Returning Home: A Second Chance Homecoming (Return To Me Book 4)

by Parks, AL

  “That was thoughtful of him.” She loved his dry wit. They were a good match, but not as anything more than friends. Clarissa didn’t do intimacy. Something else she could thank her father for destroying. She had no faith in the concept of love, soul mates, or happily ever after anymore.

  “Look, luv, don’t worry about a thing over here. I’ll get your things packed, and find a place to store them until you can make other arrangements. You deal with issues back there in the States. I’ll handle the move-out over here. Right?”

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Colin. You have no idea how much I appreciate your help.” A lump formed in her throat, and she struggled to work her words around it. “I’m sorry about how things have worked out between us. I never meant to hurt you, Colin, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be the girl you needed me to be.”

  “I know that, luv, and I’m sorry, too. I’ll always love you, Clarissa, and I wish I could’ve been the man who helped you past your fears. If I were a better man - “

  “You’re the best man, Colin. That’s why you need to find someone who can love you, give you that family you have been dreaming about. Give you all the things I can’t. I love you, Colin, and I hope you find true happiness.”

  She clicked the end button after another moment of quick logistics planning. They had said good-bye before she left London, but now, in this moment, there was more finality to it. The closing of a loop in the thread that had been their relationship. Or maybe it was the closing of a door. That seemed more appropriate. Clarissa had shut Colin out, and was now alone. Standing in the darkness, unsure if another door would open and shine in any light. Perhaps, she was doomed to always be cold and lonely with only her memories and her fears to keep her company.

  ***

  Griff swung the bike into the driveway of his Grandmother’s 1940’s style rambler, and killed the engine. He had spent the better part of his life in this house. Not many years, but the ones that counted. His grandmother had yanked him kicking and screaming from the hellish lure of drugs, women and trouble and reformed him into the man he was today. If only Griff could do the same for his own mother, who still struggled with drugs. But not even his grandmother had been able to remove her daughter from that scene. Carla Schulty Griffith was the closest thing to a lost cause Griff had ever seen, but he would never fully turn his back on her. She was his mother, and so he would continue to hope and pray while paying her legal and rehab bills.

  He walked to the door that lead into the small kitchen, knocked and then opened it.

  “Gram?” He closed the door behind him and slipped off his boots, placing them on the mat. A required action. A habit by this point, yet it provided him with so much comfort. It meant he was home.

  She walked out of the dimly lit hallway that led to two small bedrooms and a bathroom. One bedroom belonged to him, the other to her. No matter how many years had passed since he had actually lived in this house, the bedroom remained his room. “Hello, Robbie. I didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “Yeah, sorry to just drop by unannounced,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek as she patted his face. “Hope I’m not keeping you from some social event at the senior center.”

  “No, not today. Come on in, would you like some tea - oh, sorry. I forgot, you don’t drink tea. Coffee or water?” She moved into the kitchen and filled an electric kettle. Pulling a chipped china cup from the cabinet, she tossed a tea bag into it, and then turned to face him.

  He slid onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. His jacket sleeve caught on a piece of Formica that was chipped along the edge. “Coffee’s fine.” He needed to stop by on one of his free days and do some home maintenance around here. Free day, he snickered to himself. There are no free days anymore. Business may be booming, but it was making his free time non-existent. He needed to make time for his grandmother, and not just a few minutes here and there when he would stop in for a cup of coffee. Quality time. Before there was no time left to spend with her. He pushed that thought from his head. Too much talk of death lately, he didn’t want to deal with it so close to his own personal life.

  Clarissa’s face popped into his mind. The woman was confusing as all hell. He didn’t like her, at least he didn’t want to like her. There was something, though, that kept drawing his attention and his thoughts back to her. She was beautiful, and sexy, but she gave off a vibe of arrogance and narcissism. She hated her father, but didn’t seem to have any trouble jumping on a plane from England to get his money. She went to his funeral, but seemed put out by the event and her required presence there.

  A cup of coffee was slid under his dipped head. He raised his eyes and caught his grandmother smiling at him with one eyebrow cocked.

  “So, what’s on your mind?” Gram asked. “I know you didn’t stop by to drain my coffee pot.” He sipped on the hot liquid, buying some time before the inquisition.

  “Why do I have to have a reason to come and see you? Maybe I just missed you.” He took a longer sip, avoiding her piercing gaze.

  “Well that would be wonderful, if it were true. But I know that look, Robert Francis Griffith, and it says you have something burning a hole in your chest and you’re looking to unload it. Now, out with it.”

  He cringed when she used his middle name. The woman could read him like a book. It was seriously disconcerting.

