“He loves you so much, Grace. I’m glad you realized that. But if you ever hurt him again—”
“Then you have my permission to kick my ass,” I finished.
She looked at me hard, then broke. “Shit, girl, like I need your permission.” She laughed, then went to grab the last few dishes.
I saw Jack smiling through the doorway to the patio, and I jiggled my boobies at him. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back. I giggled and was still laughing when I heard the doorbell. I answered it, and there was my friend. Michael. With flowers.
“Hey!” I yelled, and hugged him.
“Hey, Grace,” he answered, hugging me back. He let me go quickly and handed me the bouquet.
“Thanks for the invitation. I didn’t know I was going to be here until the last minute, and I’m headed back tomorrow. Wow, great house!” he exclaimed as we walked inside.
“Thanks. Why are you in L.A., anyway?” I asked as I set the flowers down and led him to the dining room.
“Actually, it’s an interesting story. Tell you about it tomorrow?” he said, shrugging out of his coat.
“Well, you’re Mr. Mysterious, aren’t you? Yes, tell me tomorrow. We’re about to eat,” I said, going to the back door.
“Hey, Sweet Nuts, time to eat,” I called, and Jack and Lane filed in.
“I might have to share that nickname with the rest of the cast, don’t you think, Bec?” Lane asked, elbowing Jack in the ribs as everyone found a place at the table.
“No way. No one calls him Sweet Nuts but me.” I glared at Lane, who took a seat across from Holly. I sat at one end of the table, and Jack sat at the other.
Introductions were quickly made for Michael, and soon everyone had a glass of wine.
“Before we start, I would like to say a little something,” I said, standing.
Everyone looked at me expectantly. I cleared my throat, which was suddenly thick.
“This has been an amazing year for me, personally and professionally. Every one of you has played a part in this,” I said, looking from face to face, concentrating on each of them. “I’ve made new friends, and renewed old friendships I thought I’d never have again. I fulfilled a dream I’ve had since I was very young. And I was lucky enough to fall crazy in love. This has been a fantastic year. I hope I’m fortunate enough to spend next year with such incredible people.” I felt my eyes sting as my gaze settled on Jack’s sweet face. “You’re my family. Merry Christmas,” I whispered, and sat down quickly before I made an ass of myself.
We were all quiet, looking at one another.
“And Happy Fucking Hanukkah!” Nick yelled through his own misty eyes, producing a dreidel from his pocket and spinning it in his hand.
We laughed, and Holly leaned over to kiss Nick on the mouth. The mood was festive as we passed the plates and dishes and loaded up. Everyone told tales of their childhood holidays, and as we laughed and talked, I looked around again at all their faces. Each represented something different that I cherished: Lane for pure comedy and his good heart; Rebecca for her power and loyalty; Nick for his passion and energy; Michael for his support and comfort; Holly for her strength and love; and Jack for everything. He was everything I’d ever wanted, and everything I hadn’t even known I needed.
I truly had my family.
After dinner was over and the dishes were done, we went into the living room, gathered around the tree, and passed out presents. Holly and I gave each other the same thing, two days at a spa in Palm Springs, and Nick received iPods from both Holly and from me. He loved them equally.
We drank more, ate dessert, and played games. The music got steadily louder, and as we consumed endless bottles of wine, we got crazier. Michael and Jack somehow ended up on the same team for Pictionary, and they did surprisingly well. I was so happy they were getting along.
Finally, Rebecca was the first to get up to leave. With hugs from Jack and me and a Merry Christmas, she took off. Nick was soon to follow, hugging me tightly at the door.
“So glad you’re back, my dear,” he said. “It was getting dreadfully boring without you.” He kissed me on the cheek.
“Oh, please. You just wanted me back so you could stare at the pretty close up,” I teased.
He looked over my shoulder at Jack, who was talking to Lane and Holly by the fireplace. “It’s true; he really is quite pretty.” Then his eyes became serious. “Grace, let him take care of you, okay?”
