by Ines Saint
Chapter 13
“Oh. Hey.” Josh’s eyes cleared and he smiled, a boyishly pleased smile that had the butterflies in her stomach swirling up and stealing her breath. It made her happy. “I was just wondering how long I should wait. Your car was outside, but I wasn’t sure you were home.” He gestured to the door. “I, uh, stopped by to see if you wanted to take a look at the house now, while it’s still light out.”
Gracie had plans to sketch a few outfits her sisters and grandmother wanted her to sew for them and they were waiting for her across the hall, but Gracie knew they’d rather have her continue her plan to get over her fears and leave the sketching for another day. She’d text them on the way next door. And she wouldn’t allow herself to think about how far the plan had gotten last night. Already she’d been up half the night reliving his kiss. If she thought of what was to come, she’d end up getting in her own way. The way she’d almost done last night. “I’d like that. Let me just pull on my boots.”
“It’s chilly. You’ll need this, too.” He stepped in, grabbed a heavy, fleece-lined jacket from the coatrack just inside the door, and helped her with it. When she turned, he pulled the zipper up to her neck and said, “There.” She looked up and noticed, for the first time, the gold flecks in his eyes. “Do you need your glasses?” he asked.
“No. Eyewear is mostly a fashion statement.” She didn’t add that they were also something to hide behind because, lately, she hadn’t been thinking of them that way.
He smiled a little and reached for her hand to steer her toward the front door. “Let’s go so we have enough time before it gets dark.” Gracie followed him, reveling in the feel of her small hand in his much warmer, much larger one. A loud thump made them both look back. It was coming from Hope’s front door, and Gracie just knew her sisters were fighting over the peephole. She shot a death stare their way. A muffled giggle was her answer.
“What was that?” Josh dropped her hand.
Gracie shot a scathing glance at the peephole before turning to Josh and answering, loud enough so her sisters could here, “That was probably Paige. She may look perfect, but she’s actually superclumsy. And the giggle was probably Hope. She has a perverse sense of humor and laughs at other people’s pain.” And Grandma Sherry was probably scolding them both over how childish they could still be.
Josh shot her a disbelieving look. “Did you have plans with them?”
“Uh, no. I spent the afternoon with Hope. It’s Paige’s turn with her.”
Josh raised his eyebrows but dropped the subject. They left, and he didn’t reach for her hand again. Gracie tossed a few accusing looks at Hope’s window on the way next door, knowing her sisters and grandmother were watching.
But the moment they got to the front door, her excitement over touring the judge’s manor for the first time took over. As soon as she stepped in, she circled the entry hall in silence. An atmosphere of old romance and loneliness permeated the place and left her in awe. Her original impression, that it felt cavernous, was even more notable in the daylight, as were the beautiful floors. The marble tiles weren’t just black and white—the black tiles had light gray veins and the white marble had gray swirls. They were subtle enough not to overwhelm the eye but evident enough to make them more beautiful and interesting.
“The Amadors think I can go a lot of different ways in here. They feel the house is weighed down by too many details and its historic value would be better preserved by focusing on a few period-correct elements and repurposing others,” Josh explained. She turned to him as he spoke and saw he had followed her line of vison and was studying the floors, too. “I really like your idea about honoring the passage of time by showing off their hard-earned scars. What else would you do here?”
“Um.” She looked around once more. “I know a lot of people with big homes have sets of chairs and tables against walls, and then round tables in the middle where they showcase decorative pieces, and you can do that if your goal is to impress. But if want to make it a comfortable home, like you said the other day, you have room for a sitting area over here to the left.” She moved to the area she was talking about. “It would be perfect for receiving people who drop by for a quick visit. And you can fit a hall table over here against the right wall and you can fill it with picture frames and favorite decorative pieces, and then you can put up a gallery of wall art on top of it that shows off your personal taste. Something you’d enjoy if you were sitting over there and looking over here.”
He smiled. “I like that.” But then he frowned. “What do I do about all this mahogany, though? It feels like too much, but I know it’s valuable. Sam Amador was kind of reverent about it.”