  “Does this have something to do with your silent partner’s untimely demise?” The electric kettle dinged. She unplugged it and filled her cup with boiling water, setting it aside to let it steep.

  “Yes and no,” Griff said, and took another drink of his coffee. “I found out who my new partner - or partners - are. Turns out Mr. Beckett pulled a fast one on his wife, and left all of his business holdings to his two daughters.”

  “So, the daughters are your partners? That’s good news, right?” The teabag was tossed into the trash. Griff watched the ritual of two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of milk, and was caught up in the circling of the spoon as it mixed it all together.

  “Uh, yeah, it’s great news. At least I won’t have to deal with getting in bed with his wife - in more ways than one.”

  His grandmother tsk’ed and rolled her eyes.

  “Sorry, Gram,” he muttered.

  “Well, for a man who got ‘great news’ you seem less than enthusiastic about your new partners.” Gram blew on her tea before taking a tentative sip. She sat in the chair across from him, grabbing a cookie from the plate that had appeared without Griff noticing.

  “The younger sister, Amber, seems like a good kid. But she won’t be involved in the business for a few years. She’s still in high school. That leaves the older one, Clarissa. She’s a real piece of work. I’m not altogether sure she’s even upset her father died. It almost feels like she resents him for dying and making her have to travel and deal with all the stuff he left behind. I mean, the girl is getting millions - many millions. Yet, she has a nasty attitude and is pissed all the time.”

  “Well, you told me that she and her father didn’t get along very well, right? Maybe she feels guilty about not reconciling with him before he died, and now she will never get the chance. Grief and guilt are a volatile and unexpected combination, sweetheart.”

  Griff exhaled and ran his thumb around the rim of his mug, considering his grandmother’s words. She could be right. Maybe Clarissa just needed some time to get past whatever she was feeling for her father. But something in her words, in the way she seemed consumed by hate for him, screamed that she didn’t feel an ounce of remorse for the way her relationship with her father ended.

  Griff got up and walked to the sink. Rinsing out his cup, he placed it in the drain rack. He turned and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.“That may be true, and I gotta tell ya, Gram, I’m a little pissed at the man myself. I mean, he saddled me with a partner that has no business experience and absolutely no clue about custom bikes.”

  “If I remember cor
rectly, your dead partner had no clue about custom bikes, either, but that didn’t prevent you from taking his money and making him a partner in the business,” she said, dipping her cookie in her tea. “Why not give Clarissa a chance, like you did her father? What are you expecting her to do? Come in and take over the place? Redecorate? Paint the walls pink, and make everyone wear uniforms?”

  Griff chuckled. “No, that would more likely come from her stepmother than her. I just want things the way they were. Brad invested and sent his rich friends in to buy bikes, but he left me alone for the most part. He would make suggestions about how to get more business, or send me interesting trends in the industry that he found reading his investment magazines and what-not. But he left the day-to-day running of the business to me, and didn’t interfere.”

  “And how do you know that Clarissa won’t do the same thing? I thought she lived in England? It’d be pretty hard to get in your knickers if she’s an ocean away.”

  “She hasn’t left yet. She could still create havoc in my life between now and the time she does finally return home.”

  “Sometimes a little havoc can be a good thing,” Gram said. “And it may be time for you to have some excitement in your life. Keeps the blood flowing, let’s you know you’re still alive.”

  She stood and walked towards him, placing her cup in the sink.

  “I’m alive and well, Gram.” He leaned in, kissed her cheek and headed for the door. He pulled his boots on, and glanced at her. “Trust me, my life is plenty exciting without little Miss Heiress stirring up trouble.”

  He walked out the door, waving at her as she called out her good-bye. Climbing onto his bike, he reveled in the rumble of the engine as it turned over. Felt it through his chest. His heart lurched a bit as Clarissa’s face flashed in front of his eyes. There was no doubt she could’ve been a challenge he’d meet - and may even be fun - if they had met under other circumstances. The woman was the antithesis of fun. She was a rainy day with no rainbow. A hissing cat that never purred. A woman he doubted would ever love or be loved. She was interested in her millions and her life, and didn’t seem to have any room for sympathy or compassion.

  And that was just not the woman for Griff.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Clarissa parked her father’s Mercedes and surveyed the front of the bike shop. It was a large building, gray, nothing spectacular about it, in the industrial area of town. Clarissa had no idea if that hurt or helped the business. Christ, what was her father thinking, making her part owner of a custom motorcycle shop? She knew camera angles, f-stops, proper lighting. Custom bikes were not even on her radar of interests which equated to her having absolutely no insight into them, or this business, at all.

