A Home by the Sea

by Christina Skye

  “Sophie’s never a bother.” Noah’s voice was very controlled and precise. “Sophie is a treasure, right, honey?” He smiled down at the little girl who was holding his arm so tightly. “And I’m in no rush. Why don’t I treat the two of you to a milkshake, Miranda?

  Then I can introduce you to my friend Grace.”

  “We haven’t time.” The tall blonde gathered up her child, glaring up as more snow fell. “We are already running late.” She looked at Grace, and then back at Noah, summoning a thin smile. “But of course, thank you for asking. Maybe some other time.”

  “When?” Noah’s voice grew more harsh. “Next week?” he murmured, so that only Miranda heard. “Next month? Oh, I forgot. You won’t be here next month. You’ll be on the West Coast, won’t you, Miranda?”

  The tall woman glanced at her daughter, all effort at politeness forgotten. “Noah, stop it. I—I’ll call you this week and talk. I know that Sophie would like to come for ice cream.” Her voice wavered a little, then hardened. “Yes, this week.” Her voice rose. “So we’ll call you then, Noah. Right, honey?”

  The little girl’s forehead creased. She looked at her mother in confusion. “But we’re here now, Mommy. Why can’t we go inside with Uncle Noah now? I don’t understand.”

  “Because I don’t—because it’s almost your bedtime, Sophie. And you know that your stomach hurts if you eat sweets too late at night.” Miranda buttoned the top button of her daughter’s coat and took her arm firmly. “Lovely to see you, Noah. And you, Grace. I’ll…call.” As she pulled Sophie away, the little girl’s lips quivered.

  She began to cry, rigid in the snow. “I want to see Uncle Noah. I want to stay, Mommy. I don’t want to go home. Daddy won’t be there,” she said on a soft, strangled sob. “It’s been so long and I miss him.”

  Grace caught a sharp breath, feeling the girl’s raw pain.

  “Hey, don’t cry, Sophie. It’s going to be fine.

  Really. I’ll get you tomorrow and we’ll come back here for ice cream. Then I can read to you from that new book you like. How about that?” Noah knelt in the snow, drying Sophie’s eyes with a tissue. “It will be a date.”

  “Really? Can I go, Mommy? Please?”

  “I don’t think—” Miranda looked at her daughter’s pleading, tearstained face and sighed. “Oh, very well. If Noah calls first and you aren’t too tired.” She stared at Noah, her mouth flat. “Because his schedule may change, darling. He’s a very busy man,” she said coldly.

  “I’ll be there, Miranda,” he said.

  “Will you? Or will you get a call someplace that needs you?”

  Grace saw Noah flinch and realized they were in very deep waters.

  “I’ll be there. Count on it, Sophie.”

  “Yay! And I won’t be tired! I’ll take a long nap and be all dressed and ready to go!” The girl danced in a little circle. “I can’t wait!”

  “Sophie, you’re going to fall if you don’t stop that.” Miranda gripped her daughter’s hand. “And we’ll all freeze if we stand out here in the snow much longer.” With a little nod at Noah, Miranda turned Sophie and nudged her down the sidewalk.

  “We’ll see you soon.”

  She didn’t look back.

  But Sophie kept turning to wave all the way up the street until they vanished around the corner.

  NOAH DIDN’T MOVE, his shoulders tense as he stared up the street. Finally he ran a hand through his hair. “You probably don’t want to ask about that.” He looked at Grace, his face set in bleak lines. “That was my brother’s wife. There have been problems with her lately. You see…my brother is dead. We’re all trying to sort things out, and it’s not going well.”

  “I’m sorry, Noah.” Grace slid her hand into his. “I’m so sorry…?. She seems like a lovely little girl.”

  “Yeah, she is. Smart as a whip, but very vulnerable right now.” He stared into the dancing snowflakes, watching a black Volvo pull away from the curb, vanishing into the night. “Sophie is great. But her mother…”

  “You don’t have to talk about this.”

  “Talking is good. Aren’t you going to toss that suggestion back in my face?” he said. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “But talking doesn’t help you forget. Or forgive.” He shook his head. “No more about Miranda. I promised you some ice cream, and I always keep my promises.”