Gracie laughed, picturing Sam. “Yes, but he also said the room feels weighed down and he’s right. I’d personally remove over half the mahogany paneling in here and repurpose it. And I’d polish the remaining pieces to a high gleam to contrast with the scarred floors.” Her heart lifted, imaging it. “I think their differences would draw the eye, but then their similarities—the fact that they’re both original to the house and they belong to the same time period—would soothe the senses.”
“Soothe the senses,” Josh repeated with a grin.
“Are you making fun of me?” Gracie pretended to glower.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he assured her, grin firmly in place. “I’m just not used to thinking of things in those terms, that’s all.”
“Well, you should. I won’t bore you by citing studies and statistics, but soothing environments increase productivity, enhance satisfaction, and reduce stress. Oh, look, parquet floors,” she said, looking down as Josh led her through a short hallway. “They’re beautiful! Anyway, whether you live in a hut or a trailer or an apartment or a house or an estate, you should surround yourself with things that make you happy—” They had just entered the kitchen and Gracie stopped. “Oh, this makes me happy!” she exclaimed without thinking.
Josh laughed and Gracie felt her cheeks grow hot. She was being a dork. But she couldn’t care, not when there was so much to be excited about. She stepped in and knelt down. “Mint-green and white basket weave tile; I haven’t seen this in ages. And it’s in great shape. The grout just needs a good cleaning.
“You’d keep it?”
“I would. But it’s going to be your home. I just think the floors make such a statement about the time period. Everything else can be simple.”
Josh scuffed the floor with the toe of his boot. “My grandmother had this exact same tile in her kitchen. It reminds me of her. I’d like to keep it and Sam encourages it, but he also warned me that women prefer to have neutral colors on permanent fixtures because they’re easier to decorate around.”
Gracie pretended to study the tile. In truth, her stomach was rolling and she couldn’t look up. Josh was thinking about the woman who’d one day live there with him, filling the house with their kids and memories. She liked Josh, yes, and she was madly attracted to him, but the thought of him with a wife shouldn’t make her physically sick. She forced herself to look up and meet his eyes. “You should keep it if you like it. It’s more cost-effective, and you can always replace it with something else later on, if something or someone changes your mind.”
“True.” He shrugged.
Gracie got up and looked around. He had asked for her ideas and it made no sense to feel shy about offering them. He didn’t have to know she was picturing herself there. Clearing her throat, she began to point. “Personally, I see white enameled appliances, soapstone countertops, white cabinets, and a mint-green island with a butcher-block countertop.” The feeling she’d had the very first day—that she never wanted to leave—filled her again, but she knew better than to explore it.
Josh studied Gracie as her gaze darted around the kitchen. With her hair pulled back and no makeup on, and wearing old jeans and a faded sweater, she awoke different feelings in him than she had the night before. Last night he’d been knocked out. Today he was caught. It was the diffe
rence between wanting to devour something and wanting to savor it. That the same person could inspire both made him uneasy. For the first time ever he badly wanted something he really didn’t want.
He liked her ideas for the kitchen; they were exactly what he’d wanted: lots of light, a splash of color, different, and pretty because of how interesting it was rather than because of how perfect it looked. He pictured Gracie in such a kitchen and his heart thumped. Apprehension clenched his gut and he quickly led the way out of the kitchen and across the hall to the dining room.
Not much was said as they went from there to the huge, light-filled room in the back that took up the same space as the kitchen and dining room combined, but Gracie became enthusiastic again. “This is a great room, Josh! You can do so much with it, and change it up as the years go by and your lifestyle changes.” She walked around, and he watched as she got all caught up in the visions in her head. “When your kids are young, you can have the family room in front of the dining room and a play area in front of the kitchen so you and your wife can watch the kids while you cook, and then when they’re older, you can change the family room to be in front of the kitchen so you can watch TV while you cook and turn the other area into a game room. And with the double doors to the patio and access to the kitchen and dining room, it will always be great for entertaining.” She turned and beamed at him, and it took all he had not to cross the room, kiss her soundly, and ask her to stay.
