by Jerry Cole
Robert turned an amused smile on Grant, who shrugged. “What can I say? Gary can fly, but he’s not great at evasion – getting out of the way,” he explained at Morgan’s questioning look.
“That Gary,” Morgan said, shaking her head, causing both Grant and Robert to laugh.
“All right, Morgan,” Grant said, when a comfortable silence fell. “How about I let Daddy and you play for a while?”
Morgan looked torn, staring down at Penny and then her father.
Robert smiled, and ran a hand through her hair. “Sweetheart, Grant’s got other things to do, all right?”
“I don’t,” Grant said abruptly, and then realized that it could have been Robert’s diplomatic way of easing Morgan into letting Grant go. He quickly said, “But if Daddy wants time with you, you should definitely let him save Gary.”
Thinking about it, Morgan made a decision. “All right, Grant, but you have to promise to eat dinner with us, okay?”
Grant looked at Robert for confirmation, who shrugged with a wry smile. Grant was beginning to realize who was in control at the B&B and nodded decisively, tossing Gary to Robert, who caught him easily.
“He can fly!” Morgan said, awed, and Grant ruffled her hair as he passed.
“I’ll see you guys at dinner.”
“Yay,” Morgan said, and then tugged Robert closer.
Grant paused in the doorway for a moment, struck by the sight that Robert and Morgan made together and forcing himself to move away. God, he was falling hard and he and Robert still had so much to learn about each other.
Chapter Six
There was a cafe at the end of the street where Grant decided to set up with his notepad for a while and people watch. It would help him find the best locations for various things and introduce him to people who might go on to show him things that only locals know about a place. It was important to figure out the locals before he figured out anything else.
He took a seat near the window, ordering a coffee and a piece of what looked like cherry pie. The server was a blonde woman with a sharp smile, and she slipped the plate across the counter. Her name badge said Natasha. “You have a sweet tooth?”
“I do,” Grant admitted, taking the pie. “It looks and smells good, so I’m excited to try it.”
“It’s just pie,” Natasha said with a wry smile.
“That remains to be seen.”
Taking his place at the table, Grant tugged his notebook closer and tucked into his pie – which was delicious, and he made sure to raise his eyebrows appreciatively at Natasha, who just grinned at him.
A couple was seated over by the window, middle-aged and romantic, and Grant found himself trying to watch them surreptitiously. It was easy enough; they were preoccupied with their food and conversation. The woman was married, the ring glinting in the low light, and the man had no ring. Obviously, friends. They were wearing boots and had fishing gear against the wall, so he figured perhaps they were fishing buddies. The woman was laughing, and there was affection between them which Grant put down to friendship. He found himself making up a backstory for them, wondering who was waiting at home for the woman and if they appreciated her friendship. He hoped so. It was hard to find a partner who appreciated strong friendships.
“What has you so engrossed in our regulars?”
Grant didn’t jump—whatever Natasha might say, he didn’t—and looked up. “What?”
Natasha slipped into the seat opposite. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Obviously not,” Grant said dryly.
“Well,” Natasha said, throwing a nod at the couple Grant was staring at. “What’s so interesting?”
Grant explained his job and why he was in Maine in the first place. Somehow, he also got on to explaining about his train of thought about making up their history and then broke off abruptly, embarrassed.
“No,” Natasha said, laughing, “I think that’s a great story. Much better than their real lives, I’m sure.”
“Shut up,” Grant said.
“Sorry.” She didn’t look sorry, but Natasha softened it by nudging him under the table with her shoe. “You should have been a novel writer. Much better than this travel business.”
Grant conceded her point but shrugged, sitting back in his seat. “I guess I wanted an excuse to travel. And I can’t deny the scenery and people here have been nice so far.”
Natasha snorted. “How many people have you met so far?”
“Five?” Grant said. He amended it as he looked back at her. “Well, six now you’re here.”
“Are you staying in town?”
“At Robert’s B&B,” Grant said easily, smiling to himself.
Natasha raises her eyebrows. “He actually has guests?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Grant said with a frown.
