Chapter 5 #2
He closed his eyes as if he didn’t like what he had to say. “She’s up to something,” he told her. “I don’t know what her angle is, but she always has one and she is definitely up to something.”
“Maybe she’s considering asking for more time with Olivia,” Gracie suggested. “You know, a change in custody? More time in L.A.?”
He shook his head. “Just the opposite.” Taking her hand and tucking it protectively into the crook of his arm, he walked to the crosswalk, paused to check for traffic, and then walked them across. “She wants time with me, not Olivia.”
“Maybe she…wants you back.”
He snorted. “That’s not happening.” He slowed his step once they’d crossed, looking down at Gracie. “First things first, Gracie McBride. You look spectacular.”
She felt a huge smile pull. “Thank you.”
“And this date—a little time in town, and a nice dinner at The Lakehouse Grill—is not going to be spoiled by my ex and her secret agenda.”
A secret agenda? How intriguing. But before she could ask, he took her hands in his and drew her closer.
“Let’s forget she’s here and concentrate on what matters—our time together.” He punctuated that with the lightest kiss on her forehead. “I’ve literally been counting the minutes until I could see you.”
She resisted the urge to giggle, but did not resist the need to stand on the toes of her boots and respond with a lightning-fast kiss on his lips. “For a guy who doesn’t do sugar, that was just about the sweetest thing I ever heard.”
He laughed and hugged her, keeping his arm tightly around her as they strode down the sidewalk…in full view of that window table.
She didn’t know what Bianca’s secret agenda was, but right then, she didn’t care.
The next morning, Gracie woke up smiling.
Not the dainty, demure smile of a shy pastry chef who’d written off the possibility of falling in love again as the stuff of romance novels. No, this was the wide and wonderful Cheshire cat grin of a woman who suddenly believed that love wasn’t just possible…it was right around the corner.
With a shiver, she climbed out of bed and pulled on her fluffiest slippers and coziest robe, inhaling the scents of bacon and coffee that floated up from the kitchen.
“God bless you, Red,” she whispered, eternally grateful her grandfather was an early riser.
She lingered momentarily, gazing out at a snowy world, the rooflines of Snowberry Lodge visible as nothing but a white-on-white blur from this second floor bedroom.
As alluring as the siren call of coffee and bacon might be, she wasn’t quite ready to shake the haze of happiness that had clung to her since last night. She could still taste a long and lovely goodnight kiss, the memory spreading warmth all the way to her toes.
Was that her favorite moment of the night? When Marshall wrapped her in his arms outside of her car, with snowflakes melting on the collar of his coat while she melted in his embrace?
Or was it when he reached across the linen-covered table at The Lakehouse Grill and thumbed her knuckles tenderly, looking at her like she was something rare and wonderful.
Maybe it was when they slipped into a Christmas store and picked a few new ornaments for his tree, the two of them planning a decorating date in a few days.
There’d been so many perfect moments, she felt like she’d been in her own blurred movie montage of laughter, kisses, and deep conversation.
She didn’t care that Bianca had seen them leave together. Nor did she care that half the town probably knew by now. Right now, Gracie didn’t care what anyone thought.
She floated downstairs, her fingers dancing along the banister that had supported three generations—four, if she counted Benny—of Starlings who’d lived in this fine old farmhouse on the edge of the Snowberry property.
Would she leave this house if she fell in love and married Marshall? She froze mid-step as the shocking thought hit her hard.
Not that it was that shocking—although Marshall hadn’t used the M word or the L word or any forever term, he had made it abundantly clear he wasn’t…what was the expression? Window-shopping.
So, if they got serious and did get married, would she and Benny move in with—
“I thought I heard a customer.” Red poked his head out of the kitchen door. “G’morning, sunshine. How are you?” The question came out equal parts teasing and curious.
Of course, he knew she’d had a date last night, but this was all new territory for Gracie and Red. The last man she’d “dated” was Sam, a loser who got her pregnant and then hauled out of town.
Since then, there’d been no man in her life but the one she was raising. How would her opinionated grandfather feel about that change?
Guess she was about to find out.
“Morning,” she said dreamily, snagging a piece of bacon as she passed. “You’re up early.”
“Old men don’t sleep much,” he said, flipping another strip. “Especially when some lunatic named Bertie texted me at five a.m. to—get this—do a sunrise power-walk.”
Gracie choked. “She…texted you? How did she get your number?”
“Probably from Cindy, who I’m officially disowning today.” He stirred the batter and eyed her over his rimless specs that, along with the beard, made it look like Santa himself was at work in the kitchen. “You look…happy.”
Gracie leaned against the counter, trying not to grin too big. “I am happy.”
He poured a cup of coffee, sliding it toward her like a bartender. “That’s good. That’s real good.”
There was something about the way he said it—like the words had splinters—that made her tilt her head. Maybe he’d already thought of the logistics if this brand-new relationship went anywhere. Red couldn’t live here alone, could he?
Nope, not an option.
She went to the fridge for cream, considering just how much to tell him. Better he know now that this was happening. Plus, she could never hide anything from her grandfather.
“We had the best night, Red. I mean, really wonderful. We walked around town, looked at the snow globes, listened to that street violinist near the square. And then dinner at The Lakehouse.”
