by Unknown
Grace swallowed another forkful. “Actually, there’s really not.” She just couldn’t fathom the possibility of exploring more with Torrie right now. It was over between them, whatever it was.
“Get outta here. I saw the way you looked at her when she wasn’t looking at you, Grace. Which, by the way, was almost never. I could practically hear your heart hammering right out of your chest whenever she was around.” Grace held up a hand, but Trish ignored the stop sign. “Torrie Cannon’s a nice woman. She’s young, good looking and hotter than hell for you. A little horizontal dance with her might be just what you need right now.”
“Trish!” Grace was aghast. “You’re disgusting sometimes.”
Trish grinned back. “Yeah, but I’m right.”
It was always simple with Trish, always an easy solution to a problem. “Look, I’m sick of talking about my sad-sack, sorry love life, okay?” Grace leaned closer, narrowing her eyes. “I’d much rather talk about yours!”
“Mine?” Trish squeaked.
“Yeah, and don’t feign innocence with me. What’s up with you and Catie? Doing a little more horizontal dancing with her?”
“No!”
Grace laughed, enjoying turning the tables on her friend for a change. “But you’d like to, wouldn’t you?”
Trish looked comical, so uncharacteristically uncomfortable.
“C’mon, spill it. You owe me, you know, after me putting up with all your questions lately.”
Trish set her cup down loudly. “Okay, fine. Now I get to do the avoidance act.”
“Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.”
Trish laughed. “No, you’re not, in your own way.”
“So? Back to Catie.”
Trish rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Just like you, there’s nothing to tell.”
“You didn’t sleep with her last night?”
“No.”
“Did Catie want to?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Trish shrugged and looked away contemplatively. “I don’t know, really.”
“Not willing to come over to the dark side again?” Grace smiled.
“No, it’s not that. Though I guess that whole thing is good for at least a dozen sessions with my therapist. Maybe I’m like you. Maybe I’m losing my appetite for meaningless sex.” Trish grinned widely. “Do you think it means we’ve finally grown up?”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve definitely aged a few years over the last three weeks!”
“Well, don’t age too much, old girl. At least not until after your fortieth birthday.”
Grace groaned loudly. “Did you have to mention that?”
CHAPTER NINE
Grace was glad to be back on Sheridan Island, not only for the pastoral setting she’d come to appreciate, but to gain some much needed space and perspective from her week in Connecticut. Too much had happened. Too many feelings had surfaced that she wished hadn’t. But now it was all behind her, and she could just breathe. Just be.
She stirred the risotto in the saucepan, added more broth, stirred again, listened to the faint rustling noises of Connie Sparks in the next room playing with Remy. Grace was cooking dinner for her to thank her for dog sitting Remy while she’d been away. Connie had asked her questions about the golf tournament and they’d chatted a little about it, but Grace couldn’t bring herself to admit how much time she’d spent with Torrie, or how unexpectedly fond she’d grown of her. And certainly not how attracted they’d been to one another. It was almost as though they’d done something shameful and forbidden—something no one else would understand. Hell, Grace didn’t even understand it and she certainly didn’t want to talk about it.
Grace stirred some more and added another half cup of broth. She couldn’t quite believe she would not see Torrie Cannon again, not after the intense heat between them. When she first came back to the island and collected Remy from Connie’s, she kept stealing furtive glances at Connie, looking for facial similarities between aunt and niece. She was curious about Torrie’s childhood, about what she’d been like as a kid, as a teenager, what the rest of her family was like. But there’s no point, Grace, because you won’t be seeing her again. And just as well, because you were about to make a damn fool of yourself with her.
“Shall I fetch the chicken off the barbecue, Grace?”
Preoccupied, Grace gave a little start at the sound of Connie’s voice. “Yes, that’d be great. The risotto is almost done.”
Thickening nicely now, Grace gave it a final few stirs, then spooned it into a bowl. She carried it and a cold bottle of Chardonnay to the table, then helped Connie with the chicken, which she’d marinated in garlic and olive oil and paprika before grilling it.
“Smells wonderful,” Connie said, breathing in the garlic aroma. She poured their wine and offered a toast.“To you, Grace. Thank you for being my friend.”
Grace clinked glasses. “No, thank you. And thank you for looking after Remy. He may never want to come back to me.”