Holding up her hands, Natasha’s expression was kind. “Nothing, honestly. It’s just… I can’t remember the last time Robert’s B&B actually made money instead of sinking it.”
Grant was startled to hear it. He had assumed most of the comments had been hyperbole, that Robert did have guests, they just didn’t have many. Now it sounded as if Robert hadn’t had guests in a long time. “How does he stay afloat?”
For the first time Natasha looked uncomfortable, peering over her shoulder at the counter. There was nobody there, so Grant leaned across the table, wanting to touch her but not wanting to startle her or creep her out. “I just want to help if I can. I thought he was exaggerating when he said he didn’t have guests.”
“Not really,” Natasha said. She sighed. “It hasn’t been smooth sailing for him. He decided to open a B&B and definitely didn’t have any experience with it. He didn’t even serve food when he first opened.” That made sense to Grant. Robert still acted as if food was an afterthought. “What tourists we do get prefer to stay up by the forest. It doesn’t help that he can’t afford other staff, so when it is busy, he has to turn them away because the rooms are clean, but there aren’t enough, or he doesn’t have the money to cater to them all.”
Grant winced. “I didn’t realize it was so bad.”
“Robert doesn’t share,” Natasha pointed out. “I only know because I watch. And Darcy has a big mouth,” she added with a snort.
Grant smiled in return, but it wasn’t mirthful. His heart was heavy, and he wondered if there was anything that he could do to help Robert. His efforts thus far hadn’t been received well, but that was before Grant knew. He couldn’t stand by and do nothing now that he knew Robert was suffering.
“I can see you have a lot to think about,” Natasha said. “I’ll see you around–?”
“Grant,” Grant said, giving her a brighter grin. “Thanks for your help, Natasha.”
“Don’t mention it.” Natasha stood, shoving the chair back under the table. “Really, don’t. I don’t need people thinking I’m nice or anything.”
Grant watched her walk back to the counter, smiling at the couple across from him as he caught their eye and they smiled back.
Double-checking his watch, he packed up his notebook and pen, and carried the empty plate and fork back over to Natasha.
“I get paid for that,” she said.
“Sure,” Grant said with a grin, and waved a hand as he left. He hadn’t left himself much time to make dinner, but still had a few dishes in mind by the time he pushed through the door of the B&B. There was giggling coming from the kitchen, and Grant didn’t bother going upstairs first, instead just went straight through the dining room.
Morgan caught sight of him as soon as he poked his head around the door. “Grant!”
“Hi,” Grant said, and though his heart lurched at the sight of Robert cooking dinner, he covered it up quickly with a smile. “Something smells good.”
“Not as good as yours,” Robert points out, “but food nonetheless.”
“Food is good,” Grant said, feeling like an idiot, but apparently Robert was feeling just as awkward because he laughed. “What are
we having?”
“Chicken,” Morgan said. She waved Grant over. “Do you like chicken?”
“Not sure,” Grant said, pretending to think about it. “I’m not sure if it’s good for me.”
Morgan narrowed her eyes at him. “Grant.”
“What?” Grant said innocently, smiling.
Robert shook his head. “Stop fighting.”
“Sorry Daddy,” Morgan said, contrite.
Grant looked just as apologetic and leaned against the counter where Morgan was sitting. She leaned against him and Grant tried not to read anything into it. God, he had to stop feeling like this. Shaking his head, he turned. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You could set the table. And don’t forget,” he added, when Grant turned to the cupboards. “Morgan has to help otherwise she’ll have to do other chores.”
“No, Daddy,” Morgan said. “I want to help with the table.”
Grant watched Morgan jump down from the counter and moved out of the way of the cupboard so that she could grab the plates. He pulled out the right silverware and then followed Morgan out to the dining room, watching in case she dropped any of the plates. “Did you have a good day?”
“Yes,” Morgan said, strained as she pushed the plates onto the table, taking each one and putting it in the right place.
Grant laid out the silverware. “I hope Daddy was good with the dolls.”
