13. Grace
Grace
The heat of late August in Grand Haven was a far cry from the scorching summers I’d known in the city.
Instead of being trapped between skyscrapers, Grand Haven offered lazy breezes drifting through leafy trees, not to mention the quiet that surrounded the air.
Blindly, I followed Jena through the farmers’ market.
I had made going to the bakery a ritual, during which I found out that Jena was Ms. Kenzie’s daughter.
She and I hit it off one afternoon when she sat at my table and filled me in on the people in town.
She couldn’t believe I hadn’t visited the farmers’ market in the two weeks I’d been in Grand Haven, so she invited me to go with her.
She was practically bouncing with excitement, her enthusiasm for this small-town tradition becoming infectious, but I was still skeptical.
I had lived my entire life in New York City, where people rushed from one place to another and every day was a blur, one bleeding into the next.
I had no idea how this slower pace appealed to me, but I couldn’t help but become enchanted with this tranquil little market.
There were rows of stands with fresh fruit and homemade jams, flowers in vibrant displays, and the scent of local honey lingering in the breeze.
“Trust me, Grace,” Jena had said as she grabbed my arm and practically dragged me through the market. “This place is the heart of Grand Haven. It’s how you’ll get to know everyone. We do this until November, then the market breaks until March. But we do have the Christmas Bazaar.”
I barely had time to respond before Jena started chatting with a woman behind a flower stand, leaving me to wander off on my own. I stopped at a booth stacked high with baskets of vibrant produce, the colors so bright that they appeared fake.
Speaking of things that were too perfect, I saw him.
Caleb was standing behind a rustic wooden booth, arranging bags of what looked like nuts. The handwritten wooden sign at the edge of the booth read, “Bourbon-Infused Pecans.”
Before I could make another move, Jena came up from behind me and spotted him, her eyes laser-focused. She started to run over to the stall before I could even get my bearings.
I was nervous about interacting with him out in the open.
Sure, we had fun and made each other laugh, but was the chemistry enough?
Nothing beat when I brought him the escargot so he could complete the bet we’d made while playing mini golf.
The faces he made as he ate the slimy snails were priceless.
I don’t know what I loved more: the wary look he gave to the patrons around the bar or the contorted look on his face as he took his first bite.
Actually, my favorite look was the way he looked at me.
I found myself staring at the pictures taken from that night more often than I’d care to admit. Caleb Jameson was an amazing man.
I’d never been so attracted to somebody before.
I wondered what kind of lingerie Caleb liked.
I wondered a lot of things about his taste. And how he would taste.
Grace!
“Grace!” Jena called over her shoulder. “Caleb, this is Grace! You remember her from the bar, right?”
“Jena,” I protested, though I didn’t put up much of a fight. She already had me right in front of the booth.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at her eagerness as she glanced between Caleb and me.
Caleb glanced up, his eyes bright when they landed on me. “Well, well. Didn’t expect to see you two out here,” he said, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He straightened up behind his booth, his easy demeanor instantly making me feel like I belonged.
I smiled. “Bourbon-infused pecans?” I asked, trying to keep our conversation light, given our current company. “Is this another one of your specialties?”
He leaned across the table and smirked. “They’re my personal favorite. We distill the bourbon ourselves, and I’ve been practicing the recipe for years. A little smoky, a little sweet. Trust me, they’re addictive.”
I didn’t need much convincing. I grabbed a cup with samples of the pecans in it and tasted them. The flavors melded together perfectly, rich and complex, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Okay, okay,” I said, laughing. “You were right. These are amazing.”
Jena bumped me playfully. “You two seem to be getting along well.” She looked between us like the cat that ate the canary. “I thought I heard a rumor that you were seeing each other,“ she said, barely containing her enthusiasm.
Caleb raised an eyebrow before he jumped in and said, “How are things with Keith, Jena?”
Jena, the chatterbox, was suddenly quiet and pale in the face. I held back a laugh.
