in-law.
“The style has held up well,” Dolores pointed out, admiring the high lace collar and tight-fitting bodice.
“Vintage is the way to go,” Penny agreed. “Except when you need matching dresses. Then you can’t beat handmade.” She stretched her arms out to the side while Beverly measured her waist.
“And I couldn’t be blessed with a better team of seamstresses.” Cassie gazed at the group of women, her green eyes shimmering with gratitude as they resumed the alterations.
While Dolores fussed with the hem of her gown, and the chatter turned to other wedding preparations, Eliza’s thoughts wandered once again to her evening with Grant.
The night had never quite recovered after he’d asked her about Ben’s father. And they’d packed up a few minutes later, riding most of the way home without uttering a word. But the drive wasn’t anything like the comfortable silence they’d shared on the way to the lake. Instead, the air felt heavy, clouded with secrets and regret.
Tiptoeing into Ben’s room, she’d kissed her sleeping son good night, a ritual she’d never missed in all of his seven years. Retiring to her own room down the hall, Eliza had drifted in and out of sleep, fragments of her recurring dream scattered throughout her mind like disjointed puzzle pieces. The teetering tree swing. Ben’s laughter echoing through the branches. The soft, shaggy fur of the family dog. And Grant’s smile… an image much hazier than the rest.
An abrupt rap on the cottage’s front door startled Eliza from her reverie.
The women tittered and squealed, hiding Cassie in case the visitor happened to be Luke.
As they created a human barricade, Penny waved at Eliza to answer the door. “Tell him he can’t come in.”
Shaking her head, Eliza laughed. “We don’t even know it’s Luke.”
Gripping the doorknob, she turned it with a slow, deliberate twist of her wrist, prolonging the suspense with dramatic flair.
“Just open it,” Penny hissed, while the other women giggled, reveling in the excitement.
Flinging open the door, Eliza blinked in surprise.
There wasn’t a single soul in sight.
Poking her head outside, she peered around.
“Well, who is it, dear?” Maggie asked.
“No one.” Baffled, Eliza stepped onto the porch, pausing when her bare foot rested on something cold.
Glancing down, she saw a daisy chain necklace and a plain white envelope resting on the welcome mat. Her brow scrunched in confusion, she brought both of them inside.
“Ooh, what is it?” Penny’s eyes widened when they landed on the unexpected items.
“I’m not sure.” Eliza shrugged, handing them to Cassie.
Maggie smiled. “I think Luke’s inviting you to the Daisy Hop.”
“That’s odd. He invited me yesterday. He made me a crown of daisies and everything. It was quite sweet, actually.” Cassie slid the note from the envelope, her lips curling as she unfolded the crisp white paper.
“What does it say?” Dolores and Beverly asked in unison, peering over Cassie’s shoulder.
Grinning broadly, Cassie handed the note to Eliza. “It’s for you.”
“What do you mean it’s for me?”
“It’s addressed to you.”
“But who knew I’d be here?”
“As I quickly learned, people have a way of finding things out in Poppy Creek.” Cassie chuckled.
Her pulse fluttering, Eliza scanned the familiar penmanship.
Then, unable to believe it, she read it again.
“We’re dying, Liza. Who invited you to the dance?” Penny pressed both hands over her heart as though it might burst with curiosity any second.
Eliza turned her bewildered gaze toward her friend. “Grant.”
“Are you going to say yes?”
“I’m… not sure.”
Smiling, Cassie slipped the daisy chain around Eliza’s neck. “What do you have to lose?”
Eliza buried her face in the sweet-smelling blooms, unable to meet Cassie’s eye.
What did she have to lose?
Only everything.
Chapter 18
Climbing out of Grant’s car, Eliza smoothed down the full skirt of her pink polka dot ensemble. She’d wondered if the retro-inspired dress was excessive, but the enamored look on Grant’s face when he’d picked her up told her she’d made the right decision.
Now, if she could only be certain she’d made the right decision agreeing to come tonight.
The click-clack of her heels matched the rhythm of her heartbeat as Eliza ambled beside Grant up the stone pathway toward the picturesque setting at the top of the hill. Mitch Sanders had the classic red barn renovated several years ago, along with extensive landscaping, and ever since then, Poppy Creek held most of the town events at his idyllic farm.
With rows of evergreen trees on one side and a sprawling apple orchard on the other, there couldn’t be a prettier backdrop for the Daisy Hop. And the cool evening breeze carried a bouquet of sweet floral notes from Reed’s nursery next door, lending the atmosphere an added dose of charm.
As soon as they stepped foot in the barn, friends swarmed around them, pulling them into the flurry and bustle of the dance, already in full swing. While the men instantly wandered to the dessert bar, filling their plates with daisy-shaped sugar cookies and chocolate-dipped flower petals, Cassie and Penny gushed over Eliza’s outfit.
