London Tides

by Carla Laureano

  “It is. The woman who basically destroyed you, your rowing career, and every plan you had for the future.”

  Ian climbed into the car. “That had nothing to do with her.”

  “It had everything to do with her.” Jamie started the car and backed down the drive. “Question is, what happens now that she’s back?”

  “What’s it to you? Since when do you involve yourself in my love life?”

  Jamie raised an eyebrow. “That answers my next question. I was going to ask if it was serious.”

  Ian realized his brother had been baiting him, much as he’d done to Jamie when he was pursuing Andrea. “It’s Grace. It’s automatically serious.”

  “That’s what I thought. But something’s different this time, isn’t it?”

  “God, I hope so.” It was as much a prayer as an answer. He shifted topics. “What’s up with Muriel?”

  “I don’t know. She’s not herself. We’ve been trying to get her to see her doctor, but you know Muriel.”

  “Doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do, I know. She’s exactly like Dad.”

  “We’ve hired a new manager for the hotel so she won’t have to work so hard. He’s taking over the labor-intensive tasks and managing the bar. He’s also under strict instructions to keep an eye on her.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “I don’t either, but what else can we do? You’re in London. Serena visits when she can, but Em has school in Inverness. And Andrea and I—”

  “Right. How are you working that?”

  “We just bought a home in Nairn and she’s set up office nearby. I’m still traveling back and forth between there and London. Let’s be honest. The restaurants may run themselves, but I can’t leave them for more than a few weeks at a time. We can’t live on Skye.”

  “This manager is trustworthy, you think?”

  Jamie pulled up to the hotel, something in his face telling Ian he wouldn’t like the answer. “Raised here. Just moved back. He’s an engineer.”

  “A . . . what?”

  Jamie got out and walked round to the boot. Ian followed. “Listen,” Jamie said, “he’s responsible, he needed the job, and he’s good with the reservation system. You know as well as I do that people come to Skye for their own reasons. They don’t tend to want a lot of questions.”

  Jamie was right. If his siblings trusted this manager, he would too. “I just hate the idea of no family being here if Muriel is unwell.”

  “I know. Me too. Grab one of those cases?”

  Ian took the wine bottles and followed Jamie around back to the kitchen entrance, where the light and heat and clatter spoke to preparations still under way. Jamie went straight to the industrial walk-in refrigerator and placed the box on the floor next to the others like it.

  “This is an improvement,” Ian observed. “A far cry from the little cottage kitchen.”

  “We’ll see. Restaurant opens for its first dinner seating next month.”

  Ian scanned the kitchen, where several men in white chef jackets prepped the ingredients for the next day’s reception. It was all gleaming tiles and stainless steel, the same standards as Jamie’s restaurant kitchens. He offered his hand. “You’ve done a good job. You and Andrea.”

  “Thank you.” Jamie shook his hand. “Let’s check in with Jeremy, and then we can get back to our women.”

  Of course he would deliver the last bit with a wicked, knowing wink. He was enjoying this turn of events.

  To be perfectly honest, so was Ian.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  GRACE LET HERSELF BE DRAWN into the kitchen with Serena and Andrea. The smell of baking breads coming from the oven and the mess spread over the countertops said they’d already been at it for some time.

  “Who’s all this for?” she asked, accepting a mixing bowl from Serena.

  “Wedding guests,” Serena said. “The restaurant at the hotel isn’t open yet, and there isn’t much nearby. Mix that together, will you? A dozen or so strokes is all.”

  “Serena also seems to think that I need entertainment on the night before my wedding,” Andrea put in, spooning already-mixed batter into muffin tins. “Apparently sleep is overrated in this family.”

  “Always has been.” Grace smiled. The easy manner between the two other women said that Andrea had been readily accepted into the family.

  “You seem pretty familiar with the MacDonalds,” Andrea said, a twinkle in her eye. “You’ve known Ian for a while, then?”