“I will, Nick. Thanks.” I kissed him again.
He squeezed my ass, shouted to Lane and Jack that he was ready for the three-way whenever they were, and was gone.
Michael was next to leave.
“So you’re gonna tell me tomorrow why you’re out here, right?” I asked as I walked him outside.
“Yep, I’ll call you in the morning,” he said.
We stood quietly, taking in the darkness around us, and the peacefulness. There was a howl nearby, and he jumped.
“What the hell was that?” he asked nervously.
I laughed. “Coyote.” I listened for another one.
“You have coyotes around here?” he whispered.
“Sometimes you can hear them. I even see them every so often when I’m driving the canyons at night.”
“Coyotes in the middle of Los Angeles. What a great place to live,” he said in wonder.
“I know. You see now why I love it here?”
He looked again at the night sky and lemon trees. A soft breeze blew through his hair, and he nodded. “I definitely see the appeal.”
We were quiet another moment, and then I said, “Thanks for coming tonight. It was nice to have us all together.”
“Thanks for having me. Call you tomorrow.”
“Yep. ’Night, Michael.” I hugged him. This time the wool and sage and lemons—from him and the nearby trees—was perfect and sweet.
“ ’Night, Grace,” he said, and he was gone.
Holly and Lane left together after taking a little ribbing from me and Jack.
Lane swept me into a bear hug, once again lifting me off the ground. “Killer party, Sheridan. I told you we’d break this house in right.”
“Hell yes! Glad you could make it. We’ll see you soon?”
“You got it.” He winked, taking one last peek down my dress.
“Knock it off,” Jack admonished as he and Holly walked over.
“Can’t. They’re fantastic,” Lane replied with that huge smile.
I swear, I could live in those dimples.
“I’ll show you something fantastic,” Holly said, pulling her dress down a little in front and flashing Lane and Jack the top of her lacy black bra.
I laughed as their eyes bugged out. You wave a boob in front of a guy, and he’s perpetually thirteen.
Tucking her girls away, Holly turned to me. “Great party, asshead. Lunch tomorrow?”
“Yep, call me in the morning. Not too early, though.”
“Deal,” she said, and gave me a hug.
Jack slipped his arm around my waist and tucked me into his side as she and Lane walked to their cars and he opened her door for her.
“Olive juice, Holly!” I called as she started her car.
She leaned out the window. “Olive juice too, ya little fruitcake!”
The two cars left the driveway, and I noticed they both went the same direction, even though I knew for a fact Lane lived the other way . . .
Jack and I walked back into the house and surveyed the damage: board games all over the room, wineglasses and half-eaten pie covering the coffee table. I yawned as he started turning out lights.
“You want to do this now or tomorrow morning, Crazy?” he asked, returning to my side and slipping his arms around my waist.
“We should do it now, but I don’t want to,” I admitted, leaning into him and relaxing my head against his chest.
We looked at the tree. The twinkle of the lights and the patterns they made bouncing off the ornaments made the room very cozy. La
ne and Jack (with a lot of surreptitious help from Michael) had managed to worry a fire together, and it crackled merrily in the background.
I’d switched the music a little while ago, and my favorite Christmas carols now played.
“Hey, we still need to do our presents!” I exclaimed, sliding out of his embrace and starting for the coat closet in the hallway where I’d hidden his.
“You want to do those now? Christmas isn’t for a few days, Gracie.”
“Yes, but the spirit is moving me now. Come on, George. Didn’t you get me anything?” I teased.
“Oh, I did. And when you see it, you’re going to let me do that thing to you you said I could never, ever do.” He disappeared into the bedroom.
“Get over it, George. Never means never. I don’t care what you get me. Not going to happen.” I laughed.
He came back to the living room. If he’d retrieved anything, I couldn’t see it.