Ask her to stay? Where? Stay put? In Spinning Hills? In his life? In this house? That he barely knew her was the reasoning he used to scold himself into stopping his usually disciplined mind from getting caught up in visions of his own. Unfortunately, it was reasoning that didn’t hold up.
He did know her. Gracie was the girl who’d looked for ways to make her humble home more cheerful and comfortable for her sick mother and hardworking sisters. She was the young woman who’d taken care of her mother, mostly by herself, during the last year of her life, and who’d fought back when so many tried to keep her down. She was the woman who had refused to allow him to drop out of the race for prosecutor and the lioness who’d gone to confront Mrs. Wolf when she’d felt threatened. And she was a loving and forgiving granddaughter and sister. He knew they had been watching them through the peephole earlier and he liked how they looked out for one another.
But she was also the woman who was practicing her flirting on him because he was safe. The woman who had told him to go ahead and buy the house next door because she was leaving soon anyway. Maybe that’s what he needed to focus on: that the fact that she was leaving made her safe for him, too.
During the rest of the tour it was clear her enthusiasm had waned, though she was trying not to let it show. He wondered why, but it all changed when they got to the master bathroom. Gracie peeked in a quick moment before swiveling back to look at him, eyes like saucers, hand on her heart. “It’s art deco!” She peeked in again. “It’s gorgeous!” She tiptoed in, as if she were disturbing hallowed ground.
Josh had to clamp down hard on his bottom lip to keep from laughing before following her in. She was geeking out way worse than he had when he’d first seen the legal files. The bathroom was all gleaming black-and-white tile. He wasn’t sure what about it made it art deco, but he’d trust her on that. Gracie ran her hand along the tiled wall. “It’s in perfect shape. I’d love to come back to take some good pictures of it, if you don’t mind.”
He lifted a shoulder to signal he didn’t mind. It was easy to forget the house wasn’t even his yet. The ideas she’d been describing were making it feel more like home and his excitement over it reached a new high. It made the earlier doubts about losing the election bearable.
“George would love it.”
His wayward thoughts screeched to a stop. “George?”
“One of my coworkers. He loves art deco.” She stepped back, twisted her mouth, and studied two rose mosaics on either side of the vanity mirror. “Do you know what it needs, though?”
Josh took a guess. “Color?”
Gracie’s grin made his heart stop for two beats. He wanted to pull her to him and kiss the suddenly irresistible lopsided corner of her smile. “Yes. A little bit. The roses are the only color in here. Maybe a blue-gray, so the roses continue to pop and to soften the black and white.” She looked behind her. “Is that a linen closet? The door seems too wide.”
“Uh, no. I was told the judge and his wife built separate bedrooms, as was the custom in big houses at the time,” he added, to show that he knew something. “But they stayed in this one, which was supposed to be hers. His was turned into a study and hers has a sewing room outside her closet that leads right back out to the hallway.
Gracie stared. “A sewing room?”
He’d forgotten she’d been an excellent seamstress when she was younger. It was one of the things Sherry had told the judge. Josh waved a hand in front of her eyes. “Do you want to see it?” She blinked and nodded.
He shook his head, quietly laughing, and led the way. He tried to show her the room and closet first, but though she smiled and tried to act interested, her mind was clearly of one mind and purpose. “And here is the sewing room,” he said, sweeping his arm toward the room.
Her reaction was the same as when she’d seen the bathroom. Rounded eyes. Stunned expression. “Josh, that’s a Singer 66.”
“The sewing machine, you mean?”
She approached it reverently. “It was the pinnacle of excellence in its day, able to sew anything from silk to canvas.”
“Once the house is mine, everything in it is mine, too. You can have it if you want it, Gracie. You just have to wait about ten more days.” He smiled and watched as she ran her hand over the machine. It reminded him of the old files upstairs, and how he couldn’t wait to read them all. A throwback to more innocent times, when interest in things was pure and unpolluted by the need to prove anything or win anything. It was kind of like the way he felt about her. Even when he wanted to kiss her soft skin and lips, his interest was in Gracie.
