Just One Kiss (Appletree Cove)

by Hall, Traci

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Never mind.” His jaw clenched. “Tomorrow we have Anita Lowery bringing in her bad dog, Cyrus. I’ll be working one-on-one with him for an hour at a time, and we’ll see how it goes. I have a feeling it’s going to be owner error.”

  “I think Ms. Lowery just wants to check you out,” she teased. “This could be a classic pickup.”

  He grinned. “The only thing I’ll be picking up next week is a retriever named Romeo from my friend Emma.”

  Grace couldn’t help but laugh. “Fair.”

  “I was supposed to get him Tuesday with the others, but he hurt his paw.”

  So thoughtful to let the dog heal where he was comfortable. Sawyer could be so kind behind his gruff rules. “Kasam keeps asking me for more pictures.”

  Sawyer’s face grew stern. “I’ll have a talk with him, if this is interrupting your work.”

  “No, it’s okay.” She raised her palm to be very clear. “I want to.”

  He looked at her closely. “How will that work?”

  “I’ll stay late,” she said. “It’d be good to get the photo credits. I would say you have no idea how hard it is to start your own business, but you know very well.”

  Sawyer cleared his throat and dabbed cinnamon from his upper lip. “Grace, if there’s any way I can help…”

  She considered that. “If you’re serious, then yes, I accept your offer. You can let me have some time with the dogs and take pictures of the guys between four thirty and five.”

  Sawyer leaned back in his plush leather chair and sighed. “That’s not what I had in mind.”

  Confused, she asked, “Oh, what were you thinking?”

  “Your house… Let me know if you need any help.”

  She recalled his comments about her dock. Her falling in. Their first real kiss that spawned her dreams of kissing and needing, craving, more. Grace cleared her throat. “I’m sorry if the dock is an eyesore, but it’ll have to wait. Trust me, I have bigger fish to fry.” She couldn’t believe the nerve of the man. All her warm-fuzzy feelings toward him evaporated.

  He smacked his hand to the desk, and the phone jumped. “I’m not talking about your dock.”

  “The paint?” It was something on her list of things to do before winter.

  “No. Never mind.” He pointed to the calendar, the month of October, where her last day was circled. “Only two weeks left. Why don’t we celebrate your last day of employment with a fancy dinner in Seattle? We can take the ferry over.”

  Oh. Warm and fuzzy returned in a hurry. Grace got to her feet and gathered her and Sawyer’s empty plates. “That’s a nice offer, but I need to think about it.”

  He held her gaze.

  “I’d better get back to work.” She might not have money, or things, but she had a strong moral compass, and dating her employer went against the grain. She couldn’t think beyond that. What would Grandma Dahlia say?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sawyer spent Saturday working with the four dogs, including Bert, to see if the pup would catch on to any of the tricks.

  To his relief, his problem pup liked the competition and copied the others. Bert had actually come a long way over the past week, which meant that all his special training was paying off. Today, he’d even stayed for three whole minutes until Sawyer released him with a whistle.

  Looking around for someone to share his good news with, he realized that besides the dogs, he was alone at Bark Camp. He called Bill, but it went to voicemail. And his brothers all had busy lives of their own. The only one who would fully understand his joy about Bert getting something right was Grace, but she didn’t work weekends, and for him to call “just because” would break the rules.

  The last time that had happened, they’d kissed.

  What was he going to do when they no longer worked together? The next two weeks would drag, but he hoped she’d say yes to dinner and then they could see how things developed. He’d lined up reservations at the Billionaire’s Club, a Seattle hotspot with a stunning view of the city at night.

  Deciding to stop by on the pretense of dropping off her clean pie plate, Sawyer hoped she’d invite him in. He parked in front of Grace’s house with Bert in the back of the Land Rover. The VW was beneath the carport, so he knew she was home.

  He knocked on the front door, trying not to notice the peeling paint around the wood trim. He hoped for a chance to discuss what he knew about her property but had no idea how to bring the subject up.