  She opened the driver’s side door and climbed out. A large sign sat atop the building. East Coast Custom Bikes. She liked it. Not over the top, no attempt to make a play on words or names. She half feared it would be named something like “Slick Custom Rides,” or something equally as ridiculous. She walked to the metal door with an entrance sign on it and glanced at the time on her cell phone. She was a few minutes early. Griff had made arrangements to meet with her at eight a.m. Clarissa couldn’t help feeling he was trying to goad her somehow. He probably thought she slept in until noon and wouldn’t dream of waking up early to come into a smelly bike shop.

  She chuckled to herself. If he only knew how many mornings she had gotten up while it was still dark outside, loaded into her SUV and driven to some off-the-beaten track destination in order to get the perfect sunrise photos over some interesting rock formation she had found by accident.The only time she slept until noon was when she was out drinking all night, and had fallen into bed as the sun was coming up. Otherwise, Clarissa was an “early bird gets the worm” kind of girl.

  She pulled the door open and walked into the open warehouse area where a few bikes were up on hydraulic racks. Each one seemed to be unique, which made sense. With the amount of money people were dropping on these things, no one wanted a bike that looked like someone else’s. That was the draw, she supposed. Men with money trying to one-up their buddies with the latest and greatest.

  Except for the lights being on and some music playing, the place seemed to be deserted. She walked down a hallway off to the side, past an office that was also void of anyone. Just beyond that was a kitchen. And in it was her partner.

  He had his back to her, completely unaware she was standing there. She was about to announce her presence, when she heard him singing softly along with the music. Her eyes travelled over his black t-shirt. The bike shop logo was imprinted on it, pulled tight across the taut muscles of his back and the broadness of his shoulders. He had on worn jeans that looked as if they had permanent oils stains on them. They were faded and frayed, and formed perfectly to his body. He had an ass to die for, at least what she could tell from the way the jeans clung to the near perfect roundness of it.

  How had she missed how hot this man was when she had seen him at her father’s house a day or two earlier?

  He turned and caught sight of her standing in the doorway staring at him.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked. There was no amount of cordiality in voice.

  “Good morning to you, too,” she snapped back. “I just came in a minute ago.”

  “Well, manners would dictate that you announce your arrival when you enter a room, or does your net worth prevent you from having manners?”

  “One, I was just about to say something when you turned around. Two, my net worth doesn’t prevent me from doing anything. In fact, it allows me to do pretty much whatever I damn well please.” She never flaunted her wealth - it made her uncomfortable - but Asshole had tripped her meter, and she wasn’t going to stand around and let him insult her. At least she remembered why she didn’t find him attractive. His mouth negated any sexy he had.

  They stood starring at each other, neither backing down, each assessing the other’s formidability as a foe. There was no way she was going to let this jackass get the better of her. She dealt with men not giving her credibility simply because she was a woman. It was a load of crap and she was getting a little tired of having these pissing matches just to prove she could go toe-to-toe with a man.

  He dropped his head, shaking it slightly. When he raised his eyes to hers, they were less hard. “Okay, truce. Let’s try this again. I was making coffee and haven’t had a cup yet, obviously. Can I offer you one while I get some for myself?”

  Dragging in a deep breath, she attempted to relax a bit. “Yes, that would be great, thanks.”

  “Take anything in it? Sugar? Cream? We only have the powdered stuff, though.”

  She took a step into the room, closing some of the distance between them. “Black, please.”

  “Really?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

  “Really. You learn quickly to drink it that way when you’re miles away from civilization with only a thermos and none of the extras. It’s a pain in the ass trying to add cream and sugar into a travel mug while perched in a tree getting a close-up of a nest of newborn birds before their mother comes back and starts pecking arms, hands…face. Black coffee is more conducive to those situations.”

  He handed her a mug. His face was blank, but his eyes had softened and brightened a bit. Clarissa wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t seem to be pissed at her anymore, so that was at least something.

  “Yeah, I guess I’d switch to drinking it black, too.” He smiled, sending flutters through Clarissa that invaded her stomach. The smile, along with the beautiful eyes, where enough to make her forget her own name. Sweet, but in a sexy way. And Clarissa was sure no man had ever smiled at her that way in her life. He looked away, snapping her back to reality.

  Get a grip, girl. You do not fall for men like him that can’t decide if they resent you or just want to fuck you.

  “I guess we’ve never been properly introduced. Robert, right? Or do you go by Rob?”

  “Neither. Griff
,” he said, and left it hanging there like unfinished business.

  “Griff?” she asked with a touch of disdain she hadn’t intended.