“He was okay,” Morgan said, dragging out the last word. “He doesn’t do the voices like you, though, but he’s really good at listening.”
The last was said with a pointed look at Grant. He resisted the urge to laugh, nodding respectfully at Morgan. “I apologize I am not.”
Morgan patted him on the arm. “It’s okay, Grant. I know you try hard.”
Grant did laugh that time, grabbing hold of Morgan and lifting her into the air. She shrieked, giggling, and batted ineffectually at Grant’s arms.
“Put me down, Grant!”
“I don’t know,” Grant said, throwing her over his shoulder. “I’m not sure you’re allowed to be let down.”
Morgan squealed. “Grant!”
“Honestly, I turn my back for five seconds,” Robert said, poking his head around the door. “Morgan! What have you done now?”
“Nothing, Daddy!” Morgan said, laughing as Grant swung her back around, so that she could stare at Robert upside down. “Grant won’t let me go!”
“The horror,” Robert said impassively, then broke into a smile. “Right, put her down, Grant, we have food!”
“Fine,” Grant said, pretending to be put out. He let Morgan slide to the floor, her face flushed. She batted at his legs and then darted away from him before he could try and tickle her again. “Come on then, let’s eat your dad’s wonderful food.”
Robert shook his head, but he was grinning as he went back into the kitchen to grab the food. Grant pulled out Morgan’s chair for her and gave an exaggerated bow. She giggled and slipped into her seat.
“Here it is,” Robert said, bringing out two dishes, one with chicken and one with potatoes. He rolled his eyes at Grant. “Maybe I should have asked Grant. He can, after all, bring out three plates.”
“Maybe you should have,” Grant said, moving toward the kitchen. He grabbed the last two dishes of vegetables and sauce. Back out in the dining room, he placed the dishes on the table. “Your vegetables and sauce, my lady.”
Morgan laughed. “You forgot the drinks, Grant!”
Grant raised his eyebrows. “Did I forget the drinks? Or did Daddy?”
Gasping, Morgan looked at Robert. “Daddy!”
Robert shot Grant a mock-glare, and then gave Morgan an exaggerated bow, much like Grant’s earlier. “My apologies. Let me grab those. Grant?”
“Please,” Grant said with a huge grin. He sat in his seat and gestured at the food. “What can I interest you in?”
“All of it, duh,” Morgan said, picking up her silverware. “It looks as tasty as your spaghetti.”
“Well your dad made it,” Grant said, deliberately looking at Robert as he came back into the room. “I’m sure he threw extra love into it just for you.”
“That I did,” Robert said, leaning down to kiss Morgan’s head.
The meal itself was great, and Grant made sure to tell Robert so. Robert waved him off, but he was blushing as he tucked back into his chicken. Morgan was enthusiastically eating her dinner, and though she wasn’t getting as messy as she had with the spaghetti, she was still managing to get it around her face, though thankfully not on her clothes.
“Enjoying it?”
“Yes,” Morgan said, scooping some vegetables onto her fork. “It’s very yummy. But then Daddy always makes yummy food.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “Not true, sweetheart, don’t lie.”
Morgan’s eyes were big and round, and she looked incredulous. “I’m not lying, Daddy!”
“I know, sweetheart,” Robert said. “I was just joking.”
There was a long, drawn silence where Morgan kept staring at him, as if trying to gauge whether Robert was serious and then she huffed. “Well you shouldn’t joke about lying, Daddy. And you shouldn’t put down your food because I think it is tasty.”
“Well thank you,” Robert said. He shared a look with Grant and then ruffled the top of Morgan’s hair again. Grant thought it was a nervous gesture, or something he had always done as affection, but wondered whether he realized Morgan’s hair was going to be constantly mussed up from the contact.
After dinner, Morgan raced off upstairs to get ready for bed, and Grant helped Robert carry the plates and dishes into the kitchen to help him wash up. He didn’t like washing up as a rule, but he was trying to prolong the time he was spending with Robert.
“How was the meeting?” Grant asked, wrist deep in dish water.