  Grace opened the door and smiled. She was dressed in jeans, flip-flops, and a gray Kingston Bird Museum T-shirt.

  “Sawyer! Is everything okay?”

  Violet peeked out from the kitchen, her shoulders hunched as if prepared for the worst. Her red curls hung loose around her round face.

  Something sweet wafted from inside. He held up the pie plate.

  “Returning your dish,” he said.

  “Oh, thanks, but you didn’t have to…”

  “And Bert obeyed a stay command today until I released him,” he said, shuffling his feet. “I guess I also wanted to tell you that.”

  Grace’s blue eyes widened, and she lifted her hand for a high-five. “That’s awesome! I knew he could do it. Good job.” Grace peered around him to the Land Rover’s back window and turned to Violet. “Do you want to tell Bert good job? He did well on a test.”

  Violet nodded and walked cautiously behind Grace to the cement entryway.

  Returning to his car, Sawyer unbuckled Bert and held up his hand for the dog to stay. He took a few steps back and then called, “Come.”

  Bert jumped down and tromped to Sawyer’s feet, waiting for the next command.

  “I can’t believe it,” Grace said, clapping. “Way to go, Bert. You’ll get him trained yet.”

  “Good boy,” he said, scratching the dog’s ears.

  They walked back to the front entryway with Bert at his side, until the dog spied Violet and he darted for her with a wagging tail. She squealed at first in concern, and then in joy, as the dog licked her arms.

  “It tickles,” Violet said.

  Sawyer called Bert back to him and handed Grace her pie tin. “Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Do you want to come in? Violet and I are making cookies.”

  He happily followed her inside, where the smell of peanut butter and sugar filled the air.

  The front door opened to the living room with a couch, coffee table, and television. Through the open kitchen, with an old-school linoleum floor and seventies-style olive green and gold appliances, he could see the back porch and the bay. The view was as good, or better, than his.

  A purple vase of bright yellow sunflowers was on the table, and a paperback novel had been placed upside down. Homey, cozy—so Grace.

  He glanced at her. “Pie and cookies? I’d have to work out all of the time if I ate like you do.”

  “Everything in moderation,” she said. “And this way, Violet can have treats we know are healthy. Right, Vi?”

  Violet, sitting on an old navy-blue couch, was more interested in playing with her toy rabbit. Bert sniffed the toy, and Vi picked it up and held it to her chest. Bert sat and calmly studied the girl and the stuffed animal.

  Sawyer made a promise to himself that he would help Grace keep her home, if she wanted to stay here—hell, even if she didn’t want his help, he would try.

  “This is a nice place. Smells good.” He spied her new camera sitting next to the sunflowers. “So, did you find that squirrel?”

  “We did,” she said, glancing at Violet. “A red squirrel in spruce and pine and also the Douglas tree squirrel.”

  “How many types of squirrels are there?”

  Grace laughed. “Over two hundred, I think. It’s a good thing Griffin doesn’t want them all.” She turned her camera’s digi
tal screen on, selected a picture, and handed him her camera.

  Sure enough, there was a well-framed photo of a red squirrel gathering nuts with his cheeks bulging. The squirrel appeared to be on the verge of laughing.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, “I’m heading into Pacific Rim National Park in search of a beaver.”

  He could just imagine over-the-top Griffin asking Grace to get him such a photo, probably with a leer, the self-important jerk. “These are really great,” said Sawyer, paging through.

  “Thanks.”

  He turned around in the kitchen, almost hitting his head on a glass light fixture hanging from the ceiling. “Where’s your art room? I’d love to check out your other pictures.”

  “I develop in the garage.” She walked past the kitchen to a laundry room the size of a closet, the bathroom, with a single sink, a toilet, and a claw foot tub, to the last door in the hall. “This used to be Grandma Dahlia’s room.”

  Inside, old-fashioned lace covered a daybed, and a chest of drawers had a series of framed photographs along the top. The entire left side of the room belonged to Grace and her pictures. Violet laughing—Lottie covered in flour—Bill staring at Lottie, bemused.

