by Iris Morland
Grace hated that he’d been right, in a way. She would’ve hated studying business or communications, but she’d have a job, wouldn’t she? At least she wouldn’t be under her dad’s thumb like she was right now.
She sighed. She brushed a few tendrils of her long hair behind her ear, wondering again if she should cut it. She’d had it long for so many years that it felt like another limb. But lately she’d wanted to push the boundaries—even just by cutting her hair—but she’d yet to get the courage to do it. She could hide behind her hair when she needed to, and that was a security she wasn’t willing to sacrifice at the moment.
Grace began mixing, focusing on the fiery colors of fall. The river provided a calm backdrop, with some birds calling overhead. The rains of spring had caused the river to rise almost above its banks, but now it was mostly back to normal. Spotting a heron flying down and banking onto the other side, she smiled. Sometimes she would come here to watch for birds, sometimes to fish for crawdads. When she was little, she’d bring a plastic container and search for tadpoles to bring home. Her mom always grimaced when she’d shown her the bowl of tiny amphibians, their tails bustling behind them as they swam in circles.
Grace swirled dark orange paint onto the canvas, attempting to create trees and perhaps the river in front of her. She usually found landscapes uninspired, but now she was determined to paint something. She’d be just like Bob Ross and paint mountains and rivers and happy little trees and a stray bird overhead and clouds and everything banal. If she could catch a squirrel and keep it in her pocket like Bob did, she would do that, too.
She painted as the afternoon waned on, creating the river, trying to paint shadows in its corners and currents. She painted a blue-gray sky, a few cirrus clouds swirling around its depths. She even added the heron, its leg uplifted and its beak to the sky. For a few moments, she stopped and watched as it fished, and she laughed out loud when he caught one and gulped it down.
As the sun began to lower in the sky, she could feel the temperature dropping with it. Her once sunny spot had transformed into a shady one, and she couldn’t stop shivering. She really should’ve brought a jacket. At the thought of forgetting important weather gear, she couldn’t help but think of when Jaime had let her stand under his umbrella that rainy day so many years ago—the day she’d fallen in love with him.
She’d tried to forget about him. She’d dated other guys in college, but the relationships never lasted beyond a few months. Sometimes Grace wondered if she were broken: the kissing was nice, but eventually she’d get bored and want to go home. Now she was twenty-three and a virgin, and she found it somewhat embarrassing. How’d she get to be a college graduate without losing her V card? Then she felt stupid for feeling stupid, because virginity was a social construct and meant nothing anyway…
Looking at her painting, she realized that it was crap. Absolute, complete, toss-it-into-the-dumpster-right-now crap. It looked like an imitation of a hotel painting that had been traced from a second grader’s drawing. Growling and swearing at herself, Grace wished she used paper as a medium so she could tear it up into tiny pieces. But, alas, canvases weren’t that easily destroyed, and throwing it into the river would be rude, so she just laid back onto the dirt and huffed out a breath. She threw her arms across her eyes and screamed a little, like a little kid. She was just glad she was alone.
“Grace?”
She shot up so quickly that she knocked over her easel with her foot and sent her paint supplies skittering across the rocky ground. And to make things even better, Jaime himself stood in front of her, looking rumpled and delicious. She hated him on sight. He needed to go away already and let her live her life. Dammit, now her paintbrush was soaked in river water and river goop and some of her paint had spilled, too.
Jaime crouched down to help her. “Sorry if I scared you. Were you painting?”
It was a dumb question, and Grace knew that Jaime knew it was a dumb question. But she was too agitated to care. She also didn’t want him to see her sad excuse for a Bob Ross landscape painting. “I was trying to,” she muttered, tossing her supplies into her bag without looking at them. “But nothing seems to stick.”
Jaime glanced at her painting. “That’s pretty.”
But she could hear in his voice that what he really meant was, That’s boring. She almost laughed. “It’s terrible, and you know it.” She finally gave up and sat back, wiping her hands of some of the dirt and eventually giving up.
He sat down beside her. “Well, I wouldn’t say it was terrible, but it’s not…”
“Interesting? It’s okay. It looks like a hotel painting.”
Jaime cocked his head, peering at the painting more closely. Then he laughed a little. “It does look like a hotel painting. What makes a painting look like a hotel painting, though? Like is there some secret hotel painting store all hotels buy them from?”
“There’s probably a shop on Etsy,” Grace said dryly.
Jaime laughed again.
Despite herself, she felt her mood lighten somewhat. She’d be a liar if she said she didn’t enjoy being in Jaime’s company. They hadn’t been alone—really alone—since the wedding. Her face burned at the memory. She stared at the ground, but then she caught sight of his hands, and she remembered how they’d felt pressed against her back.
She looked away and forced herself to stare at the river instead.
“Do you come here a lot?” Jaime asked. “I just found this spot recently, but if you’ve claimed it, I can find another one.”
She shrugged. “I’ve come here since I was little, but it’s not like I own this patch of the river.”
I also don’t want you to leave. I know you’ve been avoiding me, and I hate it, she thought.
“Well, if you’re sure.”
