by Olivia Miles
“It’s not me and Luke,” Grace said haughtily. She straightened a stack of holiday cookbooks. She couldn’t keep it up any longer. “Oh, God, Jane, I don’t know what it is.”
“Do you still have feelings for him?”
Grace didn’t need to consider the question. “I don’t think I ever stopped having feelings for him,” she said, and Jane lifted an eyebrow.
“What about this fiancé you had? Derek?”
Grace plunked herself into the closest armchair and hugged a red throw pillow to her chest. “Oh, Derek. We never should have gotten engaged to begin with, honestly. We never wanted the same things.”
Jane gently encouraged Sophie to amuse herself with a book about one of Santa’s reindeer and turned her attention back to Grace. “And you and Luke did?”
“I didn’t know then what I wanted, Jane,” Grace groaned. “And now I do.”
“And what do you want?” Jane asked, unwrapping a candy cane for herself.
“What you have.”
Jane released a bitter laugh. “What I have?”
Grace nodded. “Yes.”
Jane lowered her voice, “Grace, you were over my house yesterday. I thought you understood—”
“I want a child, Jane. I want a family. I want it all.”
Jane stared at her, her expression dark. Finally, she set the candy cane down on the counter with a small sigh. “Don’t we all?”
Grace thought of Rosemary Hastings then, of the comment she had made about Jane. If Jane wanted more than she had, why was she turning away an opportunity to do something she loved? It didn’t make sense, none of it did, but she decided not to ask. It was clear from Jane’s mood that things with Adam hadn’t gone well. What wasn’t clear was how serious this was. Jane was sensitive, she always had been, and it was hard for Grace to determine if this was a bump in an otherwise seamless relationship or something a little more permanent.
“So you didn’t tell me how last night went,” she said as Jane’s face paled.
“What do you plan to do about the shop?” her sister asked hurriedly. “I mean, you have it all decorated and cleaned up. Are you really planning on reopening it?”
“That’s the plan. Then I’ll see what our options are on the space next door.”
“Mom has no idea, I was pleased to see that,” Jane said. “She thought you were visiting Luke again.”
Wouldn’t that be nice, Grace thought. She stood and adjusted an ornament on the small tree. Just because she and Luke had kissed didn’t mean it would happen again. Much as she wished it would. “I’m going to open it through the end of the year, see if I can raise a little money, rejuvenate the place. It would help with our plans for the expansion.” It might lift her spirits, too.
Jane glanced around the room. “And if it all goes according to plan, you’re really going to stay in Briar Creek and run the shop? Anna would help with the café?”
Grace felt her pulse quicken. She didn’t want to give such a concrete answer, even though deep down she knew what she wanted. If things didn’t go according to plan, did that mean she would go back to New York? Back to that empty life of meaningless relationships, fancy dinners with people who knew her only skin-deep, and maddening efforts to jumpstart a dying career?
“Yes,” she declared firmly, surprising herself with the conviction of her tone. She had never sounded more sure of anything. “If I can save this shop, I’m going to run it. I’m going to move back to Briar Creek.”
Jane tipped her head. “This is really what you want?” she asked, her tone questioning, wary.
Grace’s cell phone on the counter vibrated and she reached for it, her pulse kicking when she saw the number she’d programmed into her phone before driving home last night. Luke.
She met Jane’s gaze briefly, more certain than ever in her feelings. “This is exactly what I want.”
Grace looked at her sister, at the smaller version sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her, happily munching on a candy cane as she flipped pages in a picture book, at the perfect simplicity of their lives, the fulfillment, and felt her heart wrench. At the end of the day, what did she have? Herself. Derek, she supposed, at some point in time, but that was just as lonely. Luke and she didn’t have many shared experiences these days, but they had history, and they knew each other. Inside and out. He got her. She didn’t have to explain a thing.
God, listen to myself! This was exactly what she had hoped to avoid—her entire reason for staying away.
Four and a half years ago she’d come back, hoping Luke would give her a reason to return. And so help her, this time she wasn’t going to leave town with a broken heart. This time, she hoped she could stay where she was meant to be all along.
CHAPTER
23
Luke set the phone down and closed his eyes. Grace was coming over tonight. She’d agreed to it. He glanced around the expansive living room, from the walls of windows looking over the mountains to the stone on the fireplace that soared to the vaulted ceilings.
Mark was right: he really hadn’t changed anything in the past two years, and considering that Grace had been to this house dozens of times before, she would be sure to notice Helen’s influence.
With a heavy heart, he grabbed a box out of the basement and did a round of the main rooms of the house, removing anything that was an obvious memento of his former life. There were no pictures from their marriage—he had taken those down right away, within days of Helen’s passing.
He couldn’t stand the sickening feeling every time he looked at them.
Instead, his house was filled with… well, girly things, as Mark would say. Frilly things. Things he saw in his sister’s apartments, not Mark’s. There were still throw pillows in a paisley print on the sofa and armchairs and throughout the master bedroom. Mark had called them floral, but whatever they were, they were not his style, and he set them into the box, along with bouquets of fake flowers, sweet-smelling candles, and hand soaps in various shades of purple. Lavender, Helen would have said.
