The back door opened onto a covered brick patio. A long table was laden with a myriad of mismatched dishes and bowls, plastic cups, two-liter soda bottles, and a couple of pitchers. It was obviously a potluck, but Grace hadn’t brought anything. Except the cake. A cloth-draped card table butted up against the food, its surface housing only a stack of plates and small plastic forks. The empty space had to be for the cake.
Off to the side, a long bench was piled high with packages and gift bags. Darn it, she hadn’t thought about a present either. What was wrong with her?
Brightly dressed women ensconced in deck chairs flanked the gifts as they watched the proceedings from the shade of the patio awning. All dressed up in party finery, a riot of children toddled about the lawn.
“All right, Aiden’s it.” Brian hunkered in the middle of the grass beside a small dark-haired boy. He patted a blindfold in place over the child’s eyes and whispered something.
One little voice bleated, “Marco Polo.”
A chatter of child voices shouted back, “Marco Polo.”
Brian pointed the boy toward the voice closest to him. The other players scattered.
“Have some lemonade.” Hannah pushed Grace toward the table. She poured a glass, handed it over, then leaned in to whisper, “I’d introduce you, but I can’t remember any of their names. I only remember whose mother they are.” She started pointing. “That’s Aiden’s mother and that’s—”
Grace forestalled her. “Don’t worry. I can handle the introductions myself.” She smiled her thanks and gravitated to the flock of women. “Hi, I’m Grace.”
She was greeted by a chorus of Hellos and waves and smiles. “Which one is yours?” A lady with rhinestones on her sunglasses fluttered a hand toward the shouting, running children.
“None of them. I’m just a friend.”
The woman lowered her sunglasses. “Of Brian’s?”
They were all looking at her now, faces grim. Grace swallowed uncomfortably.
“My friend,” Hannah piped up, saving her.
They were all smiles again, as if it made a difference who Grace was friends with. The rhinestone lady swung her sandaled foot. No one offered Grace a seat. No one gave a name.
“Try some of these goodies,” Hannah said softly.
On the lawn, Brian raced with the children, guiding them, laughing with them, while the women watched him avidly like a flock of crows eying a meaty carcass.
“Marco Polo is so uninteresting,” complained a lady in red Capris, a clingy top, and white sunglasses. Despite the unusually warm weather, Grace didn’t think it was hot enough for the outfit. The woman was definitely dressed to catch someone’s eye.
“Isn’t that a water game?” offered another sunglassed lady, the one Hannah had pointed out as Aiden’s mother.
“He should have something with prizes. Kids needed prizes. Like a fishing game or a treasure hunt.” The speaker wore jeans so tight that the decorative rivets along the side seemed ready to pop.
“The poor man needs a woman, that’s obvious.” This from Ms. Rhinestone. Grace noted her ring finger was bare.
“You, for instance?” tittered the lady in red Capris.
“My little Jason would be a perfect foil for Valentine.”
Someone snorted.
Despite the sunglasses, Grace could see the narrowed eyes behind the rhinestones. “I suppose you think Drake would go better with blond?” Ms. Rhinestone addressed the snorter.
They weren’t scheming to get their children together; they were scheming after Brian, like a 1950s movie stereotype, all sweet and perfumed, but seething underneath.
Grace backed up toward Hannah. “Where’s Valentine?” she asked quietly, not wanting anyone to notice her.
“The one in pink, of course.”
The little blonde in pink was utterly adorable. Her curls flew out behind her as she ran about the yard calling out Marco Polo in response. A net overlay covered with red hearts flounced as she darted to and fro, a sash tied in a big bow at the back and a red heart-shaped rose off center in the front. Grace felt something contract inside her. The child was so beautiful, a button nose, lips a plump ruby red the way only a child’s can be. White tights covered her legs, and she dashed across the lawn in black patent-leather shoes.