After that, silence fell. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but Grace wondered if Jaime wanted some time alone. She glanced at him, and she saw that his jaw was tense. He looked tired, and there were circles underneath his dark eyes. Had he not been sleeping? She knew River’s Bend needed a lot of work lately, but this seemed different.
She almost asked him what was wrong, but then she thought better of it. She didn’t have a right to pry: they weren’t even friends, per se, but more like people who ran into each other often. She wrapped her arms around her knees, suddenly feeling the chill again. Maybe she should leave and go home.
“Are you cold? Here, take my jacket.”
Jaime shrugged off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders. The jacket was big enough that it was almost like a blanket on top of her, and she inhaled his scent emanating from the cloth. As he placed the jacket on her shoulders, his hands stayed on her upper arms—perhaps longer than necessary.
But then he moved away, and Grace wondered if she’d just been imagining things.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She saw that he only wore a t-shirt now, and she knew how much he hated the cold. “Aren’t you going to be cold?”
“I’ll be fine. I need to walk back home anyway.”
She pulled the jacket closer, her eyes closing. It smelled like spice and cedar and Jaime’s warmth seeped into her limbs until she wanted to cry from the exquisite sensation. She wanted to imagine that this was as close to him embracing her as she was going to get, and it broke her heart and made it pound at the same time.
“I guess you’re always keeping me safe from the weather,” Grace said. When he just looked at her, she blushed. “Never mind,” she muttered.
Jaime looked like he wanted to ask what she meant, but he didn’t.
She just smiled, her heart cracking a little. She wondered if he even remembered that moment—that moment when he’d smiled at her and held his umbrella over her head while he got soaked to the skin—and she’d fallen in love with him. She wanted to cry at the thought, but it was just too indicative of her life right now: a whole host of small misses that added up until they felt like they were suffocating her.
She heard a phone sound
then, and she watched as Jaime took out his phone and then grimaced at what he read. He muttered something in Spanish that sounded like a very complicated and long-winded curse.
Grace couldn’t help it. “Is something wrong?” she asked. She probably couldn’t do anything to help, but at least it would get her mind off of her own problems.
Jaime looked up at her, as if he’d forgotten she were there. Then he shook his head. “No, just some stupid shit with the vineyard. Actually, it’s more complicated than that. Your brother wants to talk to me.”
She just stared at him, waiting for him to explain. When he refused to talk, she said quietly, “Anything you say won’t go beyond this spot. Not a word to my brother, or anyone else.” She held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
He smiled a little. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but then again, you’re going to find out anyway. There’s money missing from the vineyard.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. “Who would steal from River’s Bend? It barely has any money to steal right now!”
“Ironic, right? But you haven’t heard the best part.”
“Is there a best part when someone’s stealing money from my family’s business?”
“According to your brother, the prime suspect is none other than me.”
Grace stared at him. She thought at first he was joking—how could anyone think Jaime would steal from River’s Bend? When he’d poured so much of himself into the restaurant? She said nothing, waiting for the “just kidding!”, but it never came.
“You’re not serious? You? You? Has my brother lost his mind?” She got so agitated that Jaime’s jacket slipped off, and she was about to get up and find Adam when Jaime put a hand on her arm. That got her to sit back down.
“He doesn’t want to believe it, but there’s evidence that says otherwise. I guess.” He scowled, tossing some rocks into the river. “It’s bullshit, of course, but I have to go through the motions anyway, because if I refuse to talk, I’ll look guilty, won’t I?”
“But how does anyone know it was you? Or think that it could be you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Your brother just told me last night, or I guess, warned me. But there’s money definitely missing, so they’re starting an investigation.”
“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” Grace pulled the jacket closer, clenching her fists until she realized she was probably wrinkling the material. “That doesn’t seem fair at all.”
“Things aren’t fair in this world.” He tossed another rock into the river, then sighed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t dump my problems onto you, especially when you’re connected to it in a way.”
“Don’t apologize. You should be able to talk about this with someone.” In a quiet voice, she added, “I’m glad you feel like you can talk to me.”
She ventured to look at him again, and his expression was such a mixture of surprise, resignation, and searching that she didn’t know to react. Did he really not have any idea how she felt about him? That it wasn’t just some girlish crush? She felt as if he were seeing her for the first time, or just realizing that she was more than Adam’s younger sister trying to get a kiss just to pass the time.
His voice low, he said, “I try not to dwell on things I can’t do anything about, you know? But I’ve worked my ass of for this vineyard, and what do I get? Accused of theft. I’d laugh if I weren’t so angry about it.”
Jaime’s voice was so bitter that Grace’s heart hurt. She was glad that Adam didn’t want to believe his friend was guilty and had seemed to warn him more than accuse him, but at the same time, she couldn’t imagine the betrayal Jaime was feeling. To work so hard, only to be investigated for a crime you didn’t commit?
She knew he hadn’t done it. She didn’t need evidence because she knew Jaime Martínez was a good, hard-working, honest man who’d fought tooth and nail to get where he was today. He’d never toss that away—never.
