Chapter 19
Somewhat predictably, Isaiah politely declined Grace’s invitation and so it was just her, Noah, and Jacob walking back to the warden’s lodge under a brilliantly setting sky, the horizon ablaze with vivid streaks of magenta and orange.
It was becoming fairly obvious that the caretaker was trying to manage an unsubtle bit of matchmaking, and Grace told herself not to mind.
She wanted to spend more time with Noah, anyway, and she hoped they were becoming friends.
She didn’t think either of them were ready to think about anything else, especially after her ridiculously outraged moment in the kitchen.
The more she thought about it, the more she knew that had been about Brad and not Noah.
Jacob skipped along, looking for interesting rocks along the road, while Noah fell into step alongside her, matching his usually long-legged gait with her shorter one.
He was dressed as he often was, in faded jeans and a sweater with holes in the elbows, his hair a little shaggy, his navy eyes narrowed against the setting sun.
Glancing at him sideways, taking in the clean lines of his cheek and jaw, Grace felt a pleasant little jolt of awareness.
Emotionally she might not be ready for something else, but her body seemed to be saying otherwise, tingling to life at the simple sight of him.
When he’d touched her earlier, barely a brush of his fingers across her shoulders, she’d practically jumped with that same electric shock of awareness.
She was pretty sure he’d noticed too, which was far too embarrassing to let herself think about, but she hadn’t had a lot of bodily contact with an adult male in the last six months.
Her body seemed to be intent on reminding her of that fact.
As they passed the huddle of fishermen’s cottages, Grace waved to Bab who was standing by the sink, her gaze widening in surprise as she caught sight of Noah strolling next to her.
At the next cottage over, Jethro, whom Grace had only seen from afar, stumped onto his front porch with a slam of the screen door.
“That’s a Lawrence there, ayuh,” he remarked to no one in particular.
“Noah Lawrence!” Noah shouted back in confirmation, and then smiled ruefully at Grace. “They’ll be talking about this for weeks.”
“Months,” she replied, and he laughed softly. Mainers might like to keep themselves to themselves, Grace reflected, but they still seemed to enjoy some—or even a lot of—speculation.
“Here we are,” she announced as she came to her own front porch. Even though she’d only been on Lighthouse Cove Island for a short while, it already felt like home.
“I don’t think I’ve been in here since I was a kid,” Noah remarked as Jacob raced ahead to the living room and the joys of the iPad and Grace kicked off her shoes by the door.
“In fact, I know I haven’t.” He glanced around the cozy kitchen with its island and deep window seat overlooking the water in appreciation.
“This place has definitely had an upgrade.”
“So I’ve been told,” Grace replied with a laugh. “I love it.”
“I can see why.” He propped his shoulder against the sub-zero fridge, his gaze sweeping over the room once more before coming to rest on Grace herself in a way that was equally admiring. “It’s a great space.”
“I feel like I should say thank you, but it had nothing to do with me,” she told him as she started opening cupboards and getting various ingredients out.
She wasn’t much of a cook, she’d never had the opportunity, but she liked throwing things together.
“How about pasta with lemon and fresh basil?”
“Sounds perfect.”
She nodded toward the wine fridge below the island. “There are a few bottles in there if you want to get one out.” Did that make it too date-like, she wondered with a frisson of panic. Did it matter? He’d suggested wine back at Grayhaven, after all.
“Wow,” Noah remarked as he squatted down to inspect the fridge, “Isaiah really thought of everything.”
“He really did.”
As Noah browsed the bottles, Grace filled a pot for the pasta and then started grating a lemon. Outside the sun was sinking behind the hills, and she reached over to turn on the lamp that hung over the island, its warm light bathing the kitchen in a comforting glow.
Everything felt very cozy, she reflected, as well as companionable, in a way that was utterly unfamiliar and different to her old life. Back in their apartment, Brad had never even gone into the kitchen. To be fair, she hadn’t either. Their Cordon Bleu chef, Claudine, had scared her.
Noah straightened, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc in his hand, his head cocked to one side as he glanced at her. Belatedly Grace realized she had stopped grating and was simply staring into space.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, his tone gentle.
She blushed. “Just… how nice this is,” she confessed. “And cozy.”
“It is very cozy,” he agreed. “And very nice.”
They stared at each other for one of those long moments they seemed to be having more and more often. It wasn’t unpleasant, far from it, but Grace looked away first.
“What was your life back in New York like?” Noah asked as he started opening drawers, looking for a corkscrew.
Grace let out a rather hard laugh. “Not like this.”
“I figured,” he said wryly, “but… tell me.”
She hesitated as she picked up the lemon and started grating again. How to describe her old life? Did she even want to? “Privileged,” she finally said at last. “Rich.”
She fell silent, and Noah let out an uncertain laugh. “You make those sound like bad things.”
“To me, they were,” she told him bluntly.
She reached for the basil plant by the sink and tore off a few leaves, none too gently.
Talking about her former life, her ended marriage, was not easy.
“It felt like a prison,” she explained as she started chopping the leaves.
“It was a prison.” Noah was silent, waiting for more, and Grace realized her fingers were trembling.
This really wasn’t easy, and she’d barely said anything so far.
She glanced up at him, trying for a humorous glance even though he was looking far too compassionate.
She did not want his, or anyone’s, pity.
She was getting her life back, and she didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for her about it.
“Are you going to open that wine?” she asked, only half joking, and he snapped to attention.
“Absolutely.” He’d found a corkscrew, and he made short work of the cork as Grace took two crystal wineglasses—the warden’s lodge really was very well stocked—and handed them to him. He poured out generous measures and handed her a glass back with a small, whimsically understanding smile.
