by Jill Blake
The most annoying part of the whole fiasco was that now he’d need to find a new dentist. He wasn’t stupid enough to return to an office where a pissed off dental hygienist could wield sharp instruments anywhere near his open mouth.
The phone rang, and he checked the number before picking up. “Hey, Eva. I tried calling earlier.”
“Sorry,” his sister said. “Karate just let out. We’re heading home now. When are you coming over?”
He glanced at his watch. “How about five? Ben can help me with the yard work, then I’ll take you guys to dinner.”
“I thought you had a date.”
“Change of plans.”
“Oh?” She paused for a beat. Thankfully, this was Eva, his tactful sister. With Angie, he would have gotten the third degree. Or at the very least, a lot of ribbing. He could almost hear Angie’s gleeful voice announcing, à la Marv Albert doing a play-by-play: And another one bites the dust! Which makes it oh-for...what? Oh, hell, who cares? The man is single again, ladies. Here’s your chance. Step right up and...
“Fine,” Eva said. “But you don’t have to take us out, Logan. I can cook something.”
His nephew’s voice piped up in the background. “Aw, Mom. Can’t we get pizza instead?”
Logan grinned. “Sounds like you’ve been outvoted, Eva. See you at five.”
He headed for the shower, stripping off his sweat-stained shirt along the way. His usual morning run had done little to dampen the anticipation of seeing Grace again.
How many times, over the years, had he thought of her, wondered how she was, what she was doing, who she was with?
The day he read about her wedding to Harry Blackwell, he dusted off some single malt he’d received as a gift, and worked his way steadily through the bottle. For someone who rarely drank, he’d done a pretty good job of getting plastered.
After that, he stopped reading the papers and buried himself in work.
He didn’t hear about her divorce until William Blackwell was arrested and details of his Ponzi scheme flooded the airwaves. In the weeks and months that followed, each little peccadillo and bit of dirt, no matter how remotely related to the scandal, was trotted out and scrutinized by the press.
There were photos of the SoHo penthouse where Grace and Harry lived, the six-bedroom Nantucket cottage where they vacationed, the 88-foot yacht that William Blackwell had commissioned as a wedding present. There were interviews with a couple $10,000-an-hour prostitutes who claimed to have serviced Harry while his wife was on call in the ER. There were public arguments caught on tape, and a mug shot of Harry when he’d been arrested for domestic violence. There was speculation over what really happened to the 8-carat pink diamond ring that Grace supposedly returned during the divorce proceedings—because surely no woman in her right mind would agree to part with such a bauble. There was even a copy of the restraining order filed with the New York County Family Court.
What Logan hadn’t seen or heard was any mention of Grace leaving New York and returning to Los Angeles.
Running into her at the university’s botanical garden, along the path he cut through hundreds of times on his way home from work, had been surreal.
She hadn’t changed. The same sun-kissed hair, green eyes, and mouthwatering body he remembered. Okay, the business suit was new, more formal than anything he’d seen her wear in college. And now that he thought about it, the grooves between her brows and the shadows beneath her eyes hadn’t been there before either.
But it was still his Grace. The woman he’d once thought he would spend the rest of his life with, back when he’d been too young and naive to know any better. The woman who’d dumped him shortly before graduation and moved to the East coast.
Technically, he was the one who’d told her it was over. But only after she announced that she’d turned down offers from UCLA and USC in favor of some New York medical school. No explanation, no negotiation, just a fait accompli. What was so great about New York anyway? And why in hell had she chosen it over staying with him?
One of the things Logan had always appreciated about Grace, besides her hot little body, was her ability to think and act logically. That was why the events of eight years ago had thrown him for such a loop. Grace had lived her entire life in Southern California. The only family she had was right here in Santa Monica. Other than spring break their senior year, Logan didn’t think she’d ever even visited New York. All of which made her decision to leave Los Angeles and move to Manhattan not only hurtful, but also irrational.
Maybe now at least he’d get some answers. Closure, his sister Eva would call it.
Not that it would change the past. But it might finally rid him of the nagging sense that he’d done something wrong.
He adjusted the water temperature and closed his eyes.
The likeliest scenario was that Grace had simply wanted adventure. Well, she’d certainly gotten her wish. And indirectly, she’d actually done Logan a favor by dropping his ass and leaving. Thanks to her, Logan had spent the last eight years sampling some of L.A.’s finest talent. Missing out on that opportunity would certainly have been a shame. Logan saw that now. Realized that getting tied down, especially straight out of college, would have been a mistake. All he had to do was look at the evidence around him. His father’s two disastrous marriages. His sister Eva’s crash and burn. And if the papers were to be believed, Grace’s own experience with Harry Blackwell hadn’t exactly turned out to be a model of marital bliss.
Logan was lucky to have escaped unscathed. Lucky to be single, unencumbered, and free to do as he pleased.
So what was he doing, salivating over an old college girlfriend, just because she happened to be back in town? What was he doing flirting with her, asking her out on a date, picturing her naked?