Connie laughed, cutting a piece of her chicken and popping it into her mouth. “That would be fine with me. You’ve already done the hard part, getting him through puppyhood.”
“That’s an understatement!”
“Oh, Grace, this is wonderful.”
Connie had begun eating ravenously, and Grace flashed back to Torrie and her rapacious appetite. She smiled at the memory, then sampled the Lebanese chicken and the risotto, satisfied with both. Torrie would like her selections as much as her aunt, she supposed.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I eat like I haven’t eaten in days. But it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your food. It’s quite the opposite, actually.”
“It’s okay. Tor—” Grace tried to stop herself, but it was too late. Something had sparked in Connie’s eyes at the mention of Torrie. Dammit, I don’t want to talk about Torrie.
“Yes. We both eat like it’s our last meal,” Connie said.
Grace tried to imagine Connie as a young woman. She’d probably looked a lot like Torrie, with her blue eyes and handsome, chiseled features, her strong frame. But she couldn’t quite picture Connie as a young Casanova, chasing after women, seducing them recklessly the way Torrie did. Connie seemed so much more grounded and wise than all that, but then, age had a way of moderating behavior. Maybe Torrie actually would grow up in another twenty years. Or not.
“My niece Torrie and I are a lot alike, you know. More than she knows.” Connie became lost in private memories, and Grace prayed the conversation would move on. “Did you get to know Torrie very well at the tournament? You said you met her, but…”
Shit. “Um, not real well, no.” Liar. You got to know her well enough to nearly sleep with her.
“That’s too bad, dear. She’s a fine young woman. Smart as a whip. Full of life.” Connie frowned a little and studied Grace. “Maybe a little too much of a handful. I get the feeling you’re a lot more serious than she is. You probably wouldn’t have enough in common to be good friends.”
“Well, I don’t think I’d—”
“Please. That’s a good thing. Torrie could stand to be a little more serious sometimes.” Connie waved her hand dismissively and tried to cover her concern with a laugh. “She’s young, yet.”
Grace knew exactly what Connie wasn’t saying—that Torrie was promiscuous and acted like she hadn’t a care in the world. It was true, and yet Grace couldn’t deny she had seen glimpses of something much deeper in Torrie—a sensitivity and vulnerability, an unnamed need. Things she didn’t show other people, or maybe didn’t even know herself were there. But they were there—in Torrie’s eyes, in the timber of her voice, in her touch, and certainly in her kiss. Oh, God, that kiss. So tender and passionate, the kiss of a caring lover, not a soulless seductress.
“The garlic too much for you?” Connie asked with concern.
“You look overheated.”
“Oh,” Grace exclaimed, taking a cooling sip of wine. “No,
I’m fine.”
“You did like Torrie okay, didn’t you?”
Grace tried to smile reassuringly. “Yes, Connie. I did.”
Relief immediately softened Connie’s face.“Thank goodness. Because she’s coming here for an extended visit starting the day after tomorrow.”
Grace dropped her fork on the plate with a clang.
Grace was more than annoyed. She was downright pissed off, and nothing Trish was saying over the phone was reassuring her.
“She must be following me here, Trish.”
“Why the hell would she do that?”
“Maybe to try to finish what we started. I don’t know.” Was Torrie really that bad at handling rejection, that she wouldn’t give up until she got what she wanted?
Trish’s sigh was one of frustration. “Look, Gracie. I know you’re a hot little piece, but really, she could have any woman she wanted.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Trish chuckled. “Okay, I guess that came out wrong. But you know what I mean. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
Trish grew excited. “Unless she’s madly in love with you and can’t possibly live without you.”
Grace wasn’t sure if Trish was kidding. She hoped she was. “Trish, are you on drugs?”
“I wish. Why?”
“Because you’ve either lost your mind or you’re bullshitting me. Torrie Cannon is not in love with me.” No. Torrie had made it clear what she wanted with Grace, and it wasn’t to ride off into the sunset together, which suited Grace just fine. Aly had certainly taught her that sunsets and happy endings were just a load of crap anyway.
“All right, all right. Torrie’s probably not the falling-in-love type.”
“Probably not?” I want to make love to you, not marry you.
Trish giggled through the phone, clearly loving this conversation far too much. “Maybe if you just give her what she wants, she’ll leave you alone.”
Grace’s cheeks were burning and she was glad Trish couldn’t see her. “Heard from Catie since you left?”