My present for him was big, so I made him sit on the couch and close his eyes. I removed it from the closet and set it in front of him.
“Okay, open,” I said. He complied, and then his eyes widened in surprise. It took him a few moments to realize what it was.
“Grace, you really shouldn’t have done this,” he breathed.
Sitting in front of him was a brand-new Breedlove Revival OM-M acoustic guitar. He picked it up like a father with a new baby: gently and with reverence. His hands explored the smooth lines, the curved planes, and with exquisite dexterity, he strummed. A beautiful tone came forth from the wood, and a wondrous smile broke across his face.
“Oh, love. This is too much.” He smiled and made no move to set it down.
I sat quietly next to him on the couch and listened to him play for a few minutes, losing himself in the music.
“This is extraordinary. Thank you so much,” he whispered, setting the guitar carefully beside him and turning to me. He placed his hands on either side of my face, with the same care he’d used to hold my present to him, and stared into my eyes for what seemed like hours. He leaned in and kissed me softly, barely pressing his lips to mine.
We kissed gently and sweetly, my hands coming up to cover his as he held my face.
He leaned his forehead in to rest on mine. “I love you so much,” he whispered.
I smiled at him. “I love you too.”
He pulled away and put both hands behind his back. “Okay, your presents. Pick a hand,” he instructed.
“Presents? You got me two things? Not fair,” I said, wrinkling my nose.
“Gracie, shut the fuck up and enjoy this. Now pick a hand, please,” he said, his eyes dancing.
I sat back and looked at the beautiful man in front of me. I pointed to his left hand, then looked at him expectantly.
“Okay, close your eyes,” he said.
I raised an eyebrow, but did as I was told.
“Put out your hand, love.”
I stuck my hand out, and into it was placed what felt like a small velvet box.
What?
My eyes fluttered open and stared at the box from Harry Winston.
What? And I say again—what?
“George, what did you do?” I asked, my heart beating against my chest.
“Just open it, Nuts Girl,” he said, nudging me with his knee.
Carefully, I opened the box and stared. It took me about thirty seconds to comprehend what was inside, and then I threw myself into his lap. The tears began immediately. “Jesus, George, I love you so much!” I choked through my tears and maniacal laughing. I was having a full-on breakdown.
He laughed with me, both of us falling backward on the couch. I kissed him repeatedly, my kisses mixing with tears as I kissed his eyes, his temples, his cheeks, and his chin. I tried to kiss his mouth, but he was grinning too wide so I ended up kissing his teeth.
“You know we are totally crazy, right?” he asked me, brushing my hair back so he could look at me.
“Well, you don’t call me Nuts Girl for nothing. You wanted a crazy girl, and you sure got one.”
“And how lucky am I?” he said, still smiling.
“No one will understand this. You know that, right?” I said, still trying to kiss him.
“They don’t have to. This is about you and me.” He kissed me deeply, and I melted. I actually melted into his arms as I started to cry again.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He chuckled.
“What the hell did you think was gonna happen, Hamilton?”
We looked at the gift together, both smiling hugely.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I asked you to move in, huh?” I teased, then I remembered—“Hey, where’s my other present?”
He rolled his eyes. “See, now to most girls, that would be enough,” he answered, sitting us back up.
“I am not most girls,” I explained, sitting primly on the edge of the couch, admiring my first present.
“You are ruddy well right about that,” he scoffed, and told me to close my eyes again.
“Jesus, George, just give it to me.”
“That’s what she said,” he said, laughing the high-pitched laugh he reserved for when he cracked himself up. Which was often.
I closed my eyes once more.
“Put your hand out,” he instructed.
This time, I felt something paper.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Open, please,” he said.
I looked down at my hand.
It was a plane ticket. A plane ticket!
“What? Am I going on a trip? Where am I going?” I squealed, my voice climbing so high that he clapped his hands over his ears in defense.
“Jesus, Sheridan, just look at the bloody ticket.” He sighed, but he was smiling.
