by Rula Sinara
The train slowed as it neared the town. Blazing maple, oak and walnut trees hugged the crystal blue lake like bejeweled arms. White clouds scudded across the sky, the sun dazzling Grace’s eyes.
The train jerked to a stop.
“Indian Lake! Indian Lake!”
Adrenaline raced through Grace’s body as she shot to her feet. “We’re here!”
“So we are,” Dylan replied, putting his iPad in his briefcase. “It was nice meeting you, Grace.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you around town,” she said as she gathered her oversize black fringed purse and two large totes, one of which held her laptop, iPad and sketchbook.
“I’m not here all that often. I live in Lincoln Park and work in downtown Chicago. Prosecuting attorney. In case you wanted to know.”
A blush colored Grace’s face. “I apologize for my manners. My head’s been in another world...”
“I could tell.” His mouth quirked in an impish grin.
Dylan slipped out of his seat and walked away.
Way to go, Grace. Nice guy and you blow him off. When are you going to get a life? A real one? She slung her purse and one of the totes over her shoulder, then bumped her way down the aisle toward the exit.
Carefully, Grace negotiated the narrow metal steps down to the pavement. For the first time on her trip, she questioned the importance of her fashionable, but apparently impractical, boots.
The conductor waited until she disembarked before unloading her overweight bags. One by one, he slammed them against the concrete and then sneered at her. “What’ve you got in there? Rocks?”
“Vitamins.” She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew the cash she’d agreed to pay him.
He touched his hand to the bill of his cap and hopped back up on the train. Grace yanked the long luggage handles out to their full length, hoisted one of the totes higher up on her shoulder and began pulling her load. She felt like a pack mule.
“Grace!” a woman’s voice called.
“Grace! You’re here!” a younger female voice shouted.
Raising her head, Grace saw Aunt Louise coming toward her, bent over a walker. With her was a blonde woman whose sparkling green eyes she’d know anywhere. Grace stood upright and let go of the suitcase handles. “Aunt Louise! And...Maddie? Maddie Strong?”
“Barzonni now.” Maddie beamed.
“Grace! Thank heaven!” Louise’s smile was nearly as bright as the sun. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Grace.” She held out her arms.
Grace couldn’t remember a more wonderful sight. For an instant, she regretted every minute she’d spent apart from her Aunt Louise. Her life in Paris seemed to melt away and all she felt was a rush of affection for her aunt, and nostalgia for this town and the summer long ago with the barbecues, the swimming pool...and Mica.
* * *
“I’VE MADE A lot of changes since you were here, Grace,” Louise said as Grace helped her into the shop.
Grace flipped the cardboard door sign to Open, then stood in the entrance, her eyes stinging with tears. “It’s just an old sign,” she whispered, tracing the crumpled edges of the sign she’d turned over years ago when it had been her job to help Aunt Louise open up and close. Just a sign. A battered, old, faded sign. And suddenly, it meant the world to her because it was part of her life with Aunt Louise.
“Grace?” Louise said.
“Sorry.” Grace sniffed. “I was making sure the lock was open.” She wiped away her tear.
“Sarah and the kids will be here anytime now. It’s Annie’s birthday, so they’ll want some of my newest creations.”
Louise moved her walker over to the chair she’d pulled up to the counter, where the old cash register still sat. It was a monster antique with tabs that would make a muscle-builder’s biceps flex, yet her aunt had refused to give up the old thing.
“I see you’re not computerized yet.” Grace chuckled.
Louise swatted the air with her palm and slapped her thigh as she eased into the chair. “Good heavens, of course I am. In the office. But out here, everyone likes reminders of a bygone era. They come here for this old register. That and the pumpkin-spice and gingerbread-nut ice cream I make every autumn.”
Grace’s heels clacked against the century-old walnut floorboards. She took off her jacket and hung it on a peg next to the wide window with the gold lettering announcing the seasonal offerings.
“I hate to have to thrust you right into work, Grace,” Louise said. “But it couldn’t be helped. Sarah and the kids...”
“Please, don’t apologize, Aunt Louise. I’ll be fine.” She shoved the sleeves of her black sweater to her elbows, revealing at least nine bracelets on each arm. She went to the sink and washed her hands. Under the counter glass was a group of photographs of the sundaes. “Let me study these for a sec.”
“It’s the Monster Mash they love. I serve it in those big round dishes. Six scoops of ice cream slathered in hot fudge with whipped cream piled eight inches high. It feeds four.”
“Thank goodness!” Grace laughed as the front door opened and nearly a dozen children rushed in. Maddie held the door as Sarah Jensen Bosworth walked in behind them. The kids raced to their favorite tables and picked up the menus, challenging each other as to who could eat the most ice cream.
Grace hugged Sarah and as much as she wanted to catch up, the kids were shouting out their orders and Maddie said she had to rush to get Louise to her rehab appointment.
“I’d better get to work,” Grace said.
“You haven’t had a chance to take a breath,” Maddie said. “Not even change or freshen up.” Maddie’s eyes traveled from Grace’s seven strings of pearls, crystals and gold ropes around the banded neckline of the black knit sweater, to her houndstooth wool pencil skirt and fringed black boots. “I wish I knew how to put something together like that.”
