Welcome Back to Apple Grove

by C. H. Admirand

  When she didn’t respond right away, he rubbed her back and said, “Let me give you a hand with that and we can figure out what to do with our time until then.”

  Working together, they finished emptying the PVC pipe and copper tubing that Meg had ordered for an upcoming plumbing job. “I’m working tomorrow,” she reminded him.

  “I guess you can’t take the day off.”

  The tone of his voice had her fighting not to laugh as she answered, “No. I promised my dad I’d be here.”

  “What would you do if we were working in the same city?”

  His question was a valid one, but she couldn’t believe he didn’t realize her answer would be the same. “I’d still have to go to work tomorrow.”

  He sighed. “That’s the biggest challenge with my job,” he said. “The hours.”

  She brushed her hands on her jeans. “And here I thought it was walking toward the fire instead of the other direction.”

  He laughed as she’d meant him to.

  “Give me a sec to lock up out back.”

  Patrick was right behind her. “What have you been up to?”

  While she filled him in on nosy neighbors dropping by Mulcahys, they locked up and walked back into the office. Powering down her computer, she let her gaze sweep the room one last time. She sighed when she saw the last stack of boxes. “I guess that’s all for tonight.”

  “It looks amazing in here. You’ve done so much in just a few days. No wonder your father was glad to have you back for a little while.”

  “You already know I’m addicted to color-coded spreadsheets.” She locked the front door to the shop.

  “It’s a good thing you told me.” He put his arm around her neck. “I’d hate to have found that out a month from now.”

  She laughed and he told her he was hungry.

  “You’re always hungry.”

  “Ma says it’s my two hollow legs.”

  Grace giggled.

  “All Garahan men have them. Ma’s been telling us that since we were kids. We have the Garahan metabolism like our dad did—as soon as we eat, we’re burning it up.”

  “I wish I had that problem,” she murmured.

  Patrick heard her and was shaking his head at her as he opened the passenger door. “You are perfect.” He brushed his lips on the top of her head and helped her inside.

  Grace’s heart acknowledged what her head was slow to recognize: he was the first man—aside from her father—to accept her for who and what she was—and she was head over heels in love with him. He didn’t seem to want to change anything about her.

  How refreshing! But for how long? And what about New York? When would he trust her with whatever was haunting him?

  Trying to keep things light, she asked if he wanted to go to her house.

  “Only long enough for you to grab a few things so you can spend the next two nights with me. We can grab something to eat on the road.”

  “But I have to be at work tomorrow.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. OK, how about this? You spend tonight at my place and I drive you to work and pick you up tomorrow so you can spend the night with me.”

  “I can’t imagine what we’ll do with our time,” she teased as visions of a very naked Patrick flitted through her brain.

  “We never did get to take a shower together,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about getting you naked—and keeping you that way until I have to drive you back home.”

  Her tongue got stuck to the roof of her mouth as every ounce of spit dried up.

  His chuckle told her that he knew exactly the effect his words would have on her. Finally, she was able to work up enough moisture in her mouth to loosen her tongue and speak. “I’ve never spent more time naked than how long it takes to shower and dry off.”

  The way he clenched his jaw had her staring at his profile. His looks would stop traffic, he was that good-looking. When he didn’t speak, she prodded him. “You’ve seriously spent more time than that without your clothes on?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “And when would you have had the time?”

  “My last real vacation.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, she realized he probably hadn’t spent that time alone. Opting out of that particular discussion, she asked, “How long ago was that?”

  “A couple of years ago.”

  “Sounds serious.” Wishing she hadn’t started the conversation in that particular direction, she felt her insecurities building back up again. Inching away from him to stare out her window, she watched as they passed Bob’s Gas and Gears. They were near the turnoff for Cherry Valley Road. When he put on his signal, she said, “There’s a shortcut if you drive just a little further and turn onto Goose Pond Road.”

  “Weren’t we there the other night?”

  “Yes, when we interrupted my dad and Mary.”

  “I like her,” Patrick said.

  “I do too, but I think both of them might be happier if they got married and stopped going back and forth between their houses. I’m getting tired just watching them.”

  There was a long pause, leaving her to wonder what he was thinking.

  “You don’t have to come back with me to Newark.”

  She scooted back close to his side. “Of course I do. What makes you think I don’t want to?”

  “Well, you just said you were tired of the back and forth.”

  “I distinctly remember mentioning my dad and Mary when I said that.”

  “But maybe you meant us as well,” he added.

  Fighting to control her temper, and nearly failing, she snipped, “Don’t put words in my mouth, Patrick.”

  He slanted a look in her direction before saying, “Yes, ma’am.” Waiting a beat he asked, “I guess I’ll have to be careful.”

  “About what?”

  “Trying to figure out what you mean when you’re saying something.”

  “I thought what I said was pretty straightforward.”

  “You didn’t grow up in our house.” He chuckled. “My ma would say one thing when she really meant something entirely different.”

  Grace forgot all about being annoyed and sympathized. “That must have been rough.”

