Chapter 9 Gracie
Six Weeks Before the Wedding
It’s why I spent my morning at her house, convincing my stepsisters that hiring the Patriots’ team mascot isn’t happening, and why I’m now late to a meeting with Calvin, Brooke, and Jude to sign contracts.
Normally, I’d handle this over video call, but after getting a text from Calvin saying that Brooke wants to meet in person (and the three-mile stress run it inspired), I decided this was a good thing.
For one, it forces me to rip off the Band-Aid of seeing Calvin with his fiancée.
Secondly, it’s a chance to ease Jude into the wedding planning process—something I’m still shocked he agreed to help with while I lacked the full use of my faculties or my pants.
And while I may only have his cooperation because of my unexpected leverage from the cottage, I can’t help the surge of hope I feel anyway.
After parking, I lock my car and start jogging down the street. I tried to leave on time, but Brianna physically blocked me from the door until I helped them source the football bounce house of their dreams. By the time I escaped, I was already late.
Smoothing my freshly de-bird-shitted blazer, I take a deep breath and turn down Westminster Street, trying to calm myself before this meeting. Probably an impossible task without, say, a horse tranquilizer. And yet, I’m determined to make the most of this opportunity.
After Jude revealed that Agatha left the cottage to me and I was able to overcome the emotional shock, my mission to save Larkwood suddenly felt divinely validated.
It was as if Agatha knew her grandson would try to sell the estate and knighted me as its valiant checklist-wielding defender.
And while I doubt that a contract meeting will be the thing to thaw Jude’s heart, I am holding out hope that seeing Calvin and Brooke together will bring out the softer side I know he has deep (deep) down.
When I finally make it to the café, I’m panting as I pull open the glass door with a tinkle of bells. It’s packed inside, and it takes me a moment to spot Calvin, Jude, and a woman who—no shit—looks like a young Brooke Shields, sitting at a table near the back.
My spine feels like a lightsaber that just got switched on, neon bright and electric as the full gradient of human emotions pulses through me.
I watch as Calvin throws his head back and laughs in seeming slow motion.
It’s been three years, but longing sprints ahead of everything else, with shame nipping close at its heels.
Why can’t I get over him? Are some hearts just more stubborn than others?
Incapable of moving on, even when there’s no hope or reason to keep clinging on?
I glance at Brooke, who’s holding his hand on the table and smiling indulgently at him, her engagement ring glinting from across the room.
I’m half considering making a run for it when my gaze slides to Jude.
He’s watching me intently, a look furrowing his brows that could either be concern or annoyance. Dammit.
I force myself to start walking and feel Jude’s unsettling eyes on me the entire time. Why do they have to catch the light like that? It isn’t natural or appreciated. But at least he isn’t wearing those glasses again. Small mercies.
When I get to the table, I pull out a chair and quickly say, “Sorry I’m late, everyone, my last meeting ran over.” Technically the truth, even if it was because I nearly got into a slap fight with my stepsisters.
Calvin and Brooke begin assuring me that they just arrived when Jude stands quickly, accidentally hitting the table and making the dishes rattle.
“Sorry,” he says, meeting my surprised gaze. “Can I grab you a coffee, Gracie? Some food?”
Taken aback, I think of the toast he made me.
I’d assumed he was just buttering me up before asking me to sell the cottage, but maybe he just has some kind of bizarre radar for whenever I’m undernourished and undercaffeinated.
I could definitely use some sustenance, but as I glance at Calvin and my nerves zing to life, I respond, “That’s okay, I’ll grab it myself. ”
“It’s no problem,” he parries, grabbing his nearly full cup. “I’m going up for a refill anyway.”
I narrow my eyes at him in suspicion, and suddenly, it clicks: Jude can’t stand being around a lovesick couple.
I try not to let all my hope deflate. The whole point of bringing him along was so that he could see the excitement of a couple ready to tie the knot and maybe consider the possibility that marriage isn’t lifelong incarceration.
Well. His plan might be to take every chance to leave the table, but I’m not ready to give up yet.
“Then I can refill it for you,” I counter sweetly, attempting to take the cup from him but only succeeding in awkwardly putting my hand over his.
He blinks at the contact, and for several seconds, the feeling of his warm fingers beneath mine sends my train of thought right into a ditch.
His grip tightens, and he says in a lowered voice, “Please. You must be starving if you’re coming straight from another meeting.
I can get you a latte and madeleines. They’re the best—”
“In the city,” I finish for him. For a moment, we just stare at each other, and I’ve forgotten what we’re fighting over until Calvin clears his throat and stands as well.
“Gracie! Let the man get you a drink and get over here. I haven’t seen you in ages!”
Jude’s eyes flick to Calvin in surprise and then back to me. Then a closed-lipped smile pulls across his face that might be construed as warm if I didn’t know it was smug with victory. So much for Mr. Nice Guy. I let go of the cup.