The flock of women had grown silent beside Grace. They were all staring at her. From behind the mirrored lenses, she was the recipient of a mass glare. When she glanced toward the lawn, she found Brian’s gaze on her. And he was smiling.
“Okay, kids,” he called. “How about some cake?”
The yard was awash in shouts and shrieks and screams. A stampede of little feet raced toward the patio. Brian followed at a more leisurely pace.
“Hey, I’m glad you came,” he said when he was close enough. “We waited on the cake until you got here.”
“You didn’t tell her who made it, right?” she asked softly.
“Of course not,” he said with mock offense. “And may I say that you outdid yourself. The lamb was great, but the pink pony is perfect.”
Grace felt the whispers behind her rather than heard them.
The back door opened, and Hannah carried the cake balanced on raised hands so the children, Valentine especially, couldn’t see yet.
The little girl bounced on her toes, clapping her hands excitedly. “What is it, Daddy, what is it?”
“You’ll see soon, sweetie.”
He’d said he hated Valentine’s Day, hated the reminders, that he had to force himself to sound enthusiastic for his daughter. But there was nothing forced about him now. He was a man entranced with his little girl. A wonderful father. Even if he hadn’t picked the correct party games.
Hannah set down the cake securely on the table top.
“A pink pony,” Valentine squealed. The other children chimed in with her, even the boys who hadn’t figured out yet that they were supposed to prefer GI Joe over a pink pony.
“Look at that. Wherever did you have it made, Brian?” Ms. Rhinestone was suddenly clinging to his arm.
Brian was the only man in attendance, and they flocked around him like birds—or crows—pushing Grace out of the way.
“Mommy sent it,” a voice piped up. Despite emanating from a child, it drowned out everyone else. Valentine, claiming the cake her mother had sent. “From up in heaven.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet,” someone said.
Grace was close enough to hear Ms. Rhinestone whisper, “Do you really think that fantasy is a good idea, Brian?” Her voice was…proprietary.
“Yes, I do,” he said without even looking at her. Hannah was snapping pictures. Others were using their camera phones.
“It’s too pretty to eat, Daddy. Can we keep it forever? Mommy would want that.” Valentine looked up at him beseechingly.
She stole Grace’s breath. The love in Brian’s eyes brought a tear welling to the surface. This was what she’d hoped for with every delivery, that look between them. The moment of connection. The remembrance.
Brian glanced at Grace, holding her gaze as he said, “I think Mommy would want you to eat it so that she can send you an even prettier one next Valentine’s Day.”
There were cheers from the little munchkins around the table, because of course they weren’t going to let the cake go untried.
“Why don’t we let Grace cut it?” Brian suggested. Hannah handed him a knife, and he gave it to Grace. “Sweetie, I want you to meet Grace.”
“Hi.” The little girl beamed up with blue eyes the exact shade of Brian’s.
The crows started squawking again, but Grace tuned them out. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Valentine. Which piece of the cake do you want?”
Valentine pointed to the snout. Everyone laughed. Grace cut, Hannah held out plates for her, and Brian scooped ice cream. Grace had put just enough red food coloring in the batter to make the cake pink, and the layers were separated by strawberry jam and whipped cream.
The adults oohe
d and aahed; the children simply ate and asked for seconds.
“It’s genius,” Red Capris said. “You really have to tell us,” she added in soto voice.
“You heard Valentine.” Brian stepped closer to Grace.
She was aware of them all looking at her, at Brian. As if they saw something that wasn’t there.
Of course, from Brian’s perspective, it was all about the cake. About the promise she’d made five years ago. About the things he’d told her in the car in the early morning hours of Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t about her.
Ignoring the voices, she concentrated on Valentine. When the cake was done, the little girl opened her gifts, delighted with each one, making polite thank-you’s. Brian had taught her well.