  But the lightness between them was gone now. Noah listened, but there were lines in his forehead. Even when he smiled, Grace thought there was something distant in his eyes. By the time they walked outside, he had barely touched his double espresso cone.

  “Maybe I should go back now,” Grace said quietly.

  He looked at the melting ice cream and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. “Give me a few minutes, okay? We’re all taking my brother’s death hard. He was the youngest, the one who saw the good in everyone. He never complained, just gave you his total support.” Noah ran a hand across his face. “Now he’s gone and his wife wants to take his daughter all the way across the country to live. We’ll never see Sophie then. It’s as if Miranda wants to erase everything about us—and make sure that Sophie does, too.”

  “It’s…heartbreaking.” Grace’s voice was husky. “I can’t begin to imagine how that must hurt you.”

  “Yeah, it hurts plenty. But we’ll work it out. My parents were very involved in raising Sophie while Miranda developed her real estate business. Now that Matt is gone—” Noah’s voice hardened. “Now everything is changed, but she can’t just cut our family out of Sophie’s life. We’ll take her to court if it comes to that. I hope it won’t.”

  He stopped. “And I’m talking about it again. Kick me, will you?” He managed a wisp of a smile. “I promised you a nice night. So what can I do for penance?”

  “None required. Really, Noah.” Grace was glad to distract him. It looked as if he needed some serious distraction after that awful encounter. “But I don’t want to go home yet, either. Maybe we can find a bookstore. I’ve been looking for a gift for my friend’s birthday.”

  “You got it. What kind of book?”

  Grace cleared her throat. “A knitting book. She’s amazingly talented. I think she’d like a book of traditional lace patterns.”

  She waited for the yawn. The blank look.

  Instead, Noah nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like a great gift. And I think you’re in luck.” He took her arm. “Two blocks over. My mom used to shop there. Come on.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NOAH PULLED HER through the snow, working from memory. Up ahead he saw the decorated windows of a small shop, as beautiful as an art gallery. Bright balls of yarn gleamed inside as he read the hand-painted letters on the picture window.

  Eat. Drink. Knit.

  “Found it.”

  Grace didn’t answer. He realized that she was digging in her pocket and staring at a pair of intricately patterned gloves.

  “Something wrong?”

  “I thought of another project. I was going to make a pair of these for a friend back in Summer Island. She’s a middling knitter, too, but she never makes anything for herself, and I know she would like them. Then I ran out of yarn. Look—there in the right side of the window. The exact yarn I need.” She glanced up at him and gnawed at her bottom lip, sounding resigned. “So that would make two things to look for. Would you mind?”

  An alarm bell went off in Noah’s head. She was too serious for a simple request like this. So what if she had two things to look for?

  The English Creep, Noah thought grimly. Grace had asked him to stop for something and he had been surly.

  Noah hated the man even more now, if that was possible. And if he had dared to lay a hand on Grace, mocking or threatening her, Noah would—

  What could he do? The man was dead, and there was nothing anyone on earth could do to punish him now. As his anger cooled, Noah realized that Grace had too much self-respect and intelligence to stick around someone who abused her. He decided it was prob
ably a pattern of condescending jokes and careless derision. And that was still bad enough to make his temper rise.

  Grace was staring at him uncertainly. The wariness in her eyes made him bite down a curse.

  One thing was certain. Tonight Noah was going to smooth away every negative memory that James had left behind.

  “Not a problem. I’m very curious about this dark hobby of yours. My mother used to do a lot of knitting and crocheting and I’ve been thinking it would be good for her to start again. Maybe you can help me pick out some yarn and a project, something fairly easy. They make patterns for things, right?”

  Instantly, Grace’s face lit up. Noah had to draw a sharp breath at the radiance and energy that filled her eyes. She wasn’t jaw-dropping gorgeous. You felt her presence and her intelligence, not her beauty. Noah had definitely dated more beautiful women. And yet right now, with the snow dusting her hair and color swirling through her cheeks, she was the most striking woman in the world.

