Steal My Magnolia (Love at First Sight Book 3)

by Smartypants Romance

  Because not once had Grady ever taken it upon himself to buy anything for the office without talking to me first.

  That man was up to something, and I couldn't even be upset.

  Two weeks of silence had started to feel like a stalemate that I wasn't sure how to break.

  He hadn't reached out, but if he respected me, I wasn't sure he'd push me too hard either.

  I missed him, terribly, but I still thought it impossible that he'd actually fallen in love with me the day he met me.

  When I pulled my car into a parking spot, I saw it. The slightest hint of pink glowing through the window.

  "What on earth?" I whispered, but on my face, I felt the widening of my smile. I got out of the car, keys poised in my hands and my coat zipped tight up around my face because it was cold. When I approached the window and saw what he'd hung along the shelves, I felt like a little girl.

  The glass of the window was cold when I pressed my palm against it. Those lights, bright and fun and undeniably silly, made the inside of the office glow pink and warm.

  Heart-shaped lights for Valentine's Day.

  Maybe, just maybe, this was the break that the stalemate needed. Without thinking, I whirled and got back in my car, heading home before I could think about it too hard. I ran into my house, flinging open my storage closet at the end of the hallway where I kept all my favorite holiday items. When I saw what I was looking for, I smiled, holding it carefully.

  With a stop in my kitchen to grab the other item I needed, I ran out to my idling car and drove back to Valley Adventures.

  When I let myself in, I kept the other lights dim, because even if it was silly to sit in the dark, I wanted to feel like those heart lights were all I needed.

  The bowl from my closet was a gift from Aunt Julianne. It used to be my Grandma MacIntyre’s, something I treasured more than I could bear. It perched on the corner of the desk, where he'd see it immediately.

  When I pulled open the drawer of the desk, I grimaced when I saw how few candies were left. The Piggly Wiggly would just be opening, so I ran back to my car.

  Only a few people meandered the aisles this early in the morning, and as I knew right where I was going, I didn't do more than just acknowledge the ones I saw. When I made my way to the bins of candy, I stopped at the correct one and smiled. Carefully, I pulled a bag from the dispenser and used the heavy silver scoop to buy far, far more than I needed. Just as I was twisting the small white tie around the top, I felt the weight of someone's stare.

  The eyes were the same color, so was the hair, and when Grace walked slowly up to me with her gaze pinned on the bag of butterscotch discs, her mouth was tilted up into a secretive smile.

  "You're getting some shopping done early," I said. I straightened my spine and met her straight on.

  She pointed at the black camera bag over her shoulder. "I have a sunrise shoot, and I was craving those awful little powdered sugar donuts you should never admit to liking."

  I smiled. So did she.

  Grace took a deep breath. "I'm sorry we ambushed you at the campsite. And I'm ..." She looked away, blinking down at the floor for a second. "I'm sorry all this is so awkward. You and I seem to have a way of meeting in this place over strange circumstances involving the men in our life."

  "Thank you for your apology," I told her. "It's not easy for any of us."

  "We're not exactly given a handbook either." She had the same crooked, wide smile as her brother, and it sent my stomach tight into a ball to see it. Grace stared at the candy again, and I fought the urge to hide it behind my back. "There's only one person I know who loves those gross things enough to need a big bag."

  My face was flaming hot. "Just stocking the office."

  "Right." She studied me intently. "I won't tell him I saw you, if that's what you're worried about."

  I lifted my chin. "I'm not. He'll know soon enough that I got these."

  "Good." Grace smiled again. She opened her mouth and then seemed to think better about saying something.

  "Go ahead," I drawled. "I know I'd have a hard time keeping it in if I were you."

  She exhaled a laugh. "I've thought about what I'd say to you if I got the chance. Practiced telling you what an amazing person my brother is."

  "I already know that," I told her softly.

