Chapter 12 Gracie #2
She looked down at the boiling sugar and syrup, then checked her watch as she pulled it off the heat. “We’re good. Eight more minutes, then we have to work fast. Spun sugar gets tricky.”
They watched the mix for a second, then she asked, “Did you bake when you played football?”
“I kept baking the whole time I was in the NFL,” he said, chuckling. “I had a reputation as the guy who fed people and prayed with them if they wanted it.”
For some reason, that painted the most beautiful image in her head—this big strong man bringing pie and prayers to the locker room. “Nothing wrong with strong faith,” she mused.
“That’s part of who I am,” he said simply. “In fact, when I retired from the NFL, I considered going to Divinity School.”
She drew back, definitely surprised by this. “Pastor Marshall?”
“Come on, now,” he joked. “It’s believable. I did officiate a wedding last summer.”
“You did?”
He nodded, proud. “One of my offensive coaches for the Steelers wanted to get married out here in Park City, and his fiancée liked the way I talked about commitment, so…they asked me. I was so honored,” he added with a smile.
“I took the online course to get certified and licensed in Utah, met with the pastor at my church, and I married them way up on a cliff in Alta last July. It was incredible.”
“It sounds like it,” she said, slipping a spoon into the sugar to test the consistency. “Well, Pastor, are you ready to make a spun-sugar bridge?”
“That’s it? We ready to spin?”
“Yep. Let’s build a bridge.” She led him back to the table, where they prepared the parchment surface.
The kids came over with their chocolate-covered strawberries to watch. As they started, Olivia disappeared for a bit back to the front while Gracie showed them all how to spin and pull.
As the sugar hardened, Benny and Marshall sketched out a bridge and she started to lift and drag the sugar threads, carefully turning to shape them.
She let the sticky strands drift from her special whisk, each one catching the pendant light before settling in a glistening arc that bridged the gap between their storefronts.
“There’s no way that’s going to be a bridge,” Marshall said, mesmerized by the process.
“It’ll take some time,” she whispered, giving the sugar her full attention. “And it does seem impossible at first. But you’ll see.”
Across from her, Marshall watched with open appreciation, giving her a jolt of satisfaction.
“You make that look easy,” he said. “So graceful and artistic.”
And…there was the blush. But it didn’t burn or make her want to hide her face. In fact, she didn’t even look down as she felt her pulse quicken.
Not because of a girlish crush, though. This time, what she felt was…deeper than that. Attraction? Yes. But even more.
Admiration. Respect. And something that made her whole body ache in a way she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
Finally, they had a bridge that stretched from a candy-covered roof to one made of almond flour, the hardened crystal glistening like an ice sculpture that joined their two worlds.
“Perfect,” he said in a soft, low voice.
She looked up and her breath caught. He wasn’t looking at the bridge. He was looking right at her, right into her soul. For a moment, she froze and felt her knees grow a little weak.
“Thank you,” she managed.
He stepped back, blinking. “And I better look for some lights,” he said quickly.
“I have them,” Benny said, surprising Gracie, who had totally forgotten he was there.
“You do?” Marshall seemed just as surprised—like the two of them had been in their own little world.
“My great-grandpa found some LED lights with a special flash,” Benny said. “They match the human heart rate, so people…will…love…” He glanced around. “Where’d Olivia go?”
“I’m right here.”
Gracie turned at the tight note in Olivia’s voice as she came back into the kitchen, clutching her backpack to her chest.
“You okay, Bug?” Marshall asked, frowning, as he must have heard the same thing.
“Yeah, yeah, I, um…” She swallowed, looking deeply uncomfortable. “I need to talk to Miss Gracie alone.”
“Of course,” Gracie said, already setting down her whisk to lead her into the office. “Come on, sweetheart. We’ll be right back,” she called to Marshall and Benny.
“We’ll be making the windows glow,” Marshall said, trying to sound light but Gracie saw his gaze track his daughter as she crossed the kitchen. Once again, she felt a wash of respect for how much he cared about this little girl.
Who definitely didn’t seem like herself.
Gracie ushered her into the office, half bracing for a conspirator’s grin, or some new scheme for her not-so-subtle matchmaking. Maybe Gracie should tell her to relax—her little setup was a success. At least on Gracie’s end it was.
But the minute her office door clicked softly behind them, Olivia’s face crumpled and all the confident sparkle slid off like frosting on still-warm cake.
“I think I—” The rest dissolved into a rush of tears. “I think I got my period.”
“Oh, honey,” Gracie said, every maternal instinct snapping into place. She took a step and pulled the girl into her arms. Every inch of Olivia’s long, lean body trembled, like a little scared deer. “You’re okay. You’re completely okay.”
“I know what’s happening,” Olivia groaned into her shoulder. “I read the book, and there were videos, and I even made a kit, and I understand the shedding of the uterine lining.”
Of course she did, Gracie thought, adding a squeeze so she didn’t laugh at something only eleven-year-old Olivia Hampton would say.
“That doesn’t make the first one any easier,” Gracie said.
“And I left everything I need at home because who knew when this would happen?”
“The worst possible time,” Gracie said wryly. “You can count on that.”
She gave a weak smile. “I didn’t want to tell Dad, and I thought about asking him to take me home but then I’d have to tell him and he’s…”
“Not a woman,” Gracie finished for her.
“I just…don’t have anything.”