Robert shrugged, looking unimpressed. “Not as great as it could have been, but I’ll manage.”
Shaking off one of the plates and placing it on the drainer, Grant gave Robert a sympathetic look. “There are easy fixes for that. You don’t have to share the problem with me,” he said quickly, in case Robert thought he was deliberately trying to pry. “I’m just saying. I’m sure whatever the problem is, it’s easily fixed.”
Looking as if he doubted that, Robert stared at Grant anyway, grabbing one of the dishes off the rack and shaking off excess water. “Sure.”
They finished the dishes in silence and Grant opened his mouth twice to make the offer, but both times he considered the fact that he shouldn’t know what he did about the money problems Robert had – it wasn’t something Robert would want to advertise. By the time they were done, Grant couldn’t think of anything to say, so he nodded when Robert said goodnight and disappeared through the door.
Leaning against the counter, Grant ran his hands over his face, letting out a low curse. Perhaps he could do with some outside perspective. It was obvious he wasn’t getting anywhere on his own.
Chapter Seven
Grant waited until the next morning, aware that the B&B was eerily quiet in the evenings and overnight and he didn’t want to risk waking up Robert and Morgan with what he was talking about.
He woke early but didn’t grab his phone until he heard both Robert and Morgan go downstairs, the latter giggling something about breakfast. Grant was a little put out that he couldn’t join them, but he needed Seb or Matt to talk him off the ledge first—before he did something he would regret.
Seb picked up on the first ring. Grant was surprised. He would usually still be asleep when he was back in Chicago. “Ah, so you remember we exist.”
“It’s only been a couple of days,” Grant protested, feeling a little guilty about not contacting them sooner. “I’m calling now, aren’t I?”
Seb made an assenting noise. “How’s Maine?”
His tone left a lot to be desired, but Grant ignored it and leaned back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s great, actually. That’s what I wanted t
o talk to you about.”
“Oh?” There was the sound of a door closing then Seb grunted as he dropped onto his bed. Grant had seen him perform the action enough times to know it by heart.
“There’s a guy,” Grant started, and heard Seb’s snort on the other end of the phone. “Shut up, you haven’t heard anything else.”
“I don’t need to.” Seb let out a sigh that was more laugh. “Grant, I’ve known you a long time.”
Grant had to give him that one. “He’s a great guy, Seb.”
“You’ve known him a couple of days. If you haven’t been there long enough that you didn’t have to call me, then you can’t have known him long enough to know what you want from him.”
It was a fair point, one that Grant had considered more than once. “But sometimes you meet that person and you just know.”
“Sure,” Seb said easily. “What do you know about him?”
Grant opened his mouth, closed it. Eventually he said, “He’s got a daughter. And a B&B. And he’s struggling.”
“Ah,” Seb said. Grant narrowed his eyes but before he could ask what Seb meant by that, he was already talking. “Setting aside the daughter,” and Grant knew they would be talking about it anyway, “you want to help him.”
“Of course I do,” Grant snapped. “When I have the means, what else am I supposed to do?”
Seb sighed. “You’re supposed to stay out of it, Grant, until he asks – or until you tell him what’s really up with you and he decides he doesn’t care and wants your help. You can’t just go offering your help to people and expecting them to be happy about it.”
“I know,” Grant said, even though that was exactly what he wanted to do.
“Believe me, Grant, I know you feel for this guy and wanna help him, but you have to think about what he’d want and not what you want.”
Grant was trying. He had stopped when it looked like Robert couldn’t handle it or didn’t want it, but then he’d get signals and it was so complicated. He hadn’t done this in a while and trying to figure it out again was taking some navigating. He said as much to Seb.
“Of course.” Finally, a sympathetic note in Seb’s voice. Not that Grant was surprised; Matt was the most empathetic of the three of them. Seb was usually the one who told you exactly how he saw it – whether you wanted him to or not. “But Grant, you always go too fast. You’re full on so quickly that you don’t give anyone time to get used to you before you’re proposing marriage.”