“Thanks,” Grace replied, basking in the twinkle of appreciation. “That means a lot to me. A lot.”
Maddie hugged her, then tilted her head toward Annie and Timmy Bosworth and Danny Sullivan, who were waving huge spoons up in the air. “They look like they’re about to revolt.”
“I’m on it.” Grace smiled and went straight to work scooping six kinds of ice cream into Monster Mash dishes.
After serving up over half a dozen massive concoctions, her hands sticky and nearly frozen, she lost track of time. She was halfway into the refrigerated bin, trying to dig out the last of the pumpkin-spice ice cream when she felt the counter reverberate.
“Where’s Louise?” a raw, deep male voice asked.
“She’s at the doctor.” Grace lifted her head and looked into the Mediterranean-blue eyes she’d never forgotten. Mica. Her heart stopped. She was staring, but she couldn’t help it. “Rehab. Her back...”
“I heard,” he said sharply. He peered at her, taking inventory. “You’re new here.”
He didn’t recognize her. She should have figured that one. Why would he remember her? She had changed a lot in twelve years. A whole lot.
With the force of a tsunami, the memory of the pool party at the Barzonni villa hit her. The “gang” had all been there...Sarah Jensen, Maddie Strong and all the Barzonni brothers—football star Gabe, horse-lover Rafe and Nate, who only had eyes for Maddie.
And then there was Mica. The most handsome of all the blue-eyed, black-haired, sun-bronzed boys.
Mica had exuded the kind of perfection Grace had been trying her whole life to achieve. He was strong, quiet and arrestingly handsome.
And after a game of swimming-pool volleyball, Mica had kissed her. She remembered the chlorine smell mixed with suntan lotion, the warmth of his lips on hers. It was a quick kiss. One without passion or longing, and yet, to this day, she’d never forgotten it.
Nor had she forgotten his disdain of her pageant
life and his dismissal of her interest in fashion. He hadn’t been cruel, but he’d made it clear he thought her pursuits were worthless.
She hadn’t known how to stand up to him back then. He was three years older and as much as she had wanted to rebuke him, she’d felt there was truth to his arguments. He and his brothers worked from dawn to dusk on the farm. There was always back-breaking work to do and they did it gladly. Mica considered it a privilege to be a part of his father’s legacy.
At Parsons and later in Paris, Grace had learned that Mica was right about one thing: determination and perseverance were everything.
Mica Barzonni had changed her life back then, though he didn’t know that. Several times over the years, she’d thought about writing to thank him. But now she saw how truly inconsequential she’d been in his life. Obviously, he didn’t remember her in the least. He was a Barzonni, after all. He already had everything.
Even now, her heart hammered in her chest. Suddenly she was that teenage girl again, crushing on the boy in the pool. She hadn’t been in love; she’d been too young for love, hadn’t she? Mica had given her no indication that she was anything to him other than a pest. Except for that one kiss. She was only a girl he’d met one summer...a long time ago.
She stared back at him. He wore dusty jeans, a faded plaid shirt, an old wool vest that she would have trashed and scuffed boots with dirt clods clinging to the heels. There was an oil smudge on his forehead. He looked like he’d walked right out of the fields. His hand rested on the counter, where he’d dumped a big canvas sack.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Pie pumpkins for Louise. My mother said she called and needed them ASAP.”
“She didn’t tell me.” Grace added a final scoop to the sundae she’d been working on, but the dish was overloaded and another scoop fell out. She shoveled it back in and patted it down.
“You need some help there?” He smirked.
Grace stared at him. “I’m fine.” She plunged the dipper into the hot fudge and drizzled it over the ice cream. Glancing at the photo of the Monster Mash, she took a can of whipped cream from the under-the-counter refrigerator and pulled off the cap.
“You’re supposed to shake it up first,” Mica said.
“I know what I’m doing,” she snapped. Grace pressed the top and sprayed whipped cream all over the ice cream, the counter and onto Mica’s plaid shirt.
He groaned. “Yeah, right.”
“Sorry,” Grace said sheepishly, handing him a dish towel.
“You should’ve shaken the can,” he growled. “I would have thought Louise would hire someone with skills.”
Under Mica’s judgmental gaze, Grace felt as if she was fifteen again. Back when she’d just lost the crown and had felt terribly insecure. She’d given her heart away to Mica and he hadn’t known the first thing about her feelings. She’d kept silent. Well, not this time.
“If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Now, excuse me, please. I have to deliver this.” Grace carried her vastly imperfect Monster Mash to a table of four boys, who looked askance at the sundae. “I did my best,” she whispered to the kids. She handed them four spoons. “It’ll taste better than it looks.”
“Yeah,” Timmy said and gave her a thumbs-up. The kids dug in with audible glee.
When Grace turned around she noticed that Mica was now leaning against the counter, his hand on his hip as he watched every move she made. No beauty contest judge had ever scrutinized her so intently. She felt as if she still had whipped cream on her face or mascara smudges under her eyes. She should have checked her makeup before the kids arrived, but there hadn’t been time. Self-consciously, she touched her earrings. No. They were still in place.