  She gave a husky laugh. “Patterns? Oh, they make patterns, my friend. Thousands of them. You’re in very good hands with me. Let’s go.” She took his arm and pulled him toward the door into the elegant, welcoming store. “Get ready to take a walk on the wild side.”

  HER EXCITEMENT WAS INFECTIOUS. Noah was caught up in her laughter and her pure joy in helping him find absolutely the right project for his mother. But she really wasn’t kidding about it being wild. As he walked along aisles jammed full of little balls in a thousand colors, he felt as if he’d entered a strange, alternate universe. This wasn’t yarn the way he thought of it.

  He flipped over the tag on a ball of eye-popping coral yarn. “Soy? And angora? That’s rabbit fur, right? They mix soy and rabbit fur? How do they do that?”

  He was totally confused now.

  “Sustainability and choices are what people want today. You name it, they’ve tried it. Sugar, banana leaf, bamboo, even milk.”

  “No kidding. What happened to good old wool?”

  “Still here. But now it can be mixed with cotton or bamboo or silk. Let me show you.” Grace moved quickly, a woman with a mission. Noah liked the thoughtful way she ran her hand over a rainbow display of yarns and then settled on three balls of blushing peach. “This is what I need for those gloves. They’re alpaca mixed with silk. Feel how smooth.”

  There was a shine in her eyes. She radiated like a kid at Christmas.

  “Very nice. But I don’t know if she would like this.”

  “This project for your mother.” She hesitated. “It might be expensive…” Her voice trailed off. “Good yarn will be more than you expect. I just thought you should know, in case you want to change your mind.”

  There it was again. The uncertainty and wariness. Noah watched her gnaw her lip and was sure that the English Creep was to blame.

  “So there may be sticker shock? I’m game, but I don’t have a clue.” He peered around him. “Where do we start?”

  Grace smiled slowly. “Well, does she knit or crochet?”

  “Both,” he answered easily. Grace stared up at him, looking surprised by his certainty.

  “I know the difference,” he said with a lift of his brows. “You knit with sticks. You crochet with that short kind of hook.”

  “Two needles, long and straight like this, for knitting.” Grace held up a pair made of dark, polished wood. “For crochet a hook, shorter and curved at the end like this.” She pointed to a nearby display.

  “Needles,” Noah said with a nod. He had seen his mother use metal ones.

  “Okay, so she’s a knitter. Now what kind of things does she like to make? Clothing? A blanket or an afghan? Socks or slippers? Or maybe a nice scarf?”

  Noah rubbed the back of his neck. As a boy, he remembered his mother kicking off her shoes after dinner, settling down in a big wing chair, and pulling yarn from the basket near her feet. He remembered handmade socks at Christmas and sweaters at birthdays. Funny, his mother hadn’t gone for anything tame or sedate. Everything she made had been a riot of color and texture. She was as fearless in her hobby as she was in her life, he realized now with the eyes of an adult.

  “She always made us socks at Christmas, but the last thing I saw her working on was a blanket. It was sky-blue with squares. Lots of texture. Sorry, but I can’t tell you much beyond than that.”

  “No, that’s good. So she liked that color of blue?”

  “She likes anything with deep, rich colors. One year we all got lime-green socks. The next year it was purple hats.” Noah frowned at a sudden rush of memories. Every Christmas his family gathered together, joking and jostling and catching up on news while they opened presents. One year their socks were all dyed with Kool-Aid, his mother had explained proudly. His younger brother, Matt, had pulled his sock onto the dog’s tail, and they had tumbled over laughing as their big Lab raced through the house, tail high, sock waving. Matt had said—

  Sadness hit Noah like a body blow.

  Matt was gone. They’d never laugh together again. There would be no more pranks, no more snowball fights.

  No more anything.

  Grace cleared her throat. “Is something wrong?”

  He summoned a smile. The only way to deal with loss was to get on with living. His job helped. Noah knew that every day he had a chance to save someone else from dying the way Matt had died.

  “I’m good. Let’s go for the bright colors. She likes deep blue and sky-blue. Maybe some paler greens. Almost silver—whatever that’s called.”