After the grand opening, while the children were entranced with the gifts, Grace slipped away to the restroom. Hannah directed her down a bedroom hallway. She’d have to leave soon. She’d left Roger in charge of the shop, telling him she’d only be away an hour. Not that he couldn’t handle everything as well as she did, but there were all the do-ahead chores for the following morning. Sometimes she wished for a day off. Just one day. Even Sundays, when the shop was closed, she still came in to prep for the week ahead. Maybe she should delegate a little more to Roger, but she had to admit she was a bit of a control freak.
“What on earth could he possibly see in her?”
The voices stopped Grace short just before the bathroom doorway.
“It must be the sex. It couldn’t possibly be her looks.”
“She’s got a pretty face.”
A woman snorted. “If you’re into horses.”
Her stomach clenched. She didn’t recognize either of the ladies’ voices—although ladies might be a misnomer—but she’d left Ms. Rhinestone outside on the patio with Brian. So it was obviously someone else.
“But sex? No way. It’s all about Valentine. Did you see the way she looked at her? She’s dying to be a mother. And he’s looking for a replacement.”
How little they knew. Brian wasn’t interested in a replacement. What hurt was the other part, about her. Because it was true. She wanted things she couldn’t have. She’d wanted a baby. Her mother, so like these pretty, petite, vapid women, had made her realize she’d never be a mother, not unless she decided to go it alone. She could do that. But a child needed a father and a mother. Children needed both parents, not a replacement or a substitute.
She backed down the hall, not wanting to hear anymore. She knew what she looked like. She’d accepted that men would never find her attractive. She enjoyed her life the way it was. She was fine. But she didn’t need to stick around listening to those crows dissecting her.
Chapter Five
“Hey.” The word burst out of him. Grace was leaving, her hand on the front doorknob. Brian couldn’t let her go.
She turned. The noise from outside was muted by the closed back door, but fifteen little kids made one hell of a racket.
“You’re not leaving already, are you?” He’d seen her the moment she’d stepped onto the patio, and damn if something had lightened inside him, a heavy load suddenly less than before. She’d smiled, and he experienced a sweet rush of sensation he hadn’t felt in years.
He’d watched her with Valentine, and he’d understood everything Grace had been saying this morning. The yearly birthday cakes had turned Marilyn into a real person for Valentine. She was the angel looking down from heaven. Part of that was Marilyn’s insistence, her planning, but it was also Grace’s commitment. Looking at his daughter, his heart had swelled. It was Valentine’s day, not just the anniversary of Marilyn’s death. It wasn’t a day for sadness; it was a day to celebrate. That’s why Marilyn had chosen it. And Grace had shown him all that in something so simple yet so meaningful as a birthday cake.
“I can’t be away too long,” she said
He sympathized. “Being a sole proprietor is hell on the personal life. A friend of mine owned a restaurant. He and his wife worked sixteen hour days.”
“Just about,” she nodded. “Thanks for inviting me. I’m glad Valentine liked the cake.” She turned the knob.
He kept talking. “You were a big hit. I wish I could tell all those mothers that you made the cake. You’d see a huge business boom.”
She smiled. “You’re too kind.”
“Not at all.” He ventured a step closer. “Let’s reschedule for another day. When you have more time to prepare and can find someone to cover a longer period for you.”
“Another day?” she asked as if she didn’t understand the meaning of the two words or how they fit together.
“Yeah. An evening. We could do dinner. Or a movie.” He shrugged. “Or whatever you’d like.”
“Dinner?” Her gaze flitted past his shoulder, down the bedroom hallway. “I’m afraid I don’t cook as well as I bake. Valentine wouldn’t be impressed.”
He laughed. “I didn’t mean you were supposed to cook. I’d like to take you out somewhere.”
Her head tipped slightly, she looked at him for an inordinately long moment before she spoke again. “You don’t have to pay me back for the cakes or anything. Your wife and I made a bargain.”
“I’m not paying you back for the cakes. It hasn’t got anything to do with that.”
“Oh.”