  “Oh, I think you know the answer to that.” Grace stirred the batter carefully, scraping flour off the sides of the bowl as she went. “Who’s the designated interrogator?”

  “Since I’m technically not a member of this family until tomorrow, I’ll give that honor to Serena.” Andrea winked at her soon-to-be sister-in-law and whisked the muffin tin to the countertop beside the oven.

  Grace reached for the floured pan Serena nudged across the counter. “All right. I’m ready. Go.”

  Serena laughed. “I haven’t even had time to think up proper questions! Which is probably why Ian didn’t warn us you were coming.”

  “Well, if Serena isn’t going to take advantage, I will.” Andrea returned to the island, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “What do you do for a living, Grace?”

  Andrea couldn’t have known she’d started with the hardest question. “I’m a photographer, though I’m considering a change. The travel doesn’t appeal to me like it once did.”

  “I hear that,” Andrea said. “What discipline?”

  “I do some occasional commercial work, but mostly conflict.”

  Andrea’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re a war photographer? That’s impressive. Not many women in your field, are there?”

  “No. Bit of a boys’ club, that.”

  “So, does that mean you’re settling in London, Grace?” Serena’s tone was pleasant, but there was no doubt about the underlying implication.

  “That’s exactly what it means. I’m in the interview process for a job right now, but if that doesn’t work out, I’ll have to look for other options in the city.”

  “So you’re serious about my brother?”

  Grace placed the spoon carefully in the bowl. “I know you’re aware of what went on before—”

  “Actually, Ian never said a word,” Serena murmured. “Didn’t speak of it. Just said that the wedding was off and you had gone, and he didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Sounds like Ian.” He wouldn’t have said anything negative about her, even if he thought it. Maybe it was because he thought she would someday come back, and he didn’t want to taint her relationship with his family. But more likely it was because that was the kind of man he was. Kept his thoughts close and his hurts closer, never spoke unkindly about others, even when they deserved it. And she had certainly deserved it.

  “Let’s just say I never got over him. And I’m happy that he would consider giving me a second chance. So yes, I’m serious about him.”

  “These Scottish lads seem to be good at second chances,” Andrea said, nudging her as she went back to the counter. Grace took that as tacit acceptance.

  Serena studied her for a moment across the counter, then softened into a smile. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. Ian’s gotten too somber the last few years. Needs to be livened up a bit. It’s hard to believe there was a time when he was the one out at all hours and Jamie was the workaholic.”

  “Jamie is still a workaholic,” Andrea said. “The man actually wants to open a seventh restaurant in Inverness. As if he doesn’t have enough to do.” But her smile held pride rather than censure. Yes, this woman was a good match.

  “Well, I hope you have some time to explore the island while you’re here. Lots of interesting spots for a photographer.” Serena glanced at the wall clock, then threw her towel on the countertop. “Will you keep an eye on the timer? I need to go put Em and Max to bed. It’s getting late.”

  “We’ll watch the oven.” Andr
ea plopped on the stool at one end of the island and crossed one long, slender leg over the other. Grace would have been tempted to hate her if she hadn’t seemed so welcoming. Andrea waited until Serena was out of the room and then said, “It’s a little overwhelming, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “Their sheer niceness. I was a hospitality consultant come here for the week, and by the time I left, they’d practically adopted me.” There was something both appreciative and wistful in her tone.

  “You have family of your own?” Grace asked.

  “A sister, Becky, and her husband and kids. They’re here for the wedding, but they turned in early tonight. Jet lag.”

  “No parents?”

  “I haven’t spoken to my dad in years.” Andrea looked suddenly far younger and less confident than she had minutes before. “We had a falling-out after my mom died, and we just . . . drifted apart.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Grace murmured. “My brother died when I was fourteen, and I’ve not seen my parents since I left home for university.” She hadn’t intended to deliver that personal information to a virtual stranger, but there was something about James’s fiancée that made Grace think she was a kindred spirit. Andrea was clearly happy with her current life, but Grace knew all too well about the scars that even happiness couldn’t erase.

