by Iris Morland
Joy just smiled, patting his arm.
“I’m just glad I didn’t have to cook anything,” Jaime said, taking the focus off of the engaged couple for a moment. “Sometimes you only want to eat and not have to work for it.”
Julia fluttered her hands. “I’m glad you like it. Cooking for a chef is rather nerve wracking, I have to admit. I was so afraid that the turkey would come out too dry.”
“It’s perfect, Mrs. Danvers,” Jaime replied as he took a bite.
Grace ate in silence, watching her family interact. She was rather glad no one was paying attention to her: she could calm her mind in peace. She could avoid looking at Jaime and try to forget the way he’d touched her underneath the stars that night. She could forget how he’d looked at her at the wedding.
She could forget everything, if she just tried, very, very, hard.
“I heard from Gavin this morning,” Julia said to no one in particular. “He and Emma should be here after the New Year.” Gavin, the second Danvers child, had moved away from Heron’s Landing after marrying his high school sweetheart Teagan. Currently living in Boston, he and Teagan had been having marital troubles for as long as Grace could remember. Now that Teagan had elected for in-patient treatment for her bipolar disorder, Gavin had thought returning home with their seven-year-old daughter would be a good respite for everyone.
Grace had a feeling Gavin was trying to escape his demons. She’d only heard bits and pieces about their marriage and Teagan’s illness, but she couldn’t imagine what they’d all gone through. She’d also heard that Teagan had decided that divorce would be the best option, although Grace had no idea if anything official had been filed.
Her heart hurt for her older, quieter brother. She hadn’t seen him in years, and they rarely talked. But she remembered Gavin being the one to listen to her when she was a little girl, protecting her when she found monsters under her bed. While Adam had been the son who would take on River’s Bend and continue the Danvers name, Gavin had been the odd son, preferring books to business and uninterested in doing anything that would please his father.
Carl made a face as he cut into his turkey. “That wife of his still in the loony bin, then?”
“She’s in treatment,” Julia said. “Yes, she’s getting help. I hope she finds a way to be well soon. I know it’s been difficult for all of them.”
Carl just harrumphed. He’d been against Gavin’s marriage from the start, and especially since Teagan’s bipolar disorder had worsened.
Grace stared at her plate. The thought made her stomach twist, but sometimes she hated her father.
When she glanced up, she saw Jaime’s gaze on her. It was understanding, sympathetic. It broke her heart.
She looked away.
As the food was eaten, wine flowed around the table as well. Grace watched as her father poured himself his fourth glass, and she winced. Carl rarely got intoxicated, but the few times it happened, it never ended well.
“When are you two getting married?” He pointed at Adam and Joy, a gray eyebrow raised. “Don’t tell me you’re waiting five years like some of these couples. What’s the point of gettin’ engaged if you’re never gonna make it official?”
“Probably within the next year,” Joy replied, “but we’re more focused on the vineyard right now than we are on wedding plans.”
“That’s code for ‘Joy wants my undivided attention when we’re doing wedding planning,’” Adam rejoined.
“I already told you we aren’t getting married down at the courthouse just so you can wear your grungy jeans and Converse.”
“I wouldn’t wear my Converse!” Adam took a sip of wine. “I’d wear my Birkenstocks.”
Joy pushed at his shoulder, and he grinned.
“Besides,” she added with a smug smile, “I’m still trying to convince this cheapskate that I’m not getting a dress for less than one-hundred dollars no matter how much he moans and groans.”
Grace couldn’t help but smile. She couldn’t imagine Joy getting a gown that cost less than three grand, if not more. Grace didn’t see what the fuss was about, but then again, she wasn’t the one getting married.
“Who spends five thousands dollars on a dress you wear once?” Adam asked, his voice scandalized.
Joy just looked at him. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Well, be sure to get it done soon, you two. Time’s a’wasting. Besides, we want grandkids here before we end up six feet under.” Carl nodded, not even looking at Adam and Joy anymore. His gaze had turned to Grace, and she automatically slumped down into her chair.
“This one over here,” Carl began, pointing at Grace, “is the one I’m worried about. Sitting at home, doing nothing, just painting away her life. Never thought a daughter of mine would futz around like that.”
Grace tried to sink lower, but then she’d end up under the table. All eyes were on her—mostly sympathetic—but it didn’t make any difference. She wanted to die. Crawl under a rock and die.
“When are you gonna get your life in order, young lady? I keep askin’ her, but she just says she doesn’t know.” Carl scoffed. “If I could, I’d marry her off just to give her something to do.”
Tears pooled in Grace’s eyes just as Julia took Carl’s wine glass away, whispering that he’d had enough. She couldn’t look at anyone. She couldn’t look at her brother or at Joy and she definitely couldn’t look at Jaime. But when the tears overflowed and fell down her face, she got up, saying, “Excuse me,” before hurrying outside into the cool afternoon sun.
She didn’t know where she was going to go. Where could she go? She just wanted to get away from all of those gazes on her. Her father’s words hurt—they did—but somehow the pity from everyone else felt worse. Poor Grace, she’s in a tough spot, isn’t she?