  "I figured as much." She blew out a slow breath. "He's my brother, and I'd do anything for him. It kills me to see him hurting." Immediately, she took a step closer, understanding etched all over those pretty features of hers. "And I get why you left. I don't hold that against you. But this ... Buchanan thing, I don't know why we call it a curse. It's strange, that's for damn sure, but there's so much freedom in finding the person who'll love you through anything."

  Emitting a shaky laugh, I couldn't help but shake my head at her. "You trying to convince me that this is less strange than it really is might have more impact if we didn't have the history we do."

  "I know, I know." Grace was searching so hard for the right words, and in that struggle, I saw her love for her brother. I saw her love for Tucker, and right in the mix, I also saw a woman who was desperately trying to find common ground with me. I thought about the lights in the office. The bowl on the desk. All of it was important, even if it wasn't easy. And we'd only get there one day at a time.

  I closed the space between us and set my hand on her arm. Her eyes widened in surprise.

  "It's okay, Grace. I don't need you to tell me who Grady is because he can't help but show what kind of heart he has. And I'm not even sure I need you to make this ... legend into something more palatable. Just knowing you're willing to stand here with me and try, it means a lot."

  "I am," she said on a rush. "I'm so willing. I want to get to know you, Magnolia. More than passing off wine and shooing off gossips, and ugh, showing up in the worst possible places with no notice."

  I laughed under my breath.

  Her facial features smoothed into something more serious. "But I will also completely respect your need for time. Just like Grady is."

  "Thank you." I smiled. "I appreciate that."

  "When you're ready, I'd love to meet you for coffee." She held up the horrible powdered sugar donuts. "And something better than these."

  I assessed her. "People will talk."

  She nodded slowly. "They will. And I'm okay with that."

  This unexpected run-in added just what I needed to my morning, an edge of certainty when I couldn't see all my steps. Normally, I had every one planned out beforehand. And maybe this was teaching me that going in blind was okay too.

  "I'll let you know when I'm ready for that coffee." I held up the candy. "I’d better get back to the office."

  She nodded, and I saw her eyes inexplicably gloss over. Happy tears, I had to guess.

  After I paid, I walked out of the Piggly Wiggly, got back in my car, and made my way back to the office to put the finishing touches on my little gesture.

  By the time I left, I'd accomplished nothing in the way of work, but my heart felt a million times better than it had for the past handful of days. Maybe what Grady and I needed were little signs, little statements that we could build on. Steps that would get us where we needed to go, even if they were only baby steps and happened one at a time.

  Eventually, we'd have something big to climb over, but I couldn't help but feel like this was exactly what we needed. Time apart to miss the other person, and clear signals of what we knew about them.

  By seven-thirty, I was drinking my coffee, with my laptop perched on a pillow on my lap, and an email notification popped up into my inbox.

  To: MagnoliaMacIntyre@gmail.com

  From: grady.buchanan@gmail.com

  Magnolia,

  The bowl is so pretty I almost don't dare touch it, but as you filled it with the greatest candy ever, I'm afraid that I had no choice.

  I'm guessing it's vintage? (the bowl, not the candy. Those were so delicious that I ate sixteen of them.)

  Grad
y

  To: grady.buchanan@gmail.com

  From: MagnoliaMacIntyre@gmail.com

  Grady,

  It was my Grandma MacIntyre’s. She inherited it from her mother. The glazing around the handles is real gold, and the roses along the inside are hand-painted, so if you break that by reaching for your 17th piece of candy (which you shouldn't because even you can't afford such eating habits), I'll have to invoice you.

  Magnolia

  To: MagnoliaMacIntyre@gmail.com

  From: grady.buchanan@gmail.com

  I will treat it with the utmost care. You have my word.

  G

  His response had my cheeks warm with all the subtext packed into that sentence. I knew how he meant it. He'd treat me with the utmost care. I just had to decide if I was ready to accept it.