She didn’t know what to say, though. She could feel his anger coming off in waves, and she wanted to touch him, to hug him, to tell him it would be all right. They’d figure out who’d done this, or maybe it was just a miscalculation. But those all seemed like hollow platitudes, and none of them were things she could guarantee.
So instead, she said, “I believe you’re innocent. For what it’s worth.”
Jaime looked at her, his gaze dark but seeming to lighten around the edges. She took him in: the stubble on his jaw, his full lips, how he had a slight bump on his nose, how she could make out a few strands of silver on his temples. He wore a necklace with a small, silver cross on it, and she wondered who had given it to him. His mom, or maybe a girlfriend? As long as she’d known him, he’d worn that necklace every day, although she hadn’t known him to be particularly religious. There were a lot of things about Jaime that she’d yet to discover, she realized.
She may be in love with him, but she didn’t really know him.
He swallowed, looking at her. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
She couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked away again, blushing a little, but her heart swelling all the same.
She was in so deep. So deep, and the waters were only closing in over her head now, drowning her. She’d sink to the bottom without making a sound, and Jaime not being the wiser.
She pulled the jacket closer.
“I should probably get back,” Grace said. “It’s almost time for dinner anyway.”
She was about to get up, but Jaime got up first and then held out a hand. She looked up at him, and she let him envelop her hand with his larger one. Their fingers made a stark contrast—hers pale, his brown—and she had to pull away lest she do something really stupid.
“You have dinner with your parents every night?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah, I guess. I mean, I do live with them.”
“That’s nice. I miss my mom’s cooking. She’d make pupusas de chicharrón every Friday.” Jaime made a sound that was a mixture of longing and satisfaction.
“I’ve never had those,” Grace admitted as she began to gather her supplies. Jaime helped her, carrying her easel and ugly painting while she picked up her bag with paints and brush. “What are they? I’ve heard of them.”
“Basically a tortilla stuffed with cheese and pork,” he replied. “There’s a great place about an hour from here in Belltown that has amazing Salvadorian food. You should take a trip there.”
She smiled, but didn’t reply. She’d much rather take a trip there with Jaime, or better yet, have him cook for her, but she couldn’t really tell him as much.
When they got to the main path, Jaime asked, “I’m in the opposite direction, but do you want me to walk you home? It’s getting dark.”
“I think the deer and rabbits will leave me be,” she said with a smile, taking her easel and canvas from him. “Thank you, though.”
He seemed to be about to say something else, but then just shook his head. He said goodbye, walking off into the distance.
She watched him until he disappeared, a vague figure amongst the shadowy trees. It was only until he was gone that she realized she hadn’t returned his jacket. She fingered the cloth, inhaled its scent, and wondered if Jaime would notice if she kept it.
Chapter Four
Jaime had never preferred one kind of woman over the other: green eyes, blue eyes, brown hair, blonde hair. If it was on a woman, he liked it. Tall, short, curvy, thin, brown, white, and everything in between? He’d enjoyed women at his leisure without discrimination.
But now what haunted him was long, blonde hair, like mermaid’s hair, falling in soft waves down a pale back. He knew, instantly, who the hair belonged to. Who else could it be? Who else had hair the color of dark wheat that looked amber in the sunlight?
“Graciela.” Jaime wrapped an arm around her from behind, smelling her soft hair. It smelled like cherries. He sifted his hands through it, wrapping some of its length around his wrist. He wondered if Grace had ever played Rapunzel as
a little girl. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your beautiful, glorious hair.
Grace sighed as he kissed the side of her neck.
“Why don’t you leave your hair down more often?” It fell almost to the top of her ass, and he marveled at how long it was and how many colors ran through its strands.
“Do you want me to? Leave my hair down?”
Her voice, a throaty murmur, went straight to his groin. He wanted to wrap his hands in her hair as she rode him, the length covering her breasts, her nipples barely visible. He wanted it splayed across a pillow as he moved insider her from above, her eyes heavy and her mouth parted.
He trailed his index finger up under her cotton shirt. He traced the length of her torso, brushing at the small indentation of her waist. Silk, skin, heat, a small trail of moles, like constellations, across her stomach. Soft hairs dotting the spot above her belly button.
He kissed her neck again, licking, sucking. She breathed harder. He wondered if he could get her to moan—to scream. Or would she be quiet, all in her head?
“Graciela, Graciela,” he murmured, saying words in Spanish that he knew she wouldn’t understand but that didn’t have the right translation in English. They flowed from him like a current, pouring over them, and he could feel her pulse speed up under his tongue. His hand moved upward under her shirt. He cupped her breast—small, warm, the nipple tightened already.
“Do you want me?” he asked.
She pressed her ass against his hardened cock, and it was him who moaned.
“I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember.” She took his hand, still massaging her breast, and covered it with hers. Squeezed. “Will you take me, Jaime? I want you—I need you.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice.
As he kissed her, open-mouthed and desperate, the sound of a phone going off rang through the room.
And then Jaime opened his eyes, realized he’d been dreaming of Grace Danvers, and that he had a massive hard-on from said dream.