Just then, the sun moved from behind a cloud and pressed down on me. I squinted my eyes and tried blocking it with my hand.
“Here,” Caleb said suddenly, his voice soft and firm. Without waiting for a response, he slipped off his aviator-style sunglasses and handed them to me. “You look like you could use these.”
I glanced at him, surprised. “Are you sure?”
He nodded and shrugged. “I’ve got plenty of them. Plus, you can give them back to me when you agree to have dinner with me.” Caleb smirked as I nodded, blushing from his panty-dropping smile.
Wonderful aromas—from the burgers fresh off the grill to fresh herbs in the salad—wafted from the kitchen into the living room where I stood. Caleb had told me to make myself comfortable while he finished up dinner.
“Is this how old men listen to music?” I joked as I combed through the piles of records in the cubby. Caleb had a taste for the classics, that was for sure.
His home was quaint. Homey. Rich, maybe not in the conventional sense, but rich indeed.
Lots of exposed brick and reclaimed wood.
Architecturally, it was stunning. But even more than the aesthetics of it all, there was this feeling I got as soon as I’d walked in the door and he took my jacket.
Warmth exuded throughout the home just like in Bar.
There was lots of abstract art on the walls.
Pops of color contrasted with the dark woods and metals of the drywall and framework.
The hardwood floors had thick area rugs covering certain sections.
Bookcases housed tons of novels and magazines in haphazard stacks.
He was definitely a collector of things, and everything seemed to have been meticulously chosen.
Clearly, Caleb took care of the things he loved.
I felt him before I saw him. His arms engulfed me from behind. “Again, with the age jokes. I seriously thought we were past that,” he whispered in my ear, placing a kiss on my neck.
I sighed and leaned back, pressing myself into his chest and closing the distance between us. I’d never felt so safe, so secure.
He shifted to adjust the arm on the record player situated on the bookcase beside us. Moments later, the crisp sound of a timeless jazz ballad surrounded us. Caleb swayed our bodies from side to side in time with the music before he spun me in his arms so that we were face-to-face.
His hand slid down my arm until he grasped mine in his, offering me a tender grin and a playful wink. He brought my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. Capturing my gaze with his, he said, “My lady.”
I loved how he called me his so freely.
In my mind, I pretended he was mine.
His hand firmly settled on my waist, and he led me around his living room.
And that was how we spent the next several minutes—dancing.
Well, our version of dancing, that was.
Caleb pressed me closer to his chest, and I prayed he wouldn’t notice how unsteady my breathing had become. He made me nervous. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to being affected by his mere presence. His charming and gentle nature was sweeping me off my feet, and I felt like a fish out of water.
“Do you do this with all the girls?” I blurted into his shoulder.
Grace, shut up.
Caleb chuckled and pulled back slightly so he could look at my face. “What makes you think this happens often?” he inquired, no irritation in his voice.
I made a face. “You’re a bar owner. You’re constantly surrounded by beautiful people.
As small as this town is, there have to be a lot of single, beautiful women, and with liquor flowing, people tend to let go of their inhibitions.
There bound to have been other girls who have tried to shoot their shot with the person mixing their drinks.
Doesn’t it come with the territory?” I reasoned, genuinely curious to see his reaction.
I worried that he might have this laundry list of women at his disposal.
Caleb didn’t respond with words. He pulled me close once more. Closer. Almost as close as I’d like us to be.
The music flowed throughout the room, vibrating between us.
“Hate to break it to you, but just like your bartender assumption, you’re wrong. I don’t usually go out with girls I meet at the bar. I actually have been meaning to tell you something. I was waiting for tonight,” Caleb started, turning us to face the other wall.
His response calmed the nerves spiraling in my belly.
I wanted to know more, but like always, I got sidetracked.
In front of us was a huge gallery wall of eclectic art pieces.
Some big, some small. All full of life and probably stories too.
But then I saw the most magnificent painting.
It was a kaleidoscope of colors. So vibrant yet muted in the right ways.