  Over the next three days, it became a game between the two of us. He'd leave something for me to find in the morning, and I'd sneak in before dawn to add to the growing collection.

  When he added a giant hand-painted sign wishing anyone who could see it a Happy Valentine's Day, leaning up against the floor in front of the desk, I added a tasteful bouquet of red, white, and pink roses in a mason jar on the middle of the table by the front display.

  When Grady hung a surprisingly charming wreath of pastel pink hearts on the front door, I added two giant mylar balloons tied to the desk chair, an X and an O in rose gold. I drove to Merryville to get them because I'd be damned if anyone at the Piggly Wiggly would be allowed to wonder who I was thinking about hugging and kissing.

  His answer to those was a trio of framed vintage Valentine's cards so stunning in their colors that I almost cried when I saw them lined up on my desk. The first one was a red cuckoo bird popping out of a red and white clock.

  It proclaimed in whimsical letters, I'm cuckoo over you!

  With my hand rubbing my chest, I picked up the frame of the second card. A puppy was climbing up an old-fashioned style cash counter.

  Let me register in your heart.

  "Oh, Grady," I whispered shakily. We'd emailed after each discovery, and they'd stayed innocent, a sweet teasing about what the other had left us to discover. But these felt different.

  The sun was rising outside, the office slowly lightening along with it. Normally, I didn't stay this long, but I found myself not wanting to rush through this moment. It felt very much like he was saying something important to me.

  Carefully, I set the second frame back in the middle and picked up the third.

  It was the simplest of the three, and the picture was stunning. I almost opened the frame to be able to study it better. Centered on the card was a giant red heart, pierced with a golden arrow. Above the heart flew two white doves.

  For my dearest Valentine.

  And beneath the heart were two pristine white magnolia blossoms.

  Eyes watering dangerously, and my heart too big for my chest, I knew that I wanted to see him. But behind that overwhelming desire to throw open the door and run toward Grady, the chair, the desk, my fear, they all held me tethered. His feelings were so sure, so large, I wasn't sure how to tiptoe my way back into any sort of new footing with him.

  This time when I left the office, I drove in the opposite direction of home.

  There was only one person I could talk to about this.

  I needed my daddy.

  When I got to their house, he was sitting on the long stretch of front porch in his favorite Adirondack chair, drinking coffee.

  I leaned down to kiss the top of his head, and he watched me carefully as I took the seat next to him.

  "You're here early, daughter."

  I nodded. "Momma out on the lake?"

  He hummed into his coffee. That was a yes.

  "Got something on your mind?"

  "Yeah." I reached forward and grabbed the plaid wool blanket he kept draped over the porch rail for cold mornings and laid it over my legs. "I need your advice on something, and before I tell you, I need you to promise me that you'll just listen first."

  He opened his mouth, and I held my hand up.

  "I mean it. No getting upset, no yelling, no fuss over any of it, I just need my daddy's advice about how to deal with something."

  "Okay," he said gruffly. "What is it?"

  I took a deep breath. "How long did you love Momma before you knew she loved you back?"

  My question had a profound effect on him. With a low whistle, he rocked his chair backward, like the words actually dealt him a blow. "Lord, Magnolia, you coulda warned me."

  "Sorry."

  His eyes went a little unfocused, and he took an absent sip of his coffee. "If I think about it, I most likely fell in love with your mother on our first date. Wasn't hard. Wasn't confusing. Something about her just knocked me sideways, and I never truly righted myself again."

  I'd heard this story so many times, I practically had it memorized. But I'd never listened to it really thinking about what that must've been like for my daddy. To set aside his pride like that and wait because he trusted so deeply that they were meant for each other.

  "Every time we saw each other, I was more and more certain that she was the one for me. I'd never met anyone like your mother. She was—is—incredible. Strong and smart and so damn beautiful that it still hurts to look at her. She knew what she wanted out of life, knew what made her the happiest, and she was unapologetic about going after it."