When he had loaded two large boxes and sealed them shut, putting them away in a corner of the garage, he stood back and took a long look at his home. He had feared that taking away these items Helen had collected over their years together would make him feel like he had lost her all over again, make him feel empty and remind him that she was never coming back, but instead he felt a lightness in his chest that had been missing for so long, he barely recognized it.
Still, the rooms did look a little sparse, especially given their scale. Hands on hips, he surveyed the room. Cold, blank, and chilly. This wasn’t a home he would want to visit, much less live in. Grimly, he considered his options. He hated Christmas. He really, really did. It was no longer a season of merriment and celebration—instead it was a painful reminder of what he no longer had.
Why, then, did he suddenly feel like that far corner of the living room could use a tree? A big, towering tree that skimmed the beams of the ceiling and glittered against the reflection of the arched window that encompassed the far wall.
He inhaled sharply as he glanced down at his watch. Grace would be here in a matter of hours. That gave him enough time if he hurried…
Without stopping to think about it further he grabbed his jacket and keys and darted out to the car.
The doorbell chimed at seven on the dot. Luke grinned to himself. When was Grace ever late? The answer to that was, of course, never. She didn’t play games, and she lived her life with a focused intensity. He supposed that was one thing he could count on about her. She was a woman of integrity. He should have remembered that a long time ago, rather than letting his own self-preservation stand in the way.
“Hi there,” she said, curving her lips into a shy smile.
He held the door open wide enough to let her pass. “Come on in,” he said, even though he could have stared at her all night, just as she was, lit by the porch light, snow dusting her rich, chestnut locks, her cheeks rosy, her lips perfe
ctly ripe.
“I hope you still like lasagna,” he said, closing the door behind her and helping her out of her coat.
She threw him a glance. “You cooked? I figured we’d order a pizza or something.”
“Believe it or not, I do cook. Though, admittedly, not often.” He grinned. He knew how to cook all right, and he enjoyed it. But the truth was that it was depressing cooking for one, and whatever meals weren’t consumed at Hastings or at his mother’s or sisters’ homes usually constituted something frozen and microwaveable.
“I’m impressed,” she murmured.
“I was hoping you would be,” he said, feeling more pleased than he wished to be. What was going on with him? He had known this girl since they were children, had dated her for a decade, had planned to marry her, have children with her! And now he was flirting with her as if this were their very first date.
Maybe it was, in a way. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. He wasn’t used to feeling nervous around Grace. It made him feel vulnerable, and he didn’t like feeling that way. Especially when he knew the pain she alone was capable of causing him.
“Wine?” he asked, as they entered the kitchen.
Grace nodded. “Thanks.” She accepted a glass of Cabernet and took a small sip, glancing around the room.
Luke wondered what she thought of it all, if she noticed things that had changed since she’d last been here, if she was looking for signs of Helen, evidence of the life he had with another woman. He became aware of how strange it was to have her here, but so natural all at once.
Standing there in tight-fitting jeans that hugged her slim curves in all the right places and a black sweater so soft he had to fight the urge to reach out and graze her waist with his fingertips, she looked perfectly at home, at place. His stomach rolled when he thought of how right it felt to be with her here.
“The house looks nice,” she said, pushing her hair back behind her shoulders.
“Thanks.” He gestured to the living room. “Dinner won’t be ready for a while. Want to have our wine in the living room?”
Grace nodded, following him through the kitchen and then halting as they rounded the hall. “I’m sorry. Is that—a Christmas tree?”
Was it ever. The Douglas fir stood next to the fireplace, a good twelve feet high, wrapped with twinkling white lights.
He turned to look at her, throwing her a grin. “I don’t know how it got there.”
Grace pursed her lips but he could see the glimmer in her bright green eyes. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with Christmas.”
“I didn’t bother with the ornaments,” he pointed out, and then tossed up his hands. “What can I say? I had a change of heart.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, her lips twisting. “Well, I have to admit that I, too, have lost the fight. Christmas has officially claimed me. I spent all morning decorating the store.”
The store. His stomach knotted, and he could feel the smile fading from his face. He took a seat next to Grace on the soft leather couch and drank the smooth wine, letting it warm his throat. He had made great strides in the past day, and he felt like a new man for it. A better man, a free man. He was able to look back on his marriage to Helen with a smile, remember her laughter, and not be filled with shame and regret every time her face came to mind. He could live his life honoring her the right way, not holding on to some crippling need to live his life for her.
That’s what he told himself, at least. And he believed it. But when it came to that store—Helen’s dream—he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away. Or give it away. Not yet.
“I ran into your mother today,” Grace said, and Luke’s pulse steadied with relief that they were off the subject of Main Street Books. She had hinted enough at her plans for him to be worried about her intentions for Helen’s storefront next door.
“Was she nice to you?” he teased.
Grace slid him a rueful smile. “Of course. Though I admit I was a bit anxious about seeing her again.”
“Why?”