  Andrea didn’t try to offer apologies or condolences, she just nodded and began wiping up the batter spills on the counter with a clean towel. “Jamie and I will be back in London after our honeymoon. We should try to have dinner together one night.”

  “That would be nice,” Grace said, and she really meant it.

  Serena returned not long after, the kids safely tucked into bed, and they swapped several other batches of breakfast breads into the oven. Just as Andrea began yawning into the back of her hand, the front door opened, followed by male voices. “The men are back. And just in time.”

  Ian and James came in through the dining room, laughing about something that they clearly had no intention of sharing. Jamie went straight to Andrea and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Ready for me to take you back down? Big day tomorrow.”

  “Is it? I’d forgotten.”

  Ian nudged Grace. “Come on, they’re going to start up again. We might as well head back to the hotel ourselves.”

  “You need a ride, remember?” James bent to kiss Andrea. “Serena, you need any more help here, or do you want me to come up in the morning to bring back all the pastries?”

  “They still have to cool, so morning is best.”

  Despite the late hour, the sky was still light in the distance, a side effect of Skye’s northern latitude. Ian ushered Grace out the door, bending to inquire, “So, did they interrogate you?”

  “Not really,” Grace whispered back. “They were pretty gentle, all things considered. You?”

  “Grilled. Seems rather amused by the whole situation, Jamie does. He likes playing the wiser, married brother.”

  “Almost married.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” James came out with Andrea close behind.

  “Just saying I hoped that marriage matures you some,” Ian said.

  “Not likely. Andrea is the adult here.”

  This time, both Ian and Grace climbed in the backseat of the car. As soon as the dome light went off inside, Grace found Ian’s hand on the leather seat beside her and gripped it tightly. She hadn’t even admitted to herself how nervous she was about seeing his family again, but they’d accepted her almost as if she’d never gone. She had Ian to thank for that, his maturity in keeping their business to himself.

  James pulled up in front of the cottages on the opposite side of the hotel car park and switched off the engine. “I’m going to take Andrea to her cottage, and then I’ll be up. I’m in six if you need anything. Your room keys will open the front door.”

  Ian and Grace retrieved their bags from the Healey’s boot before returning to the hotel. Grace sighed as they climbed the stairs to their rooms. “It really is beautiful here. Do you ever think about moving back?”

  “Never. Too many memories. Some good, some bad. It would be a nice place for a family, though.”

  Grace’s steps slowed as they reared up on a topic they hadn’t yet discussed. The night before James’s wedding was hardly the right time to have this conversation, especially not in the hallway of the hotel, but she wouldn’t be able to sleep if she didn’t ask. “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind? About children?”

  Ian paused, his expression as stricken as she imagined hers was. “Have I changed my mind about not wanting any? Grace . . . no. I’ve not changed my mind.”

  The energy went out of her in a rush. “Thank goodness.”

  Relief sparked in his eyes. “You weren’t asking because—”

  “Because I’d changed my mind about having them? No. Heavens no. I just . . . We were young when we discussed it. People reevaluate. And when I see how good you are with your niece and nephew, it almost seems a shame for you not to have any of your own.”

  “Our pasts haven’t changed, Grace. Nor has my reasoning. I love children; I just can’t do it. I like London. I like city life. And when I see how badly my parents balanced that—”

  “You don’t need to explain to me. I just didn’t want to worry all weekend that I might disappoint you.”

  He slid his hand behind her neck to tilt her face to his. “As long as you’re here with me, you could never disappoint me.”

  Their good-night kiss was sweet and slow and tender, but it still ignited a warmth in her that demanded an answer. She pulled back. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow. You in a dress.”

  “And you in a kilt.”

  “One will be more impressive than the other, for sure.”