  “You’ve got an excellent eye. That will make a wonderful mix. Now for a pattern.” Grace twined her fingers through his, leading him down one aisle and up another. She stopped in front of a bookcase that was jammed with yarn, sorted in shades from light to dark. “Let’s choose three or four colors to take with us. That will help when we look at patterns.”

  Noah saw a perfect color of blue. He knew his mother would like this one because it was on her favorite set of china. Idly, he flipped over the tag—and whistled. “Twelve dollars? That’s the price for one of these? So how many does it take to make a blanket? Five or six maybe?”

  “More than that.” Grace glanced at the printed tag wrapped around the ball of yarn. “At this yardage, even a small blanket would take a dozen.”

  Noah did a quick calculation and whistled again. “So this is going to get expensive. You were right. Well, if you can’t splurge on your mother, what kind of son are you? Let’s go for it. Twelve it is.”

  Grace squeezed his arm. Something came and went in her eyes. “I think she’s going to love this yarn. Now for a pattern.” She picked up a book, flipped through the pages and then held it out. “What do you think of this one?”

  “I don’t know. It looks pretty complicated.”

  “Actually, each block is knit separately. You sew them together at the end. The sewing is probably the worst part.”

  Noah looked at the different textures and wavy squares. “She’d like this. It reminds me of something she made a long time ago. I think her mother and sister had started work on a marriage quilt. They were collecting squares like these. Then she told me the soldiers came. All their blocks got left behind. She’s always regretted that.” He nodded. “Yes, this is the one. But why don’t I get just two sample colors. I’ll buy her a gift card so that she can choose other colors if she doesn’t like mine.”

  “We can give you a gift card in any amount.” Footsteps tapped closer. A tall woman in a striking lace shawl nodded approvingly at the pattern Noah was holding. “I couldn’t help but overhear, and I think your mother is a very lucky person. Does she need knitting needles, too?”

  “Beats me.”

  The owner chuckled. “You can wait on that. She may prefer metal or wood, or she may have a set stashed away.” The woman studied Grace. “I’ve seen you here before, I think.”

  Grace nodded. “I’ve been in a few times. You have a lovely store.”

  The owner beamed. “Why don’t you drop by on Wednesda
y night? Our knitting group meets upstairs. I provide tea and coffee. Everyone brings a different dessert.” The owner raised an eyebrow at Noah. “Maybe your mother would like to come, too.”

  “I’ll ask her. Thanks.”

  “Fine. Now, I’ll get this all rung up for you. What I need to know is the amount of the gift card, sir.”

  Noah thought of the pain and loss he had seen in his mother’s eyes. Maybe this would help. In fact, he should have thought of it sooner. “Make it an even hundred.”

  Grace raised an eyebrow. “Be still, my beating heart,” she murmured.

  Noah made a mental note to remember the name of the yarn shop. It was a nice place and well organized, but who knew that a few balls of yarn could make a woman go dreamy-eyed like this? In a smooth movement he took the yarn Grace was holding and handed it to the store owner. “Add this in, too.”

  “Noah, you don’t have to—”

  “That’s right, I don’t. Now be quiet and let me make you smile.”

  She started to say something else. Then she shook her head. “You’re a dangerous man, you know that?”

  More dangerous than she knew, Noah thought. He was fighting a losing battle. If he didn’t touch her in the next five minutes, he might not survive.

  SNOW STILL DRIFTED down gently as Noah took the bag of yarn and tugged Grace outside.

  Grace felt oddly giddy as the door closed behind them. Noah hadn’t laughed at her request to visit the yarn shop. In fact, she was fairly certain he had enjoyed himself.

  She was intensely aware of his broad shoulders as they brushed hers on the narrow sidewalk. With out any warning all that restless awareness turned sharp and focused. She hadn’t expected to feel this race of yearning. She could tell by the tension in his face that Noah felt it, too.

  She felt his hand open and press into her back.

  Silently, Noah drew her closer. She heard the drum of her heart.

  He didn’t push her, sliding one hand slowly through her hair. Grace felt that touch all the way to her toes. Her cheeks were hot and she took a sharp breath, trying to be sane and in control, all the things she prided herself on.