He waited for something more. Women’s voices, laughter, filtered into the entryway. Ladies visiting his guest bathroom.
Grace’s brow furrowed. “Look, that’s okay, you know,” she said quickly. “I’m really busy and all.” She opened the door, stepped out onto the front stoop.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was running away. Maybe she didn’t want to go out with a man who had a kid. Didn’t want to get involved. The back door opened and a chorus of children’s voices rang out, one raised voice in particular, calling, “Da-a-dee.”
The sound stalled her at the edge of the step. She looked at him, something in her eyes. Sadness? Fear? A desperate need to get away? He should let her go.
Except that he would regret it if he did. There was her voice, her smile, the way she made him feel. What she’d given him. “Just one date, Grace, that’s all I ask. Give me a chance.”
*
“A date?” Going out with Brian and his daughter wasn’t exactly a date.
“Yeah. A date,” he said, as if that explained everything.
He obviously wanted more female influence in Valentine’s life. “You know, I’m not around kids a lot. I don’t have any experience with what they need. You should probably ask someone…” She fluttered a hand, at the last moment avoiding a wave toward the backyard where there were several women who would love to get to him through his daughter. And each of them had at least one child. “I think that’s Valentine calling.”
Brian closed the front door behind him and joined her on the porch. “Valentine can wait a minute. Right now I’m not thinking about how much experience you have with kids. I’d like to take you out for a nice dinner and some good conversation.”
Ah, so he wanted more self-analysis like they’d exchanged in the car this morning. “Look, I know you feel like you need someone to talk to, but I’m—”
He put his hand over her mouth. Grace blinked in utter shock. Then she smelled him, some nice aftershave, not sweet. Or maybe it was shampoo. She was used to the way men smelled after sweating in a warm bakery all day. She closed her eyes, breathed him in, savored him like he was a hot cross bun at Easter.
“Grace.”
She snapped her eyes open. His were so blue. So intense.
He dropped his hand, put a little space between them. “I don’t want to have dinner and talk about me, Grace. I want to know more about you.”
She said the first thing that popped into her head. “Why?”
He shook his head and laughed. “I haven’t been out on a date since my wife, but when I was dating, I don’t think anyone actually asked me why I wanted to take her out.” He paused, stared her down. “Because I li
ke you. Isn’t that a good enough reason?”
“You like me?”
“Is it so hard to believe?” His tone made it a joke.
But it wasn’t a joke to her. She’d been on dates her mother had set up for her. She’d gone to her senior prom with the son of one of her father’s business associates, and the young man had passed wind while they were dancing. She’d hated the whole dating protocol, and she hadn’t been on a date since college. And this perfect, beautiful man couldn’t possibly want to date her in a man-woman kind of way.
“I’m not your type.” It was all she could think of, and certainly better than saying she wasn’t pretty and petite like his wife—or her mother, for that matter—so he couldn’t possibly be interested in her.
“I’m not sure that I have a type.”
“Wasn’t your wife your type?”
“I don’t know. We were married for seven years. You kind of forget you have a type when you’re married.” He shook himself, as if she’d dragged him off-topic. “But that’s not the point. If you’re nervous about dinner, let’s start small with something like coffee.” There was a sudden raucous burst of childish shouting from the backyard, and he waved an arm behind him. “Somewhere we can talk and I don’t have to run off to break up squabbles. Say yes, Grace. I haven’t felt like this about a woman in a long time, and I’m not letting you leave here until you agree to go out with me.”
She heard his name being called. “Felt like what?” she whispered.
“Like it would be the biggest mistake of my life if I let you walk away, not to return until next Valentine’s Day.”
She could barely breathe. It didn’t make sense. She was the woman her mother despaired of, the daughter who would never make her mother a grandmother. Because she wasn’t pretty enough or small enough or what men expected in a wife.
“You know, a man can feel that way about you, Grace. You’re a beautiful woman.”
Love, Valentine Style Page 3