He shut off the water and grabbed a towel.
This was crazy. He shouldn’t feel this wound up over the prospect of lunch with Grace. Especially when food and conversation were likely the only things on the table. He wasn’t blind. The only way she could have broadcast her lack of enthusiasm any louder was if she’d taken out an ad. Which meant that sex in the immediate future was about as likely as a professor getting tenure without a single publication to his name.
Fine. He could downgrade his expectations. At least until he figured out what exactly was going on.
What did he want from Grace, anyway?
Sex—well, yeah, that was a given.
Friendship? Maybe, if they managed to clear the air first.
Love? Damn, where had that thought come from? Scratch that off the list. He wasn’t going there. Clean slate or not, he wasn’t interested in anything long-term. Not with Grace, and certainly not with anyone else. He was perfectly content having his own space and the freedom that went with it.
So, forget about love.
What else?
He took his time getting dressed, even exchanging his glasses for rarely-worn contact lenses. By the time he locked his front door and took the stairs to the garage, he felt a little calmer. Unfortunately, he was no closer to any answers than before.
CHAPTER THREE
He’d clearly made an effort. That was her first thought on seeing Logan. He stood just beyond the gates, leaning against a shiny black SUV, reading something on his iPhone. Gone were the frayed college tee, scruffy jeans, and wire-framed glasses. In their place, he wore a dark polo shirt, khakis, and a pair of mirrored aviator shades. The hair was still untamed, but his jaw was clean-shaven. He glanced up as she approached.
“Grace.” He slipped the phone in his pocket.
The automatic gates closed behind her. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Why? I said I’d be here.” He straightened away from the car and she caught a faint hint of some woodsy cologne. She inhaled in appreciation. Back in college, he used to bring home the smells of the lab: N-Butanol, Beta-mercaptoethanol, autoclaved Luria broth, and the industrial strength disinfectant he scrubbed with in an effort to neutralize
the more noxious odors.
This new scent was definitely more appealing. Come to think of it, he’d smelled pretty good yesterday too.
She fiddled with the shoulder strap of her purse. “This is a bit awkward, don’t you think?”
He smiled. She wished he’d take off the sunglasses, so she could see his eyes. “Not at all, Grace. It’s been a long time, and we’ve got a lot to catch up on. Ready?”
She bit her lip. So that’s how he planned to play it. Casual, as if their breakup hadn’t ripped the fabric of their lives wide open, leaving her with gaping holes that even now she wasn’t sure she’d managed to completely patch.
Then again, maybe in his view their parting had been amicable. Maybe he’d moved on, never thinking twice about what he’d given up. Maybe for him, this chance reunion was exactly what he claimed: an opportunity to reconnect with an old friend.
Would that be so bad?
Most of her friends from high school and college had scattered. Moved away for grad school, or to pursue a better job, or in search of a lower cost of living. As for those she’d left behind in New York...it turned out most of them hadn’t been her friends at all. In the wake of her divorce and the Blackwell scandal, she felt like the cheese in the old children’s song: left to stand alone.
She could use a friend right about now. She just wasn’t sure that Logan qualified.
He unlocked the car and opened the passenger door. “I was thinking Venice. There’s a great little tapas place that serves mostly vegetarian. Unless you’re into eating meat these days...?”
“Actually, do you mind if we walk?”
“All the way to Venice?”
“I meant, somewhere around here.”
He chuckled and locked the car. “I was teasing, Grace. Lead on.”
His fingers brushed the small of her back.
She shivered. “Do you remember that place on San Vincente? Next to the candy store?”
“À Vôtre Santé,” he said.
“Yes, that’s it. I wonder if they still have the falafel.”
He cupped her elbow as they crossed the street. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were seated beneath an umbrella at one of the restaurant’s outdoor tables, digging into a platter of falafel, tabbouleh, and baba ghanoush.
Grace licked a smear of hummus off her finger and sighed. “I missed this.”
“They didn’t have Mediterranean food in New York?”
She stilled, then deliberately wiped her fingers on a napkin before meeting Logan’s gaze. He’d removed the dark glasses earlier, and now she almost wished he hadn’t. His eyes were the cool blue of a New York winter sky just before sunrise. They focused on her too intently, making her feel exposed.
“I’m sorry.” She looked away. Around them, the low hum of conversation continued. A waiter passed by, hands laden with another table’s orders.
“What for?”
She picked up her water glass, then set it down without drinking. “I should have told you this back then, but you never asked.”
He didn’t ask this time, either. He simply waited.
“I had to go to New York,” she said, taking a deep breath before rushing on. “My grandparents lied to me. My whole life, they let me think my father was dead. But he wasn’t. He was there all along, living in Chelsea. I had to go there, find out for myself.”
The silence stretched. Why didn’t he say something? She focused on the muscle twitching in his jaw.
“You went there for spring break,” he finally said. “Our senior year. You didn’t want me to go with you.”
She blinked. “You had some big project you were working on.”
“Right. So what happened?”