All she could do was retaliate in kind. She let her gaze fall to his boots. She lifted the edge of her lips in a lopsided effort at a sneer. “You make deliveries here often?”
“I do now.”
“Then the next time you come, wipe your boots before you enter the shop. Saves me from scrubbing the floor.”
He straightened. “I remember you.”
“Oh, really?” Grace went behind the counter and took out another dish.
“You’re Louise’s niece. I didn’t recognize you without the rhinestone crown.”
Grace gripped the sundae dish to prevent herself from bouncing it off his thick skull. “And you’re Mica Barzonni.”
“Yeah. Well, tell Louise she can mail the check...for the pumpkins.”
“I will.”
He started to head for the door.
“Oh, Mica. Why don’t you stop off at the grocery store. Pick up some soap on your way out of town. Looks like you’ve run out.” She tapped her forehead.
He reached up to his forehead, rubbed it, then studied his greasy fingertips. He glared back at her.
Grace ground her jaw, picked up the ice-cream scoop and pitched it from hand to hand defiantly. One word. Try me, and I’ll really let you have it.
He spun on his heel and stomped out of the shop, leaving a clod of mud and grass on the floor.
“Ooooh!” Grace fumed, wishing she felt some relief from having had the last word.
Sarah rushed to her side. “Was that Mica? I wanted to say hi.”
“It was.” Every smug, judgmental inch of him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Grace frowned. “You look surprised. Why?”
“Mica doesn’t come to town much. Especially since the accident.”
“What accident?”
Sarah paused. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“He was in an accident a few months ago that nearly killed him. He was working on his mother’s car and it dropped on him. He’s lost the use of his left arm. He keeps his hand in his jeans pocket so people don’t notice. If he seemed—”
“Arrogant as all get out?” Grace interrupted.
Sarah smiled. “Well, yeah. He’s always had that about him.”
“I would have thought he’d have grown up by now. Learned some manners. Do you remember when he used to call me silly because I was upset about losing Miss Teen Illinois? He didn’t get it. Those pageants were important to me and a huge part of my life back then. I thought I wanted to be a model, but then I realized my real talent was in fashion design. I was heartbroken that I didn’t win for a lot of reasons. That win would have given me a substantial scholarship to college. My mother didn’t have much money but my winnings all went in a back account for my education.”
“Did you ever tell him this?” Sarah countered.
“No...” Grace’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I was pretty harsh earlier. Aunt Louise owes him money for the pumpkins. I think I’ll deliver it in person.”
* * *
AFTER LOUISE RETURNED from rehab, Grace got a signed check from her and asked to borrow her car. Then she drove south to the Barzonni farm. It was one route she didn’t need a GPS to follow.
She rang the bell when she got to the house, but no one answered. She rang it four more times, but there was still no answer.
Remembering that the family often used the kitchen door, she walked around to the back and knocked. Still no answer. She looked down at the check Louise had written.
It was a flimsy excuse for her to be here, but Grace was ashamed of her remarks about Mica’s dirty boots and the grease on his face, and she wanted to apologize. She didn’t know why he rattled her cage the way he did, but he did.
She banged on the door. “Hello? Anybody home?”
“What do you want?” Mica asked, startling her as he came out of the apartment over the garage. He stood on the balcony, his right hand on the railing as he glared at her.
“I, uh, brought the check we owe you.”
“You could have m
ailed it,” he said, starting down the steps.
He came toward her, and Grace was certain that no male model, no Hollywood star, no European prince, was as drop-dead handsome as Mica Barzonni. His blue eyes seemed to be taking inventory of her every eyelash.
I didn’t even check my makeup before I left Louise’s! This jet lag is going to be the end of me.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the check at him as if it would singe her fingertips.
“Thanks.”
“Mica...” She cleared her throat. “I came out here because I owe you an apology.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “No, you didn’t.”
“What?”
“You came out here because you found out about my acci— My arm. Who told you?”
“Sarah.”
“Good old Sarah. Well, you would have found out sooner or later. Everybody knows.”
“And they shouldn’t? Is it a secret?”
“I guess not. Still...”
“Still...what?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Because, little miss preteen, then I see the pity in their eyes like I see in yours. You feel sorry for me.” He shot the words at her with acidic bite.
Is he serious? “Actually, I don’t feel that way at all. In fact, Mica, I think you’re just as self-centered and arrogant as you were when we were kids.”
“I was never those things.”
“Fine. You are now.” She jammed her hands on her hips. “And another thing. My life has never been silly. Okay? I worked hard for everything I’ve accomplished.”
He took another step toward her, his face dangerously close to hers. “I seriously doubt that. You haven’t got the first clue what it is to work hard. This farm, this land and all it demands, is hard work. I suppose you still tromp around in a pink dress and smile and wink for some judges and you think that’s work? Get real.”
“That was a long time ago. And there was more to it than that.”
“You know what? I don’t have time for this. You live in your world. I’ll live in mine. Got that?”
“Got it,” she roared back.