  Patrick shrugged. “You get used to it.” They pulled in the driveway and he put it in park. “I don’t get home often enough to suit my mother and sisters.”

  “What about your brothers?” she asked, getting out.

  “We’re usually arguing or pushing each other around whenever we get together.”

  “Sounds lovely.” Not.

  “Now you sound like my mother.”

  They were laughing when they walked into the kitchen.

  Joe and Mary looked up from where they sat at the table. “We were just talking about you,” Mary told them.

  Joe got up and brushed a kiss on the top of Mary’s head. “You weren’t supposed to tell them that.”

  Grace laughed. “I already figured you two would talk about us, but that’s OK, because we were just talking about the two of you.”

  That had her father freezing in his tracks and turning around to face his daughter. “Really? What were you saying?”

  She was smiling when she countered with, “What were you?”

  They stared at one another for long minutes before her father shrugged and Mary changed the subject. “We’re going to have another Bake-Off for the Fourth of July celebration.”

  Grace was definitely interested since she’d missed it last year. Hell or high water, she would be here this year. “What’s the main ingredient?”

  “You’ll be home for the Fourth?” Her father seemed surprised.

  Grace nodded. She’d have to tell him soon that she was thinking of leaving her job in Columbus.

  Mary looked from father to daughter before answering, “Triple berry. Local and fresh!”

  “What the heck is a triple berry?” Patrick wanted to know.

  “Whatever be
rry is in season,” Grace said.

  “Only you need to use three of them,” Mary added.

  Patrick shook his head. “How do you know what will be in season? And won’t everyone just make pie?”

  Grace took pity on him and explained, “Depending on how wet or dry it has been, there could be a bumper crop of strawberries—they really like it wet and warm. If it’s been warmer than normal, the wild raspberries might be ready in time. It is a bit early for currant berries, but then there are blueberries.”

  “So basically, since it’s been warm and we’ve had rain, it could be any of the above?”

  Grace and Mary were smiling at him as if he’d just solved a difficult puzzle.

  “Exactly,” Mary said. “The true test is to see how creative our bakers will be with what is native around Apple Grove,” she told him. “Coming up with new or recycling family recipes, adding a new twist to them is just part of the fun.”

  “I don’t remember having berries in anything but pie,” he said.

  Joe smiled as he told Patrick, “The Fourth is serious business around here. We have a parade and then the judging for the Bake-Off, and we end the evening with fireworks over behind the football field at the high school.” He waited a moment before asking Patrick, “Think you can make it?”

  Patrick looked at Grace first. “I’m not sure. That’s three weeks away and as of right now, I’m off-shift that day, but things could change if someone gets hurt on the job or an emergency happens.”

  “You’ll definitely be back for the celebration?” Grace’s father asked her. “You won’t change your mind?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “And I’m going to be baking something to enter in the Bake-Off.”

  “Against Peggy?” Mary wanted to know.

  Grace frowned. “Why not?”

  “Aside from the fact that she’s won for the last three years in a row?” her father asked.

  “Yes,” Grace hissed. “Just because she’s been winning, doesn’t mean she will continue to do so.”

  When she looked at Patrick, he spoke up. “True. You could come up with something truly amazing—and to prove that I have faith in you, I’ll volunteer to be your official taste tester.”

  They were laughing as Grace swept past them. “I need to get a few things together,” she said. “Why don’t you and Pop write down a few ideas for me, and I’ll see if I can whip up a recipe for the contest?”

  ***

  “Is she serious?” Patrick asked, watching her leave.

  “As a heart attack,” her father said. “I’m a big fan of blueberry pandowdy, how about you?”

  Patrick was watching him as if he expected Joe to laugh. When he didn’t, he said, “I don’t even know what that is.”

  “It’s got blueberries on the bottom and cake on top. My mom used to bake it when blueberries were in season.”

  “Hey how about cobbler?” Patrick suggested. “My sister’s got a great recipe.”

  Mary smiled. “Wait, we need to start writing these suggestions down.”

  By the time Grace returned, the men—with Mary’s help—had a list of ten ideas for her. “Not bad,” she said, going over their list. “But do you really want me to come up with a relish recipe? That’s technically not baking; it’s cooking.”

  “I ran out of ideas,” her father grumbled. “So sue me.”

  “The rest look interesting enough to give them a try.” She hugged Mary first and then her father, promising, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the shop.”

  “Drive safely,” they both reminded the couple as they left.

  “I think it’s working,” Mary said, leaning against Joe as they waved good-bye.

  “Honey B. and Meg were right about those two—and the sparks.”

  “Why don’t we give them a call now and tell them their plan is working splendidly?”

  Joe had his arms around Mary’s waist and was pulling her close when their eyes met. As his lips lowered toward hers, he rasped, “Later.”