Grace brushed at a nonexistent piece of lint on her pants. “Oh, you know… with everything.”
Luke nodded and took a sip of his wine. It was still there, their past, like a cold, wet blanket. It would take some time before it thawed and warmed, but he wanted to see it through. He hoped she did, too.
“We have a lot of time to make up for,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed with a sad chuckle.
When he glanced over at her, she was staring into the fireplace, the dancing flames painting a warm glow on her porcelain complexion. Her eyes looked flat and far away.
“Everything okay?” Doubt ate at him, leaving him with the twisting feeling of dread. Had she changed her mind about staying in town?
“I was just thinking of how things played out between us, the effects they had on everything else. I—I wish I had handled it differently. I wish that I had been able to come back here.”
He swallowed the knot in his throat, refusing to feel any more guilt. She was a big girl, she had made her choice. Besides, she had been the one to leave him first. She had set all this in motion.
“If there is one thing I’ve learned in the past few days, it’s that regret is the worst type of emotion.” He met her eyes. “You can’t change the past, Grace, and you have to tell yourself that everything that happened led us to this moment.”
“This moment?” she repeated.
He held her gaze, managing a nod.
“You’re right, I know.” She gave a sad smile. “I miss my father sometimes. I wish I could have seen him more often than his visits to New York. I wish… I’d never left.”
Luke leaned over and tucked a strand of her hair back from her face, his fingertips tracing the smooth silk of her neck. Arousal burned deep inside him, and his pulse quickened. He reached over and took her wineglass from her hands, setting it on the coffee table. She stared into his eyes, expectation parting her mouth. He met her lips with his, their contact so light it was almost imperceptible, save the shiver that zipped down his spine at the sensation.
He grazed her mouth, slowly bringing her full lips to his. His hand came around her slim waist, his fingers warming at the softness of her sweater, itching to slide the material away and experience the even softer skin beneath.
She sighed into him and he parted her lips with his tongue, slowly lacing his tongue with hers and then pulling away to gaze into her eyes. The green of her irises shone in the firelight, the flames reflecting in the flecks of gold around her pupils. She lowered her eyes, smiling shyly, and her long, black lashes fluttered. He leaned in again as arousal burned deep and pressed her into his chest. He could feel every curve of her body as her ripe, firm breasts rose and fell with heavy breaths. He lowered his hand, caressing her waist, her hips, and then higher, to trace the contours of her breast and the swanlike arch of her neck. He kissed her lips, her neck, her ear, breathing deep into her skin, memorizing every taste of her skin, every touch.
The buzzing from the timer on the oven stirred his attention from her, and he groaned. He pulled away, throwing her a bashful grin. “We’re being chaperoned.”
Her lips were full and pink, and he brushed them with the back of his thumb, desperate to claim them with his mouth once more. Instead, he stood and crossed to the kitchen, his heart rate still elevated as she followed him into the room.
While the lasagna was cooling, he refilled their wineglasses and lifted his in a toast. Something he should have thought to do earlier, but desire had apparently gotten the better of him.
“To… moving forward,” he said, clinking her glass with his.
She lowered her eyes, a smile playing at her lips before she brought the rim to her mouth. He watched as she tipped her head back, her glossy tendrils cascading over her shoulders, just like they had a hundred times before, so often he once took it for granted.
“I’m going to go freshen up before dinner,” she said, taking a step backward. Her tone
was laced with suggestion that knotted his groin. “Maybe you could find a little background music while I’m away.”
He grinned and turned on the small radio he kept on the baker’s rack near the table. He’d set two candles down in the center of the rustic pine plank, and he now drew a breath as he studied them.
Somehow it felt strange to light them, create an ambience for her, make this all… official. This was Grace after all, the girl he had seen without makeup countless times, the girl who wore sweatpants around him and with whom he had spent endless Friday nights on that very couch where he had just kissed her, sharing a pizza and watching a stupid movie. Now things felt formal. Although not in a bad way, he had to admit.
Five years had passed. He’d had a lot of experiences in that time, and he knew she had, too. In many ways, they were getting to know each other all over again.
He picked up the pack of matches sitting beside the candles and ran one over the rough black strip. By the time Grace reappeared in the alcove, the candles were lit and the bottle of wine was sitting in the middle of the table.
“I could get used to this,” Grace murmured, coming around to pull out a chair.
“Then my plan’s working,” he said with a grin.
Grace tipped back another sip of her wine as he plated her a slice of steaming lasagna. Her expression had turned thoughtful, pensive—he knew that look.
“What is it?” he asked, his pulse skipping a beat.
“It’s funny. That’s all. I was so upset about the thought of having to see you when I came back to town—”
“Gee, thanks.” But he knew what she meant. After all, he had felt the same way. “And now?”
“Now you’ve given me an extra reason to stay.” A pink flush crept up her neck and landed on her cheeks. She took another sip of wine, and he bit back a smile.
“So you’re really staying then?” he asked.
“I’ve got to do something with my life,” she sighed, lifting her fork. “With my writing career going nowhere, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than run my dad’s bookstore.”