It wasn’t until she’d had several fortifying sips that she felt ready to continue.
“I met Brad, my ex-husband, when I was twenty-two,” she told Noah.
“I was doing my master’s in marine biology, and I had a summer fellowship at Woods Hole, on the Cape.
He was staying there with his family—they have a huge mansion right on the water.
He started flirting with me when I was collecting some algae samples.
He’s older than me by ten years, and he seemed so sophisticated and handsome, so interested and charming.
” She fell silent, remembering the sight of Brad standing on the beach, his expensive Nantucket Red chinos rolled up at the ankles, a pair of leather boat shoes dangling carelessly from his fingertips.
The collar of his polo shirt popped, a cashmere sweater draped over his shoulders.
His dark hair ruffled, his eyes a pale, piercing blue.
He’d seemed to come from another world. He had.
“He really was very charming,” she told Noah. “Very smooth, and also very persistent. He insisted I had to try the oysters at Water Street Kitchen, which was a fancy restaurant I couldn’t afford. I finally agreed, even though I don’t even like oysters.”
“You should have gone to Kenny’s,” Noah quipped, and Grace let out a tremulous laugh.
“I should have,” she agreed, and her voice trembled as she remembered that evening, and how it had set in motion so much of her life, without her even realizing it.
“I really should have.” She pressed her lips together, horrified to realize she was already alarmingly close to tears.
It must have been the wine on an empty stomach.
Her head was swirling with memories and regrets.
“Grace,” Noah said, his voice low and roughened with sympathy, “you don’t have to tell me about this if you don’t want to. I was just trying to make chitchat. I mean, I want to hear about your life, I really do, but not if it… hurts.”
“Well, it does hurt,” Grace told him frankly.
She was glad her voice came out stronger.
“And it still feels pretty raw,” she admitted.
“But… I don’t mind telling you. I have to put your broken Barbie comment into context, after all.
” She’d meant it lightly, but maybe there had been a slight edge to her voice, because Noah winced.
“I really am sor—”
“No, no more apologies,” Grace said firmly. “I’ve made enough of them already and so have you.” She really wanted to move beyond all that. “But maybe we should eat first. And drink more wine.” She took another sip, more of a gulp, grateful for the Dutch courage.
Noah’s answering smile was easy, the curve of his generous mouth lightening his features, making him seem so much more approachable—and making her stomach tighten.
He really was ridiculously handsome, like a hero out of a romance novel, or a romcom, all brooding dark looks mixed with a delectably wry sense of humor.
“Sounds good to me,” he said, and reached for the bottle to top up both of their glasses.
They kept the conversation light as Grace started making the pasta and Noah got out the fixings for a salad.
She called to Jacob to set the table, and he came willingly, taking the plates over to the table one at a time.
Outside, the sky darkened to indigo and then black, a thin sliver of moon hovering near the horizon, sending pale fingers of light streaming over the placid water.
Over the clatter of dishes, Grace could hear the gentle shoosh of the tide upon the sand of their little cove.
With the warm lamplight, the darkness outside, the sound of the sea and the comforting smells of lemon and basil, it all really was so very cozy and comforting.
She could get used to this, a life like this, she thought, and then was jolted by the rather romantic direction her thoughts had veered to.
She wasn’t ready for that, she told herself, not for the first time that evening.
This time, however, she didn’t sound quite so convincing, even in the quiet of her own mind.
As they headed to the table, Grace decided to ease back on the wine, her head already feeling a little fuzzy, the sharp edges of her emotions pleasantly blurred, but definitely needing no more rounding out. They all sat down and Grace started dishing out the pasta.
Noah kept the chat light, and he didn’t seem at all fazed by Jacob’s silence, taking his occasional nods or expectant glances the way Grace did, as if they were having two-way conversation.
She was incredibly gratified by his relaxed manner, the sting of those three awful words—weird little kid—vanishing completely in the light of his warmhearted acceptance.
Actions, Grace thought, spoke so much louder than a few careless words.
After dinner, Noah helped her clear and then clean the kitchen, rinsing dishes while she stacked them in the dishwasher.
While Jacob got ready for bed, she made a pot of decaf coffee—despite her resolutions, she’d had another glass of wine at dinner and definitely could use a little sobering up—and they headed back to the living room.
She’d half wondered if Noah would make his excuses as soon as the meal was finished, his duty done, but he seemed content to stay, and Grace was glad for him to.
She was also well aware that they had an unfinished conversation from before dinner, and she suspected Noah was waiting for her to bring it all up again.
Brad. Her marriage. The end of it, especially.
Her head still felt a little fuzzy, but she realized she still wanted to tell him.
Some of it, anyway, and who knew, maybe even all of it.
Keeping all these secrets, all this pain, to herself was starting to feel like a burning in her chest, a weight on her shoulders, and maybe Noah, broken Ken doll that he said he was, would understand something of what she felt.
And if he didn’t… well then, he could go back to being reclusive and she could keep her distance. That didn’t seem like a satisfactory outcome, though. Not at all.
Jacob was tucked up in bed, the fire glowing with embers, when she brought their coffee to the living room. Outside the wind had kicked up, as it often did at night, and the windowpanes rattled every time a gust blew in from the ocean, but somehow it only made everything feel cozier.
Grace handed Noah his cup of coffee and then curled up on one end of the sofa, tucking her feet under her, feeling as if she were waiting, expectant, for whatever came next. Would she be the one to usher it in?
Noah murmured his thanks and then took a sip, before lowering his cup and leveling her with a dark gaze that was both warm and intent, and made a jolt of awareness twang through her. “So,” he said, his voice low and rich. “You were telling me about your ex-husband.”