  ***

  Patrick felt a bone-deep satisfaction having the woman he loved riding beside him, knowing that they’d be together for the next two days—well, except for when Grace would be at work tomorrow during the day. Maybe after he dropped Grace off for work, he’d stop by and see what Dan was up to; there was always something going on at their house, especially with his three kids. That way, he and Grace could have lunch together tomorrow.

  “You’re awfully quiet.”

  “Hmmm?” His thoughts changed direction as they drove closer to Newark. He’d straightened his apartment, done the laundry, changed his sheets—everything was ready for alone time with his curvaceous cutie.

  “Are you having second thoughts about me staying over again?”

  He snickered. “Just wishing there was a way to keep you here—naked—for forty-eight hours straight.”

  She turned toward him but didn’t say anything.

  “What?”

  “You sound like you really mean that.”

  He shrugged. “I usually say what I mean.”

  “Unlike your mom?”

  She hit that one on the nose. “Yeah. I’m more like my dad was—well, at least that’s what my uncles tell me.”

  “On your mother’s side?”

  “Both sides. Two and two.”

  “Do they live close by?”

  He was pulling into the Bob Evans in Newark when he told her, “Brooklyn.”

  “You must miss seeing everyone if they all live so close to one another.”

  “It could get a little dicey at times, since all of our uncles decided to keep an extra set of eyes on us after our dad died.”

  “So it wasn’t as easy to get away with stuff,” she said with a soft smile. “Meg was always getting into trouble until our mom died—then everything changed.”

  Sensing she was about to sink into the past, he parked and held out his hand to her. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

  When she smiled, he couldn’t help but smile back. Being with Grace was so easy; talking to her wasn’t a chore like it had been with previous girlfriends. He didn’t have to worry about what to talk about—and she’d agreed for the moment not to ask him about New York. They just talked like friends. Being friends was important if their relationship was going to last. His mother and father had been childhood friends.

  They sat down at an open booth and ordered. He was a fan of their chicken-fried steak and would be ordering that. Grace was trying to decide between one diet plate and another. Finally, he grumbled, “The sausage gravy and biscuits here are amazing.”

  Her head shot up and her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “What makes you think I want that?”

  He swallowed the laughter, knowing that she might misunderstand and think he was laughing at her. He had his work cut out for him if he was going to convince the lovely Grace that he would never do that. He meant it when he complimented her. She was his ideal woman.

  Searching for just the right thing to say, he blurted out, “You’ve been staring down at that side of the menu for a while now and it’s got a picture of it right there.” He tapped the photo and sat back. “So?”

  She sighed. “I did have yogurt and fruit for lunch.”

  “Which is why you’re hungry.”

  The waitress walked over with the water pitcher and, while she filled their glasses, told them about the specials.

  Once they’d ordered, they started talking about his last trip home to Brooklyn.

  “Was it really a whole year ago?”

  He was holding her hand, rubbing the back of it, wondering how she kept them so silky soft. “Yeah, for our mother’s birthday.”

  “What about the holidays?”

  “I had to work.”

  Wanting to change the subject, he asked, “It sounds like it’s been a while since you spent time at home too.”

  She sighed. “I’d been working longer hours up until I got the promotion—and when I did, there was so much work to d
o, I’ve kept to my longer hours.”

  “So you spent more time working and less time recharging your batteries in Apple Grove.”

  “What makes you think they needed recharging?”

  He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her middle knuckle. “If you had a mirror, you wouldn’t be asking me that.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  The waitress delivered their orders and left with the promise of checking on them soon. When she’d gone, he leaned close and told her, “You looked exhausted when I first saw you. There were dark circles beneath your eyes and your shoulders were slumping.”

  She was picking at her food with her fork when he added, “By Sunday, your eyes were brighter, the dark circles were gone, and you seemed relaxed…happy.”

  She was still playing with her food when he ground out, “Eat it and forget about the calories. I plan to work them off you.”

  Her mouth went slack. He reached over and tapped beneath her chin until she realized what she was doing and closed her mouth. Eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, Grace picked up her fork and dug in.

  Patrick pushed her spoon toward her. “I’ve learned not to miss a drop of their gravy—I always use a spoon.”

  Her green eyes distracted him and for a moment he was deaf and dumb to everything around him, save the look in her eyes. When she continued to stare at him, his brain kicked in. “Sorry. What did you just ask me?”

  She laughed. “I said, Isn’t that what the biscuits are for?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. That’s for sopping up what you didn’t get with the spoon. Trust me on this one. I’ve got cousins down South and out West—they’ve educated their poor Yankee cousins in the ways of biscuits and gravy.”

  When she sat back, declaring herself to be full, he sighed. “I was going to order pie.”

  Grace held up one hand. “None for me, thanks. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I plan to eat mine later,” he told her. “After.”

  The way her eyes showed whatever she was thinking was a plus in his mind. He wouldn’t ever have to wonder what was going on. One look at Grace and he’d know whether he was about to catch hell—or head straight to paradise.

  They ended up ordering pie to go and picked it up when they paid the cashier. “Thank you, Patrick,” Grace said. “I didn’t realize I was that hungry.”