  "Fishing," I said with a smile. "Make her living so that she and everyone else can fish and do it well."

  "That's right." He grinned. "And if that wasn't the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. Her ambition matched mine even though we wanted such different things. But I always knew what I felt for your mother. Right from the beginning. That's why I asked her to marry me on our fifth date."

  "And two hundred more times after that," I murmured.

  He squinted. "Just about."

  "That didn't bother you? To ask her that many times and have her say no?"

  "Hell no. Your momma is stubborn as the day is long. She told me on that first date that she had no intention of marrying anyone, and she meant it. Took me damn near fifteen years"—he smiled at me—"and one positive pregnancy test before she said yes."

  I swallowed hard, imagining Grady pining away for fifteen years. Could I have done something like that to him without knowing? Was that why he told me so quickly?

  "That's such a long time, Daddy."

  He shrugged. "It was still fifteen years I got to spend with my favorite person in the world." He gave me a strange look. "You know all this, though. What's this about, Magnolia?"

  The edge of the blanket was soft, a perfect place to focus my attention. "I find myself in a situation where someone cares for me very, very deeply." I paused, keeping my eyes trained on the reds and blues of the plaid. "He might even love me. And it took me by surprise."

  Daddy's chair started a slow rocking motion again, but to his credit, he didn't flip his lid. "But you like him?"

  Slowly, I nodded. "I do."

  When he lifted his mug up to his mouth, I saw his hand shaking a little. "Could you love him?"

  Why did that make my eyes burn with unshed tears?

  Why did his restraint make me feel so wildly emotional?

  Maybe because it felt, for one of the first times in my life, that my father was trusting me with this precious thing.

  I leaned my head back on the chair and closed my eyes. That simple movement, my eyelids closing, had a tear sliding down my cheek and settling somewhere by my ear.

  "Yeah, Daddy," I whispered. "Very easily."

  Another tear snuck out, and I sniffed, unable to hide that tiny leak of emotion.

  "Then why are you crying, sweetheart?"

  "I don't know," I admitted.

  "I'm not sure I believe that."

  I opened my eyes, glancing quickly in his direction. "His feelings are so much bigger than mine."

  He nodded. "But he told you what those feelings were?"

 
"He did." I swiped at my cheek.

  "Magnolia, pride is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands. And it comes in all different shapes and sizes for all sorts of reasons. Pride in your work and your mind and your family and your things. But when you lay your heart at someone else's feet—the right person's feet—you don't worry about what they might do to it. You trust that the person you give that heart to will protect it. They'll value it so much that your pride is a worthy sacrifice when it comes to your happiness."

  Well, whatever tears I'd stemmed started right back up again. Daddy's eyes watered suspiciously as he dug into his pocket and gave me his handkerchief.

  I cried because I missed Grady.

  Because his feelings still scared me a little.

  But mostly, I think I cried because I knew it was okay that they scared me.

  He'd laid his heart at my feet because he trusted me with it. Being scared of that, the way he'd refused to let his pride come before what he felt for me, meant that I cared too.

  "Is it," he said, stopping to clear his throat, "is it that Buchanan boy?"

  Emitting a watery laugh, I nodded. "He has a name, you know."

  "I know what his name is."

  From around the back of the house, my momma wandered up, pole in hand and a slight smile on her face.

  When she saw me crying, she paused. "Good Lord, what did I miss?" she asked.

  "Magnolia's got a new man," Daddy said gruffly.

  She ascended the steps, a dimple appearing to the side of her mouth as she watched us. "That so?"

  "He can't be too bad, I suppose," Daddy admitted.

  Momma leaned her fishing pole against the rail, and instead of taking an empty chair, she slid easily onto Daddy's lap, curling her arm around the back of his neck.

  "Why's that?"

  Daddy slid his hand up her jeans-covered thigh and closed his eyes contentedly. "I figure any man who's smart enough to love our daughter and tell her so right away is all right by me."