It reminded me of when I was a kid and would look up at the sun, despite being scolded at how bad it was for my eyesight.
This painting wasn’t amateur work. I took in all the little nuances of the piece—from the fine lines to the detailing to even the frame which had been carefully crafted.
At least all those boring art gallery openings taught me something.
“Who painted that?” I gasped, gesturing with my chin. I leaned forward for a closer look at it. There was something absolutely breathtaking about the way the colors blended. It was almost youthful.
I shook my head, struggling to find the right way to describe it. I’d always had a hard time when it came to art. I’d been taught to appreciate it, but there were some things that you just had to feel with your soul and couldn’t be put into words.
“You like it?” he asked, his eyes dancing as if there was a hidden meaning attached to the artwork.
“It’s … the way the colors pop … I feel pure joy,” I said sheepishly, feeling a bit like a fraud as I tried to describe this art piece.
I saw Caleb’s expression morph to one beaming with pride, and he was about to continue when the front door of the loft flew open.
A woman who looked to be in her late fifties barged in, whirling around the place like a tornado, not even looking at Caleb or me.
She glanced around the entryway as she searched for something.
Her curly brunette hair bounced as she shuffled shoes in the storage bench by the front door.
Shoes that looked rather small. They didn’t look like they would fit Caleb’s big feet at all.
I stepped away from Caleb and looked at him questioningly, wondering why he wasn’t alarmed by a random person bursting into his house and suddenly going through his belongings. Wasn’t he worried about being robbed?
He appeared sheepish and cupped the back of his neck nervously.
Okay, so this wasn’t a burglar. Good to know.
The mysterious woman stopped her search in the hall, moving toward the entrance to the kitchen to look in a basket there.
I took that opportunity to get a really good look at her, and I started to notice the similarities to the man standing behind me.
Their hair color was a similar shade as was their coloring.
She’d let herself in, so that meant she had a key.
Oh my God . A thought dawned on me: What if Caleb lived with his mother ?
As the woman made her way into the living room, still not looking at Caleb or me, she began to spout off a list of questions.
Her back was to us as she opened an ottoman and rifled through the contents before she quickly turned in our direction.
However, instead of looking up at us, she dug through the couch cushions.
“Caleb, dear, Noelle left Mr. Snuffles here. I also don’t have her cleats.
She said she left them in her gym bag, but they aren’t there.
Do you have Mrs. Gomez’s email? I need to ask her something about that class parent thing I signed up for.
Noelle also told me to tell you how you missed your phone call, so she’s not giving Daddy a good night smooch over the phone as punishment.
” The woman prattled on, flipping her short hair as she finally looked up.
The woman’s eyes widened as she saw me standing next to Caleb, who grabbed my hand in his. Maybe a tactic to keep me from running. A good idea on his part.
“Shit,” the woman, presumably Caleb’s mother, said and ran over to us. “I’m so sorry.”
She peered at Caleb with an apologetic look on her face and then focused her attention onto me. “You must be Grace.” She outstretched her hand for me to shake. “I’m Anne, Caleb’s mother.”
He told his mom about me?
I was still stunned by the whirlwind of information just thrown at me, so I stood there in silence, trying to take in all that had just happened.
I grabbed her hand and mustered up enough of my manners to greet her. “Nice to meet you.” I smiled, looking at Caleb, wanting to grill him about all these revelations.
Anne cleared her throat and affectionately grabbed Caleb’s arm. “I’m going to head out. I’ll tell Noelle to call you later … or in the morning.” She glanced at me again. “I’m sorry again for interrupting.”
The door slammed shut, and Caleb and I were alone once more.
Well, as alone as we could be now that there was a giant elephant in the room.
“Daddy, huh?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. I couldn’t help the amused expression that plagued my face as I waited for him to elaborate.
Caleb smiled sheepishly once more. “Yes. Daddy.” He shrugged, blowing out a breath. “I have a daughter.”