  And there he was, working with the dogs and the veterans. “I had no idea you were taking pictures.”

  “Good. That’s how you capture the best ones, right?” She gestured to a pile of lenses and equipment. “I can get decent shots from a distance.”

  In another photo, Bill talked to Jimmy about something, his wholesome face earnest and almost innocent compared to the harshness etched on Jimmy’s brow.

  “He cares,” Grace said. “This was at a volunteer event a year or so ago. At the park. Bill makes a difference with these guys. But so do you, Sawyer. Giving them honest work. Feeding them.”

  “It’s nothing.” And it was nothing when he could do so much more. He shuffled through prints of Rudy, Lincoln, Colton. They were more to him now than just good PR.

  The thought of that made him feel ashamed.

  He put the pictures down. “You have a gift for capturing the essence of something.”

  Grace’s cheeks turned pink, and she hustled him out of the room and down the hall to the living room.

  Bert was now sitting on the couch with the rabbit and Violet.

  “Well,” said Sawyer, “those two seem to be getting along.” That was very good, all things considered.

  “She’s sharing, which is a big deal.” Grace chuckled. “That’s her favorite toy. Well, her favorite this week anyway.”

  Speaking in a whisper, he said, “When we get home, Bert’s gonna get a big, chewy bone for being a champ today.”

  Grace slipped her hand into Sawyer’s. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I’m making a pot roast.”

  “You eat meat?” He shouldn’t have assumed she was a vegetarian. He could only blame the fact that she made him act like an idiot.

  “Yes. I do. Pot roast and potatoes with gravy.”

  “Of course I’ll stay for dinner!”

  Grace laughed. It was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Grace would never forget the surprise on Sawyer’s face. “You were so thoughtful to buy those veggie burgers that I didn’t want to tell you.”

  He bowed his head then smiled at her—the dimple flashing before he moved to the sink to wash his hands. “How can I help? If you have potatoes, I can peel them.”

  “Really?” She shrugged and retrieved the paper bag of Idaho potatoes she’d gotten at the farmer’s market from the pantry. “You’re on. That’s one job I’m always happy to give up.” Grace stood on tiptoe to select a large ceramic bowl from the cupboard next to the window over the sink. “Quarter them, please, and I’ll get the roast in the oven. It’s been marinating in garlic and red wine.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Lottie will be here in about an hour.”

  They worked side by side in her tiny kitchen. It was nice, not having him boss her around but to be a team. After peeling the potatoes, Sawyer helped Violet mix together a small batch of peanut butter cookies that they baked in the toaster oven. They ate warm cookies as appetizers around the kitchen table, and it was totally right. Bert sat beside Violet’s chair, waiting for a crumble of cookie to drop.

  “Tell me about your brothers,” Grace said. She wanted to know everything about him. “I can’t imagine five kids. I’m an only child.”

  “Juan is the oldest, then Bobby, then me, then Tomas, then Luca—he’s the baby.”

  She bit into her peanut butter cookie and washed it down with milk. “Do you all get along?”

  “Sometimes. I’m closest to Bobby and Tomas.” Sawyer perched on the edge of a kitchen chair. “Mom ruled the roost.”

  She tried to picture a tough woman with a spatula to keep her boys in line. “I thought your dad had nothing on the military?”

  “Well, Dad always got his way at first, but then sometimes he’d change his mind overnight. For some reason, he’d see things differently the next day. We knew it was Mom working her magic behind the scenes.” He waggled his thick brows.

  Grace giggled. “I was raised in a commune—no one ruled, really.”

  “Why did you live with your grandmother?”

  “I wanted to.” Grace hurried into the living room and returned with her favorite picture of her and her grandma sitting on the dock, side by side in shorts, their feet dangling over the bay. “I was sixteen here when Grandma Dahlia took me in—I begged her quite pathetically.” She shook her head but smiled at the memory. “I wanted to go to an actual high school rather than be homeschooled.”