“You have me,” Gracie said simply. “And my private bathroom. And my entire stash of emergency everything, because life happens.” She smoothed a braid over Olivia’s shoulder and walked her to the small powder room in the back. “Bottom shelf of the cabinet. Use whatever you need. Take your time.”
Olivia nodded, grateful eyes big. “Thank you.”
When the door clicked shut, Gracie stood with her hand flat on the bathroom door, feeling the weight of this moment.
She remembered her own first time—how her mother’s hands had been steady and sure, how they’d sat on the edge of the tub and laughed because laughter beat fear every time.
When it was all over and they went back into the kitchen, MJ had placed a square of chocolate in Gracie’s palm and said, “For your iron,” and winked.
Gracie still didn’t know if that was true. But she’d felt so loved.
She walked to the mini fridge, poured a cold cup of water, and pulled open her desk drawer for her secret Godiva stash.
The bathroom door opened a few minutes later, and Olivia stepped out, cheeks blotchy but chin higher. She’d washed her face. She’d smoothed her braids with determination. She was still a child, but one who’d stepped across a line she couldn’t uncross.
“You okay?” Gracie asked.
Olivia nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again, laughing at her obvious wobble.
“I’m…yeah. I think so. It’s just—” She made a helpless motion with her hand, looking very small and very brave. “I know it’s natural and happens to everyone, but it’s still big.”
“It is,” Gracie agreed, handing over the water and chocolate. “Take a minute. Then you can decide if you want to go out there or if you want to sit with me and talk. Either is fine.”
Olivia took a sip and then a tiny bite of chocolate like it might explode. “You keep chocolate in the office of a bakery?” she asked. “Seems redundant.”
Gracie chuckled not only at the idea, but at the fact that her bright little boy had certainly met his match with his best friend.
“I don’t think any woman’s desk should be without emergency chocolate.”
Olivia let out a whimper as she finished the square. “You are so different from my dad,” she murmured.
“And yet, here we are…building bridges.”
Olivia smiled at that, then shyly stepped forward and put her arms around Gracie’s waist again, offering a surprisingly fierce hug.
“Thank you,” she said into Gracie’s sweater. “Please don’t tell my dad I cried. I guess I can figure out a way to tell him the rest.”
“Any tears are between us girls,” Gracie promised, rubbing her back.
They stood like that until Olivia blew out a breath and squared her shoulders. “Okay. I’m good.”
“You’re amazing,” Gracie said. “We better go back and help the boys with those lights. Benny’s definitely a big believer in ‘more is better’ and ‘too many is perfect.’”
“As long as they beat at the right pace,” Olivia said, the comment confusing Gracie as they walked back into the kitchen.
There, she saw Marshall working furiously, on his knees, threading lights under the gingerbread structure—it could hardly be called a house—with Benny crawling around the floor looking for the outlet.
Marshall said something she didn’t catch and Benny cracked up, as if in that short amount of time they’d created an inside joke. The amount of time it took for her to step into Olivia’s life and be an on-the-spot mother.
Gracie exhaled, nearly swaying at the impact of the unexpected moment of intimacy and family and closeness.
Marshall looked up and his gaze went straight to Olivia, scanning her face with that split-second parental inventory when something might be wrong with a child.
Gracie lingered behind Olivia, catching his eye with a small shake of her head, silently stopping any questions.
He got the message and instantly turned to Benny. “Did you get that clip through the loop, Ben?”
The lump rose in Gracie’s throat before she could stop it, freakishly emotional as if she was the one who’d just gotten her first period. Why was this all hitting her so hard?
“Okay!” Benny called out. “Plugging in!”
The gingerbread creation woke like stage lights had come on. Marshall’s side glowed a clean, crisp white that made the almond walls look like new snow. Gracie’s faux storefront bloomed in warm amber, with little red sparkles around the windows.
Where the two halves met beneath the spun sugar arch, the colors mingled—white bleeding into gold until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
The kids cheered, but Marshall just smiled across the kitchen at her.
“Would you look at that,” he murmured, holding her gaze with one that could melt all the chocolate in this room. “They meet in the middle.”
She waited for the inevitable blush, a nervous laugh, the shy girl instinct to look anywhere but in his eyes.
But none of that happened. Instead, Gracie smiled right back and let a whole different kind of warmth fill her chest. Behind him, Benny and Olivia were high-fiving and popping chocolate-covered strawberries.
The whole kitchen seemed to shift out of focus, everything blurred but the face of the man in front of her.
Marshall picked up the entry form for Mistletoe on Main, walking toward her, never taking his eyes from hers.
“We need to name this,” he said softly, tapping the card against his knuckles.
Name…this?
Well, it wasn’t a crush anymore. It wasn’t an attraction. Sometime between making the foundation for that gingerbread building and spinning the sugar into a fragile but beautiful bridge, she’d left anything that meaningless behind.
Because Marshall Hampton wasn’t just a good-looking guy who’d once played professional sports and happened to open a competing business. He wasn’t merely a neighbor or the father of Benny’s pal. He was…
Extraordinary and faithful, strong and intelligent, caring and loving and kind.
She tore her gaze from his and looked past him at the sparkly, spectacular, snowy delight that captured their personalities, their businesses, and their…relationship. Whatever it was.
“How about Sweet ‘n’ Clean?” she suggested.
He dropped his head back and laughed. “I love it.”
And she, a little voice in her head whispered, could love him.