“I don’t know . . .”
He took a step toward her, caught her eye, and tried to read what was there. “Why not? It’s not like I’ll have any use for it.”
“But maybe your wife will. And I can always get one on eBay. They’re not expensive. I just hadn’t thought about owning one until now.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Who’s this wife you keep talking about?” He leaned against a long table close to the sewing machine and tried to catch her eye again, but she wasn’t having it.
“Your future wife. You said you’d like a family someday. I assume that’ll involve a wife. Or a live-in girlfriend. And maybe she’ll want to sew clothes for your children on a Singer 66 that was original to the house.”
She finally glanced his way again, and before he knew what she was about, she had stepped in front of him and was touching the corner of his lip with her index finger. “You dimple when you’re amused. Why are you amused?”
He snaked his hands behind her waist and pulled her closer. “Is this more flirting practice?” He looked at her mouth. “Teasing me about a wife and reminding me of my blasted dimple?”
“I like your dimple.” She got up on her tippy-toes, looked into his eyes, and hesitated. Time seemed to slow, and he knew she was testing her own mettle. His anticipation built until he was sure his heart would come out of his chest, and when her kiss came, it was both infinitely sweet and shockingly sensual. Her shallow breath lingered near his mouth and his entire body throbbed in response. He ran his fingers through her ponytail, wrapping his hand in it as he lowered his mouth to her ear. “You’re right that I’m safe, Gracie, because I’ll never hurt you. But you’re playing with fire here. And I think you know that.”
He gently tugged her head to the side and lowered his mouth to nip at her neck and the slope between it and her ear. When he heard her sharp intake of breath, he pulled back. Her gaze burned into his. Without breaking eye contact, he released
her hair, circled his fingers around her wrists, and brought her hands up to his neck. She responded by placing her lips on his, softly, for a long moment. Their breaths intermingled and their hearts beat against each other’s chests. Slowly, she pulled away, and went right back to the sewing machine, leaving him reeling. He struggled to rein in the fire she had awakened and then abandoned. Finally, he looked over at her. She was playing with a needle, seemingly lost in thought.
Gracie accidentally pricked herself with a needle, but her blood was pumping through her body too quickly for her to feel a thing. The air between them had hummed first with humor and then awareness before pulsing with something equally pleasurable but a lot more dangerous. Like riding a roller coaster that ended in a BASE jump off a cliff. Jumping off the roller coaster would leave her bruised, but not as much as allowing her heart to free fall into nothing. She didn’t have a parachute. He hadn’t offered her one. And now it was awkward. Her mind raced to find a non-obvious way to change the subject. “So, when are you, moving in?” She cringed once the words were out of her mouth. That had not been smooth.
It took him a while to answer, and she guessed he was trying to make sense of her actions. “I close in about two weeks. Sam Amador says renovations will take about six weeks, but he’s backed up, so he won’t be able to start till next month. I’m not in a hurry, though.”
There was an interesting topic to pursue. She latched onto it. “What made you decide to buy now?”
“The house did.” She looked over at him and saw he was grinning. “I had to have it. That hadn’t happened before, so I took it as a sign.”
“You believe in signs?”
“I believe in feelings, and my feeling was, it felt right.”
Gracie thought about that for a moment. “That’s a powerful feeling.”
“It is.” His voice was soft, and Gracie felt a prickle steal up her spine. The way he was looking at her felt as intimate as the kiss. Wishful thinking made her wonder if he was committing the feel of her lips to memory, too, to relive later. The room was small and they were close and she wanted him to kiss her again, but at the same time she didn’t. He kept telling her that he was her friend and that she could trust him—and she believed him—but she couldn’t keep giving up pieces of herself to him, not when he continued to hold back. She’d understand if he continued to keep himself to himself, but she’d have to back away, too, to protect herself.