She wiped at her cheeks with harsh movements. Her voice caught on a sob and then she was crouched in a field, crying her heart out, only the crows circling overhead for company.
A voice inside her tried to tell her she was overreacting. But it didn’t matter: the tears came, hot against her skin, dripping onto the ground. She covered her face and bit her knuckles to keep from making any more noise.
She was crying so hard that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, and she didn’t realize someone was there until she was being enveloped in warm, strong arms that wore a dark green sweater.
Jaime. Jaime, why are you here?
“Graciela, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.” She could hear him murmuring against her ear. “Your father is an ass.”
Her legs collapsed from underneath her. Jaime pulled her against his shoulder as they settled onto the ground, and she cried until she was sure she didn’t have any tears left. He made soothing sounds, speaking words she didn’t understand against her skin. She hiccupped, then quieted.
The wind brushed gently against the grass, the only sound around them now. The sun was already starting to set, and Grace shivered a little at the cold. But being in Jaime’s arms kept her warm and protected. Her heart expanded until it would surely burst, filled with so many emotions: sadness, desire, longing, confusion.
Grace looked up, meeting Jaime’s eyes. Only inches separated them. A voice whispered that she should pull away, don’t make things worse, but she’d never been good about listening to those voices. She reached up a hand and smoothed back the hair from his forehead. It was as soft as she’d imagined it would be. His arms tightened around her.
“Graciela.” He closed his eyes as she brushed a finger across his eyebrows. “Graciela, we can’t.”
She moved her hand back to his sweater. She clutched the fabric, because she needed to hold onto something. “Does it matter?” she whispered.
She wondered if he heard her, if she’d spoken to the air around them. The grass brushing against their limbs, the hard soil beneath them. It smelled like fall and hibernation and the hope of renewal.
Grace did the thing she’d vowed she’d never do, not after
Jaime had rejected her when she’d confessed her feelings to him. She said, her voice tremulous yet firm, “Kiss me, Jaime.”
It was like a dam broke within him. He groaned, taking her mouth like he’d wanted to do it for months, years, for so long she couldn't imagine how long he’d waited. This kiss made her heart crack, little rivulets bleeding through her body, and there was nothing she could do to make it stop.
He pulled her onto his lap, kissing her. He ran his fingers through her hair, down around her waist, twisting strands around his hand. His other hand cupped her cheek. Grace had never been kissed like this in her life, and all she could do was surrender to it.
He stroked her jaw, whispering something, and then his tongue darted inside her mouth and she could only gasp and hold on tighter. The only word she could think of was that he ravished her mouth: sucking on her tongue, nipping at her bottom lip, and she tried to match him but her mind whirled and her heart pounded so hard she felt a little faint.
He tasted like wine and Jaime, like desire and longing and all the things she knew she shouldn’t want.
They broke to gasp for air, and then his mouth trailed down her neck. He brushed her hair away from her shoulder. His fingers had knotted in her shirt, and she felt imprisoned by his touch. She never wanted him to stop. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending sensitive and desperate. When his tongue swirled against her collarbone, she murmured his name.
A crow cawed. The sound was so near that they both jolted, and the spell broke. Grace stared at Jaime, and he stared at her. She knew she was probably red as a berry, and she could just make out a flush underneath his brown skin. He looked mussed, delicious, his mouth wet from kissing her.
He said something in Spanish and set her away from him. He stood up, turning away, his shoulders hunched.
She couldn’t move, though. Her body was jelly. He’d kissed her until she’d forgotten her own name.
“We can’t do this,” he said to the sky.
If she weren’t such an emotional maelstrom, she’d laugh. “But we just did. You can’t deny that.”
His shoulders hunched more. He turned and offered a hand up. She took it, although it meant that this was truly over. But after she stood, he let go of her.
He wouldn’t look at her.
“I need to go. Can you make it back home?” he asked.
She nodded. Tears pressed against her eyelids, and she stuffed her hands into her pants pockets so she wouldn’t reach out for him again.
“I’m sorry, Graciela.”
As she watched him walk away, she wondered if she’d ever kiss Jaime Martínez without him apologizing for it right afterward.
Chapter Eight
Jaime guessed about five seconds passed before Grace ran after him.
“Jaime! Stop!” She grabbed onto his arm, effectively stopping him. “Are you always going to run away like this?”
That got his attention. He swiveled, looking at her flushed cheeks and ruffled hair and how she looked like she’d just gotten kissed thoroughly, and all he could say was, “What?”
She let go of his arm, crossing her own arms. “You can’t just keep doing this. You can’t kiss me and then run like you’ve murdered someone.”
“I’m not running.”
Grace just looked at him.
He ran a hand through his hair. The sun was setting and he was sure everyone inside was wondering where the hell the two of them were. Especially Adam. Jaime winced. Adam probably thought the worst was happening out here, but of course Jaime had to be the one to run after Grace.
“We just—we can’t do this.” His explanation sounded lame to his ears. He made a frustrated sound, mostly because he didn’t know how to make things clear when he himself didn’t know the answer, either.
“You keep saying that. ‘We can’t do this.’ Why not? Why can’t we? Is there some law I’m unaware of that specifically forbids us from being together?”