“Okay, thanks. A latte and madeleine would be great.”
“Good choice,” he comments before leaving me to face my own personal version of hell. I want to flick the back of his head.
“Calvin, hi!” I say, giving him a little wave instead of walking into his now outstretched arms.
He doesn’t get the hint and walks toward me before I can sit.
And then I’m wrapped in his arms, breathing in mint, sandalwood, and what I’m positive is the stale ghost of my dignity as I suck in lungful after lungful.
He lets go far too soon or far too late—it’s hard to decide.
But then I’m being turned bodily by Brooke and blasted full in the face by her outrageous, thick-eyebrowed beauty.
“Gracie, you angel! It’s so wonderful to meet you at last,” she says in the sort of British accent that belongs in Jaguar commercials and Jane Austen adaptations. Naturally.
“You, too!” I attempt to say, but it comes out sounding much closer to You chew!
She graciously ignores this, but I get the feeling everything she does is filled with grace, including tripping and burping. As we sit, I see Calvin glance between us excitedly, like he’s thrilled we haven’t automatically challenged each other to a cage match.
“Cal, you never mentioned how beautiful she is, you sly dog,” Brooke teases, poking him in the arm with her tasteful cream manicure. While I wrestle with whether to be flattered or flattened by this, she goes on, “I feel rather lucky you let go of her at all.”
The smile plastered on my face goes wooden as I change the subject with the delicacy of a brick through a window. “I owe you two a congratulations!”
On cue, Calvin shoots Brooke the most adoring look I’ve possibly ever seen on a human face before resting his hand on her still-flat stomach. “Thanks, Gracie. We couldn’t be happier.”
Brooke flashes me a shy smile, and my own falters. “Right! Yes! The baby,” I say heartily, before glancing over to where Jude is waiting for his order and desperately wishing I weren’t alone. “How are you feeling, Brooke?”
“Honestly, I’m embarrassed to say I’ve been fine,” she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I know so many people have nausea at this stage, but I think this little one knows not to come between Mummy and her spreadsheets!” she jokes, and my laugh is robotic.
Calvin throws an arm over her shoulders. “Brooke is a partner at the wealth management firm mine competes with.” He makes a grimace. “And while I’m glad she’s feeling great, I could have really used a little break from her snapping up all our best clients.”
“Wow, so you’re work rivals,” I say faintly, winded by this further revelation that Calvin’s love story is straight out of a romance novel.
But I’m saved from the urge to ask them if they ever found themselves in a one-bed scenario at one of their Successful Hot People conferences when Jude returns with a steaming latte, two madeleines, and what looks like half a baguette stuffed with more veggies than I’ve probably eaten in the last week.
“Um, thanks?” I say, taken aback. “I didn’t need the five-dollar-foot-long, though.”
He shrugs but doesn’t meet my eye as he sits. “Save it for later, then.”
What in the freshly baked hell? I mean, I’m not necessarily opposed to chivalry when it’s of the nutrient-dense variety, but I’m still not entirely convinced Jude isn’t trying to poison me.
“What have I missed?” he asks, and even though he sounds like he’s hoping to hear “Everything! We’re actually all finished up here!” I can’t help feeling a little less alone.
“Only that Calvin is counting on his fiancée’s sick days to compete with her at work,” I say, earning a guffaw from Calvin and a delighted “I knew I was going to adore you!” from Brooke.
I glance over at Jude, whose face is carefully neutral as he takes a drink of coffee. I take a hasty sip of my own before reaching into my bag to retrieve the contract and Larkwood welcome package I give to all my clients.
“I’m kidding, of course. I was delighted to hear from Calvin again, and we’re thrilled you’ve chosen Larkwood for your wedding venue.” Jude makes an indistinct sound of dissent, and I kick the side of his leg. “Right, Jude?”
“I didn’t realize this was an old-friend situation,” he says, sidestepping the question. “No wonder Gracie was so insistent on making this happen.”
He says it with a smile that’s so offensively charming, there’s a good chance they don’t detect his displeasure with the whole situation.
“ ‘Old friend’ is one way to put it,” Brooke says. She leans forward like she’s sharing a hot piece of gossip with Jude. “Cal and Gracie dated years ago. But he swears that’s all ancient history.”
Calvin meets my eyes for a moment so brief I think I’ve imagined it before he drinks from his cup. He smiles at no one in particular. “It’s true. But you know how it goes. Everyone has that old college flame that inevitably goes out. Then you realize you’re better off as friends. Right, Gracie?”
Jude must sense that I’ve turned to stone because it’s his turn to bump my foot under the table.
“Right,” I hear myself agree. “Ancient history.”
Jude nudges the plate of madeleines closer to me. “Should we get down to business?” he asks, saving me from any further emotional torture. “I’m sure you both have a thousand questions for Gracie.”
And that’s when I feel something for Jude I never saw coming—gratitude.