  “Your hair is down to your butt.” He eyed her behind and then her short hair. “Was there a rule at the commune that you couldn’t cut it or something?”

  She scrunched her nose. “Not a rule, just the fashion.”

  “Where are your parents now?”

  “Still in the commune. They like it there. When Grandma died, she left me her house—that was six months ago.” Her eyes stung, and Sawyer enfolded her in a hug. She burrowed closer to him as he stroked her back, the two swaying as he comforted her. Grace realized that it had been since Grandma’s death that she’d been held so caringly.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” His breath ruffled the top of her hair.

  “Thank you. She had one stipulation, though,” she said against his shirt, smiling at the memory and pulling away with reluctance.

  “What was that?”

  “That Rex and Bobbie, my parents, had a roof over their heads when they needed it.” She didn’t want to say more, to let him know she couldn’t afford this old place. Unless she could get Griffin Carlisle to offer her a contract or Mr. Haviland from the bank to extend the loan.

  Was it pride that kept her from sharing such personal information? She didn’t want Sawyer’s pity.

  She wanted his respect.

  She was saved from saying more by Lottie’s arrival.

  “Let’s set the table,” she said, taking pleasure in sharing a meal with people she cared about, and yes, she acknowledged silently, that included Sawyer Rivera.

  Violet returned to the couch, waving to her mom when Lottie entered. She smelled of sugar and vanilla.

  “Hi, Sawyer,” Lottie said with a red flush. “Nice to see you.”

  Sawyer, the perfect gentleman, got up and shook Lottie’s hand. “Thanks for letting me barge in on your evening plans.”

  “Oh, you’re so welcome.” Lottie dropped her purse on the small oval table between the couch and the kitchen. “Grace’s pot roast is amazing. Do we have any wine left?”

  “White only. Want a glass? Sawyer? I also have a couple beers—local IPAs.”

  “I’ll try a beer, thanks.”

  Grace poured wine for Lottie and beer from a
pony keg for Sawyer but stuck to unsweetened iced tea herself.

  “Cheers,” Lottie said, lifting her glass. “I don’t know if Grace has shared anything about my princess back there.” She peeked quickly at Violet and Bert sitting companionably watching cartoons, with the rabbit between them.

  “Not much,” Sawyer said.

  “Well, we had a meeting Thursday morning with her teacher,” Lottie whispered between gritted teeth, “and we’re going to try her with a different first-grade teacher to see if she can behave in that classroom.”

  Grace squeezed Lottie’s hand and then refilled the glass, but unfortunately, that was the end of the bottle.

  “They brought in some supposed expert psychologist who says that how she behaves at school is a direct reflection on how worked up she gets at home.” Lottie exhaled slowly.

  “It’s going to be okay,” said Grace. “Sawyer, don’t you think so?” She gave him a look that warned him not to try and solve her problems. Sometimes a girl just needed to vent.

  Sawyer got it and nodded. “A new teacher sounds like a great idea.”

  They finished dinner, and after helping with the dishes, Sawyer took Bert home. Violet tried to give Bert her rabbit, but Bert, who had learned to be quite a gentleman thanks to Sawyer’s training, didn’t take it.

  “See you on Monday,” he said.

  “Bye.” She watched him leave in the dusky evening, smelling the hint of fall in the air.

  Lottie grabbed Grace in a hug. “He’s a nice man. Daniella is a big liar. I wish the news and tabloids would stop publishing her nasty slurs.”

  Grace laughed, her heart warm at how well he’d fit at her table and in her home. “I agree.”

  “You should date him.”

  Grace snorted and smacked her palm on the kitchen counter. “Yeah, I can invite him over to visit me in my van once Mr. Haviland takes my house.”

  “I’m serious.”

  Recognizing the stubborn tilt of Lottie’s chin, Grace fought fire with fire. “Okay, right after you date Bill.”

  Lottie relaxed and laughed. “We’re going to end up two old ladies with cats.”