“You look stunning.” Penny dazzled in her own vintage gown, though more roaring twenties than sock hop, with its elaborately beaded bodice and silvery fringe.
“And I’m so glad you came with Grant.” Cassie looped her arm through Eliza’s, gazing fondly at the men as they wolfed down more than their fair share of desserts.
“It seems like Colt survived your rejection pretty well.” Penny crossed her arms, frowning as Colt chatted up two women at once.
Eliza followed her gaze, her lips twitching as she hid a smile. “You know, Pen… you give Colt a lot of grief. Are you sure you don’t have a crush on him?”
Penny gasped, her dewy complexion mimicking the rouge tint of her lipstick. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
Cassie giggled. “She has a point….”
“Because I love you both, I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened.”
“Is he a tad arrogant? Sure. A little irresponsible? Definitely. But he’s not so bad.” Eliza muffled a laugh as Penny’s nose twitched.
“Actually, I think he’s incredibly sweet,” Cassie added earnestly. “He dotes on Maggie. She practically can’t lift a finger when he’s around. And he’s been a big help with the wedding preparations. He spent two hours with Luke and me last night gluing coffee beans to the place cards.”
“Colt? Doing a craft project?” This time, Eliza couldn’t contain her laughter. Her eyes danced as she stole another glance, surprised to find him conversing with Grant.
Both men were animated, Colt gripping Grant’s shoulder as he grinned, making sweeping gestures with his free hand.
Grant caught Eliza’s eye and winked, sending a warm flush up her neck and across her cheeks.
Throughout the evening, she found her gaze continually drifted in Grant’s direction, her pulse skittering at every stolen glance and secret smile.
If Eliza didn’t know any better, she’d assume there was something between them. But despite the plethora of signs, it seemed foolish to hope.
When Dean Martin’s playful rendition of “Mambo Italiano” reverberated around the room, Grant plucked a daisy from the floral arrangement on the refreshment table and strode to her side. Placing it between his teeth, he offered her his hand as he waggled his eyebrows.
“Isn’t that supposed to be a rose?” she teased.
“Fewer thorns,” he mumbled before spitting it out in his hand. “Bleh! But roses might taste better.”
Laughing, Eliza snatched the daisy and snapped off the stem, tucking the bloom behind her ear.
“Much better.” Grant flashed her an approving smile.
A harrumph drew their attention to the table behind them.
Frank rose and held out his hand to Beverly. “While you two are playing with flowers, we’ll show you how to mambo.”
Frank led Beverly onto the dance floor and twirled her in his arms, executing each step with a surprising amount of hip action for someone close to needing a hip replacement.
Eliza’s mouth dropped open, a giggle escaping. “Why, Frank! I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“See if you two can keep up.” His gray eyes glinted with humor as he spun Beverly around the room.
“I think they might steal our
title of Daisy Hop king and queen.” Grant sounded both incredulous and impressed.
“They will if you just stand there.” Eliza gave his shoulder a good-natured jab.
“You’re right.” Grant reached for her hand, drawing her into his arms.
For the duration of the song, they followed Frank and Beverly around the dance floor, barely able to keep up. At the conclusion, breathless from dancing and laughing so hard, Grant and Eliza bowed humbly to their rivals, acknowledging defeat.
“You win, good sir.” Grant shook Frank’s hand, tipping an imaginary hat in respect. “I concede the crown.”
“I had no idea you two could dance like that.” Eliza swept flyaway tendrils from her glistening forehead, glancing from Frank to Beverly with admiration.
“Never underestimate a navy man,” Frank told her with a gratified grin.
When the lively trumpet notes of Frank Sinatra’s “Come Fly with Me” piped through the speakers, Grant asked, “Rematch?”
Frank snorted. “Kids these days. And their tomfoolery…” He shook his head for Beverly’s benefit.
Chuckling softly, she tucked her arm through his, patting the back of his hand. “Let’s get you some punch.” She turned to Grant and Eliza, her eyes shimmering with a knowing smile. “You two have fun.”
Eliza suppressed another giggle as Frank hobbled off the dance floor. While he might not be a spring chicken, the man had moves and moxie. She’d give him that.
“What do you say?” Grant stretched out his hand. “One more dance?”
“Or as long as it takes….” Eliza trailed off with a mischievous smirk.
“For what?”
“The Charleston Flip.”
“We did it! I can’t believe it! ” Eliza threw her arms around Grant’s neck, planting a kiss on his cheek in her excitement. “The flip was perfect!”
When she pulled back, her hands lingered around his neck, her dark eyes glittering as they gazed into his.
Grant took in her flushed cheeks and her full, rosy lips stretched into an inviting smile. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, either from the exertion of dancing or because he desperately wanted to kiss her.
The Truth in Tiramisu (A Poppy Creek Novel Book 2) Page 11