  Grace winked at him. “You do have good knees.”

  “And now you’re delusional. Good night, Grace.”

  She shut the door between them and retreated to her lovely hotel room, a different kind of warmth blooming in her chest. Here, surrounded by his family, she could finally envision their future together.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  IAN WOKE TO THE SUMMONS OF daybreak through his hotel room curtains. He would have liked to believe it was just his body’s internal clock waking him for his usual outing, but it was more likely the knowledge his sister would kill him if he wasn’t up at the house first thing to help Jamie. Or perhaps it was the twist of anxiety over the idea of Marjorie and Grace being in close proximity. Despite the occasion, he wouldn’t put it past his mother to throw a few jabs Grace’s way.

  After he dressed and set out his clothes for the ceremony, Ian found himself standing outside Grace’s room, his fist poised to knock. But not a rustle or a thump came from inside to indicate she was awake. After yesterday’s marathon drive, she’d probably not thank him for rousing her out of bed so early. Instead, he continued outside, digging his car keys from his pocket as he went.

  He might be the only one awake inside the guesthouse, but preparations were well under way outside. A vast white tent had gone up in the meadow, with half a dozen workers setting out tables and chairs for the reception. Nearer, another group lined up chairs on either side of a carpeted aisle.

  The scene up at the house was equally busy. Muriel stood in the center of her reception room, directing the activity with the steely aplomb of a field marshal while chaos spilled from every angle. Boxes of flowers and decorations. Baskets of cellophane-covered baked goods. And two overexcited children getting under the helpers’ feet as much as possible.

  “What’s this?” Ian asked, stepping over Max, who was sprawled inexplicably in the middle of the rug.

  “Ian!” Muriel made her way to him and squeezed him into a bone-breaking hug. “I’m so pleased you’re here. Can you drive the flower arrangements down to the tent?”

  “Of course.” He looked her over carefully, but besides the slight shadows beneath her eyes, there was nothing to indicate
cause for concern. Her silver hair was as impeccably coiffed as usual, her pantsuit pressed, if slightly looser than he remembered. “Why exactly is everything up here and not down at the hotel?”

  “Paparazzi. ‘Sullivan-MacDonald wedding’ brings them out of the woodwork, but no one cares about a simple garden party at his unknown aunt’s place.” She waved a hand. “Malcolm, dear, help Ian with the arrangements?”

  Malcolm? Ian frowned as an unfamiliar man straightened from where he was placing vases of flowers in boxes. He was shorter than Ian, with a muscular, stocky build. A leather jacket and scruffy beard gave him an almost-disreputable air. But when he fixed his attention on Ian, he offered a hand and a friendly smile.

  “Malcolm Blake.”

  “Ian MacDonald.” Ian shook his hand, noting the man’s hard grip and the bruises on his knuckles. Boxer? Or brawler? And who was he to be standing in his aunt’s living room?

  Evidently, Malcolm caught Ian’s confusion. “I’m the new hotel manager. And bartender. And handyman.”

  “The engineer?”

  “So they tell me. Shall I give you a hand?”

  Ian grinned suddenly. Leave it to Andrea to hire a bartender/handyman who looked like he belonged in a boxing ring but was actually an engineer. And no surprise that Muriel seemed to have adopted him like a son. That’s what his aunt did.

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  Malcolm hefted one of the heavy crates of flower arrangements, then waited for Ian to lead him out the door to the Healey. “I don’t technically start until next week, but there have been some problems with the reservation system.”

  “And Muriel borrowed you for wedding duty.”

  He shrugged. “Glad to do it. Computer problem was a simple fix anyway. Just a script handling error.”

  So he really was an engineer, or at least somewhat technical. Ian opened the boot of the car to make room for the boxes. “These are all there are?”

  Malcolm nodded and flashed an amused smile. “I’d offer to take them down with you, but I’m under strict instructions not to let Muriel overdo it.”