“Fancy,” Red murmured.
“Not too fancy,” she said, taking a sip of coffee and sliding into her seat at the kitchen table. “Perfect, actually. We talked about everything—family, work, faith, life. He told me he doesn’t really date just to date. He’s looking for something real. And he thinks…maybe that’s me.”
Red slid her a look that was just dubious enough to make her heart fall.
“No? You don’t think so?”
“Me?” he scoffed. “Gracie girl, I don’t get a say in your personal life.”
“You have a say in my everything life,” she quipped. “Please, feel free to opine. Or do you think someone like Marshall would never love someone like me?”
Her grandfather wiped his hands on a dish towel, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean, someone like you?”
“You know,” she said softly. “I’m not…outgoing. I like to bake and read and am not really…” She wanted to say “beautiful” but Marshall had made her feel utterly gorgeous last night, and he’d meant it. “I’m not like, say, his ex.”
He snorted. “Thank the good Lord for that.”
“Have you met her?”
“Yeah, I, uh, bumped into her on the property.”
“She’s beautiful, right?”
He turned away, concentrating on the bacon sizzling in the pan. “Well, see, now, everyone defines that differently. Cora was beautiful.”
Gracie smiled, thinking of her dear grandmother. “Completely,” she agreed.
“But some people are just diamonds on the outside, and nothing but…coal dust on the inside.” He turned, his eyes looking…pained. “Gracie girl, any man who doesn’t see you as a catch needs his head examined.”
She smiled, touched by the comment but frowning as she searched his face.
“You okay?” she asked. “You look…worried.”
“Nah,” he said quickly, waving it off. “Just listening and thinking about…it all.”
What all? “Do you not like Marshall, Red?”
He hesitated just a second too long. Then he shook his head. “I like him fine. Good man. Seems steady.”
“But?” she pressed gently.
He started to say something—she saw it, the flicker of words right behind his lips—then footsteps padded down the hall.
Benny appeared in his pajamas, hair sticking up, glasses askew, phone in hand. “Mom? Guess what?”
“What, sweetheart?”
He plopped onto a stool. “Olivia texted me. They’re going skiing today. Her mom, her dad, and her. The three of them.”
“Bianca is skiing?” Red asked, sounding oddly surprised by that.
“Well, she doesn’t want to ski but she wants ‘the family experience’”—Benny used air quotes—“‘and a picture for Instagram.”
Gracie froze for half a breath. “Oh,” she said lightly. “How fun. I…I…” Never heard a word about skiing today, she thought.
Why wouldn’t Marshall mention that? Or maybe he didn’t know. Or it had to do with…what had Marshall called it? Bianca’s secret agenda? What could that possibly be, other than the obvious ploy to win him back.
She forced a smile. “That’s…nice. Family time.”
Benny nodded, abandoning the phone to attack the bacon. She waited for Red to tell him to hold off until the eggs were ready, but when she looked across the kitchen, her grandfather was staring out the window.
His gaze was steady, his bearded jaw set the way it was when he was digging deep for the answer to a particularly hard crossword clue.
“What is it, Red?” she asked softly.
He shook his head and held up a hand as if to stave off any more questions. “Nothing. Just—be careful, Gracie girl. People are full of surprises. Sometimes good ones, sometimes the other kind.”
Her throat tightened, but she managed another smile. “You don’t have to worry about me, Red. I’m not sixteen.”
He smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth tugging down as he laid bacon on a paper towel. “You’re my granddaughter. That’s my job.”
“Your job is to be Grumpy Santa on the sleigh,” Benny said. “Any chance I could suit up in my elf costume and go with, Grandpa? With Olivia gone and school on break, I don’t have anything to do.”
“You can be my bodyguard all day.”
“Cool!” He stood up and squared his little pajama-clad shoulders. “Just call me McBride. Benedict McBride.”
“You need a bodyguard?” Gracie asked, laughing at Benny’s bad James Bond imitation.
“Yes, because I have a stalker. That Sergeant Bertie won’t let me have five minutes of peace without slapping something on my wrist to measure things that have no right being measured. I don’t know what my…my vox is and I don’t care!”
Gracie laughed. “I think Uncle Jack’s mom has a crush on you, Red.”
“What?” Benny almost spit out his OJ. “That’s so gross, Mom. Eww. They’re, like, a thousand years old.”
Red turned from the stove and fried him with a look. “Not a day over nine hundred, Benny-bean. Now, Gracie…don’t you let anything steal that happiness you came downstairs with. Just…be careful.”
The warning—repeated for a second time—gave her pause. She wrapped her hands around her mug, trying to hold onto the warmth. What could he mean? What had put that worried look in Red Starling’s eyes?
And then it became crystal clear, just as her grandfather looked around the old house with a slightly…lost expression. Of course. He knew if she got serious with Marshall, it could mean she and Benny would move out and leave him in this big house all alone.
That’s why he looked a little worried and doubtful, and understandably so.
She stood to refill her coffee and, as she passed, put a reassuring hand on his back. “Great breakfast, Red.” She patted him with love. “Don’t know where we’d be without you.”
He just gave her a sad smile and she made a mental note that whatever happened to her, she’d never abandon her dear, sweet grandfather.