I looked at the bloody ticket. “Shut up,” I breathed, and looked at him incredulously.
He smiled.
“I’m going here? Here? Are you kidding me?” I asked, the tears starting again.
“Yep, you and me. Fancy a trip?” he asked.
I stood up and set everything down on the coffee table. Then I straddled his lap and wrapped my arms around him. His hands went to the small of my back and held me to him.
“George, you’re going to get so lucky tonight,” I said, laying my head on his shoulder.
“I’m already lucky, sweet girl,” he whispered in my ear.
We clung to each other in the light from the Christmas tree and the fireplace, with the music enveloping us, in my home. In our home.
Later that night, when he slipped into me, we were wrapped around each other as tightly as two people could be. I could feel his heart beating against mine, and it was perfect.
We’d gone through hell and back, and he’d stuck with me. Everything I’d been through, everything I’d done, had brought me to this place with Jack.
We were solid. We were strong. And we were moving forward together.
He stirred in his sleep, holding me closer. I scratched his scalp, feeling the silky strands of hair slip between my fingers. I felt the weight of his body press against mine. I rubbed my present back and forth between my fingers again, feeling it against my skin.
He came awake momentarily and rolled me onto my side, snuggling in behind me.
“Love you, Grace,” he mumbled, and slipped back to sleep.
“Love you too,” I whispered.
And his hands?
Please. Where else would they be?
twenty-two
I closed my eyes and let the sun wash over me. It was so strong that even with my eyes shut, the world was bright.
I felt the sand between my toes, warm through the thin bamboo mat I was curled on. I smelled the tang of the ocean, rolling in only a few feet away. I tasted the salt in the air, and the afternoon heat was thick and lazy on my tongue. I heard the waves knocking against the sand, and the call of a seagull overhead—careful there, bird.
Then I heard the door swing shut, and I turned and saw the most beautif
ul man in the world. He trotted down the porch steps holding two beers and headed my way. He wore a pair of loose jeans rolled up at the bottom, no shoes, and, God, no shirt.
“Hey,” he called, shuffling through the sand.
I leaned up on my elbows, exposing myself to him. What was the point of a private beach if you couldn’t sunbathe topless?
“Hey yourself,” I answered, rolling a handful of sugar sand between my fingers. His eyes widened when he saw I was topless, and his mouth stretched into that grin I loved so damn much.
He sank down on the mat next to me and handed me my beer.
“You weren’t checking your voice mail in there, were you?” I asked, arching my eyebrow at him as I sipped. Cold and delicious.
“Nope. I promised. No e-mail, no cell phone, no messages. Holly has the house phone, but she knows it’s only for emergencies.”
I sighed happily and sat up. I scooted over and tucked myself into his side so we could both stare out at the ocean. I pretended not to notice that he was sneaking peeks at my boobies. We smiled and sipped and watched.
When I’d opened the plane ticket at Christmas, I couldn’t believe what I read. I had to look on a map to make sure I knew where I was going. The Seychelles were a tiny chain of islands in the middle of the Indian Ocean. We were about two hundred miles off the coast of Africa, and two hundred million miles away from anything Hollywood. When I realized what he’d planned and how we were going to ring in the New Year, you could have knocked me over with a feather. And the hits just kept on rolling.
The day after our Christmas party, I’d met Michael for coffee as planned, and he told me why he was in L.A.
“So, interesting story,” he said, sipping his latte. “When the show was running in New York, a producer friend of mine saw it, and he really enjoyed it. When he heard it hadn’t been picked up, he gave me a call. He said he thought it was a great concept for TV and wondered if I was interested in adapting it for the small screen.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s fantastic news, Michael!” I shouted, throwing my arms around his neck.
He laughed and hugged me back. “So I flew out here, met with some of the other producers, and worked up some different ideas. They want to shoot a pilot and position it for cable.”
The Redhead Series Page 49