Having the words said out loud sent an electrical charge through him. He couldn’t stop looking at Grace: how the breeze caught at tendrils of that dark blonde hair, or how her lips were still kiss-bruised. How he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her until the sun went down and they forgot about everything and everyone else.
“It’s not that simple,” he said, his tone harsher than he intended.
Grace flinched, biting her lip. She looked down at her feet.
“I’m sorry.” Jaime reached out to touch her, but then thought better of it. “I’m sorry for everything.”
She growled—growled!—and stamped her foot in the dirt. “Will you stop apologizing? I wanted you to kiss me! I asked you to kiss me! Stop acting like you’ve violated me or done something neither of us wanted. Stop acting like you need to confess your sins for kissing a woman who’s attracted to you!”
He’d never seen this side of Grace Danvers, and he had to admit, he didn’t know how to deal with it. She’d always seemed so sweet, so helpful, so easy going. Then again, they all presented masks to the world, didn’t they? People thought he was the diligent, hard-ass chef who didn’t mind when the world tried to screw with him, who didn’t shed a tear when things got tough.
“It’s just a crush.” He seemed as though he was trying to make himself believe that statement.
Now she looked up at him. “Seriously? Is that the only thing you got from what I said? I’m not some dumb kid who doesn’t understand her own mind.” She sighed, loud and long, rubbing her forehead. “Men are idiots. The biggest, most useless idiots,” she muttered to the sky.
“I’m sorry—no wait. Don’t get mad again. I’m sorry for saying sorry.” He smiled a little, stepping closer to her, his expression quickly sobering. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you really are interested in me.”
“I’m not interested in you in the slightest right this second.”
He laughed. He took her hands and kissed the backs of her fingers. Her irritation seemed to melt, and then she sighed again.
“You never answered my question,” she said softly.
“About why we can’t do this?”
“Yes.”
He played with her fingers, noticing that she had freckles dotting the backs of her hands. She’d painted her fingernails a bright pink, although they were starting to chip.
“It’s not about you or me. It’s about—everything else. About your brother, about this investigation, about my parents,” he replied.
She touched his fingers. “What about your parents?”
He didn’t let go of her hands—because he didn’t want to stop touching her—but he looked up as he said, “Did I mention to you that they’re applying to become citizens?”
She shook her head.
“Well, they are, mostly because the university my dad works at isn’t interested in continuing to pay for his work visa. I’m one of their most important character references, besides the fact that having a child who’s a citizen helps their application immensely.” He brushed a finger across a constellation of freckles. “But if I end up getting charged with a crime, their application would suffer, to say the least.”
Grace inhaled. “You won’t be, though. Charged, that is. You didn’t do anything!”
“Doesn’t mean the sheriff couldn’t file trumped up charges if he wanted to.”
She shook her head, pressing his fingers harder, like she wouldn’t let him go. “I know I sound naïve to you,” she said, “but I refuse to believe it won’t all end with you being declared innocent. I know Adam is on your side. How can they charge you without evidence?”
He smiled a little sadly. He brushed a hand down her cheek. “I wish I could look at the world like you can, Graciela.”
“Don't.” She looked away. “Don’t put me on some pedestal, like I’m an angel or something. I know the world isn’t fair and I know shitty things happen but that doesn’t mean I’m going to resign myself to let shitty things happen to people I care about. Not without a fight.”<
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He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted to hold her close and keep her safe. But he also felt admiration bloom inside of his chest for her: he’d misjudged her. He’d thought her sweet and even docile, but she was neither. She loved people, but she had backbone, too. And his heart contracted at the realization that someone like Grace Danvers would fight for him.
“There’s another reason we can’t do this.”
She looked at him, her forehead crinkling. “Oh yes, tell me more reasons why us being together would bring about the apocalypse.”
“Your brother, for one.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Adam? Spoiler alert, Jaime, but he isn’t my keeper. If he doesn’t like it, he can go sit in his room and be mad about it.”
Jaime laughed softly. “I agree, but he’s not just my friend: he’s my boss. He already asked me to stay away from you, you know.” He didn’t know if he should have told her that, and at the angry expression now on her face, he realized he should’ve kept that bit of information to himself.
“That interfering asshole!” She pulled away, crossing her arms. “That arrogant, highhanded, bossy, idiotic brother of mine! I could wring his neck.” She looked like she was about to stalk back to the house and do just that, but she just made annoyed noises in the back of her throat. “I’m going to kill him!”
Jaime took her by the wrist. “I shouldn’t have told you that. But try not to kill your brother. He means well.”
“Yes, he means well to tell men to stay away from me! How helpful of him.”
“Does it matter?” he said to her back. “This still isn’t a good idea.”
Grace didn’t respond. She stared off into the distance, Jaime still holding her wrist. He let her go, though, when she didn’t look back at him.
When she spoke, it was so quiet he wasn’t sure he heard her. But the words were unmistakable. “I’m not going to beg you to change your mind. I’m not going to beg you to kiss me or date me or do anything you don’t want to do.” She took in a breath. “But I’m not going to apologize, either. Because we did nothing wrong.”