“We met. My father asked me to come to New York.”
“That’s it? He asked you to come to New York, and you did?”
“Yes.”
“That’s insane. Where was he when you were growing up? Did he even know he had a daughter?”
She winced. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, don’t stop now. It’s just starting to get interesting.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“Sarcastic? Are you kidding me? A man who had no part in raising you, whose existence you say you weren’t even aware of until age—what, twenty-one?—this man asks you to turn your entire life upside down and you do it, just like that? What the fuck? You had a life here, Grace. With your grandparents. With me.”
“I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? Yes, I should have told you.” She paused. “But even if you knew, would it have changed anything?”
“Hell, yes. I would have convinced you not to go.”
“No, you wouldn’t have. It was something I had to do.”
“Why? The man left you to be raised by your grandparents. What kind of a father does that?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand. Tell me why you’d abandon all the people who love you. Why you’d move three thousand miles away on a whim.”
“Give me some credit, Logan. It wasn’t a whim. It was a chance to get to know my father, away from my grandparents’ influence. Who do you think was responsible for keeping us apart? That’s right, my grandfather, the judge. He blackmailed my father into leaving and staying away.”
“What do you mean, blackmailed?”
“Threatened to ruin the man’s career.”
“That’s crazy. Things like that don’t happen in real life.”
“You think I’m making this up?”
Before Logan had a chance to respond, their waiter interrupted. Grace declined dessert and coffee. The conversation had killed whatever appetite she’d had. She fished out her wallet.
Logan glared at her. “I’ve got this.”
It didn’t seem worth the effort to argue. She tucked the wallet back in her bag while he took care of the bill. Within minutes they were retracing their steps toward La Mesa.
“So,” he said, picking up where they left off. “You didn’t know any of this growing up.”
“I told you, they always claimed my father died in a training accident.”
“Training...?”
“He was in the Air Force.”
“I see. And you never questioned it? Never asked to see an obituary notice or a death certificate? Never wondered what happened to his dog tags?”
“My grandfather would turn purple if I even mentioned my parents. And my grandmother would just shake her head and change the subject. After a while, I stopped asking.” She stepped over a tree root that had broken through the surface of the sidewalk. “Besides, you knew my grandfather. Would you ever think to question anything he said?”
Logan frowned. “So what changed? How did you find out your father was still alive?”
Grace slowed down as they approached her grandparents’ house. Did she really want to take this conversation inside? She glanced up at Logan’s impassive face, his eyes once again screened by dark glasses. “Shall we keep going?”
“By all means.”
Even though her grandfather was dead, and her grandmother was barely getting around with a walker, Grace breathed easier the farther she and Logan got from the front gates and high perimeter wall. How many years of therapy, she wondered, would it take to rid her of all the baggage?
She refocused on Logan’s earlier question. “Remember the trip we took, the summer between junior and senior year?”
“Thirteen capitals in thirteen days. Who could forget?”
She managed a small smile. The numbers changed with each retelling, but the reality hadn’t been far off. With an open Eurorail pass and boundless energy, they had managed to pack a lot of sightseeing into three weeks. She still had photos: the two of them, huddled beneath an umbrella, against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower; Logan, grinning and “holding” the Tower of Pisa between his thumb and forefinger; underwater lights illuminating the water as she tossed a coin i
nto the Fontana di Trevi.
“I needed my birth certificate to apply for a passport,” she said. “It was the first time I’d ever really looked at it.”
“Didn’t you need it to get a driver’s license?”
“Yes, but my grandmother handled everything back then. I was too nervous I’d fail the exam.” She paused. The image of the embossed document was as fresh in her memory now as the day she’d first traced her finger over her father’s name and signature. “I Googled my father’s name.”
“You’d never done that before?”
“It never occurred to me before.”
Logan raised a brow. “What did you find?”
“A hundred-some Joseph Prentices across the U.S. About half of them in the right age range. One of them a retired Air Force colonel.”
“How did you know it was your father?”
“I didn’t. At least not then. The man was listed as an executive at some big engineering firm. His picture on the company website didn’t look anything like me, and I didn’t have any photos of him to compare to. So I hired someone to look into it.”
“A private investigator?”
“Yes.”
“And...?”
“The PI confirmed this was the same Joe Prentice who had married my mother twenty-two years before. There was no fatal training accident. Just a series of postings, mostly abroad. He retired from the Air Force after twenty years of service, accepted a job in Manhattan, and settled into civilian life with his partner.”
“He remarried?”
“Not until later. Same sex marriage wasn’t legalized in New York until 2011.”
“Same-sex...?” Logan stopped and stared at her. “Your father is gay?”
“Yes.” She drew up her chin and braced for whatever derogatory remark came next.
“I don’t get it.” Logan furrowed his brow. “Why would he marry your mother if he was gay?”
Grace blinked. She’d been so prepared to go on the defensive that the reasonable question caught her off-guard. It took her a moment to switch gears. “He went through school on an ROTC scholarship. Ended up making a career in the military.”