A long silence ensued, but Grace waited her out. “Maybe,” Trish finally conceded.
“What exactly does that mean?”
“We’ve e-mailed a couple of times, that’s all.”
Grace smiled to herself. “Hmmm, I see. Any plans to get together, or are you just going to type sweet nothings to each other?”
“Nothing’s going to happen between Catie and me, Grace. What happened years ago is ancient history between us.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because she’s not my type, that’s why.”
Grace wanted to pursue the topic with Trish some more. She was dying to ask her if she would consider another lesbian affair, only this time, maybe something a little more serious. But Grace knew it was better left for when they could talk in person, particularly after a glass of wine or three. She was sure deep down that Trish wasn’t as stubborn about Catie as she seemed, that it was probably just a defense mechanism until she sorted out her feelings. On the other hand, Grace knew she could ill afford to point fingers. Was she too being stubborn about Torrie as a way of avoiding her deeper feelings? What am I so afraid of with her?
“Aw, shit, Trish.” Grace dreaded the moment she would see Torrie next, because she had no clear idea of how she would feel or what she would say. “It just complicates things to have Torrie here, that’s all. I just want to be left alone.”
“It’d be a lot easier that way, wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah, it would.”
“Grace, why don’t you admit you have feelings for her? Why don’t you give her a chance? See where it goes?”
“No,” Grace replied emphatically, trying hard to separate the wheat from the chaff in her mind. She knew exactly where things would go. They’d have a raucous good time in bed, and then Torrie would breezily wander off to greener pastures while Grace would be right back where she started—alone and searching for something meaningful. Worse yet, she might get too close to Torrie, which would make Torrie’s leaving that much more painful.
“All right, all right,” Trish said. “You’ve already made it plain you don’t want to pursue anything with her. She’ll respect that, Grace.”
“I hope so.”
“She will.” Trish chuckled. “And if she doesn’t, just get her aunt to put her over her knee.”
Grace chuckled at the vision. “I’ll bet Connie could just do it too.”
“Torrie, honey, are you okay? You’re as white as a ghost.”
Torrie wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her hand.
“I’m fine, Aunt Connie. Just not used to running lately.” Torrie was still catching her breath, and not from her run. Goddamn. Surely it couldn’t have been Grace, the figure walking a big brown dog up ahead of her on the beach just moments ago. That blond hair and sweet little ass looked stunningly familiar, and the vision—or maybe it was desire—had slammed hard into her, nearly making her double over. She wanted it to be Grace, and yet the idea horrified her, and so, like a coward, Torrie had promptly turned and sprinted back to her aunt’s. She’d run off, the way she had when she was seven years old and her best friend dumped her for the new girl on the block.
Torrie had purposely chosen not to mention Grace to her aunt. After all, what was there to say? Oh, by the way, Aunt Connie, I met a woman you might recall from a few years ago on Sheridan Island…you know, the delicious-looking blond chef? Well, she rocked my world last week, and now I can’t get her out of my mind. Except she doesn’t want me, or at least she says she doesn’t.
In the shower, Torrie convinced herself that her eyes were just playing tricks on her. She thought so often of Grace—wanted her so much still—that it came as no surprise that she would imagine her around every corner. Surely that’s what this was too, her imagination.
“Torrie, dear, I have a favor to ask,” Aunt Connie said once Torrie emerged.
“Sure. What is it?” Torrie had nothing to do and welcomed any chores her aunt could suggest.
“I’d like to ask a new friend of mine to join us for dinner. I want you to meet her.”
Torrie nearly burst out laughing. “You mean we’re supposed to cook?” Jesus. Had her aunt lost her mind? Aunt Connie was never one to cook and Torrie could barely scramble eggs and fry bacon.
Aunt Connie looked only faintly concerned. She plucked another wet dish from the rack and dried it. “Well, yes, I thought we would. Surely we could throw together something, my dear girl.”
Torrie shrugged. Impressing Aunt Connie’s friend with their questionable culinary abilities was the least of her concerns. She just didn’t want to kill anyone with food poisoning. “I’m game if you are, but it might be the end of a very promising friendship for you.”
“I don’t think so. She’s very easy to please. We should at least be able to give her some nice conversation.”
“That part I think I can handle.”
“Good. Now, why don’t you go invite her here for tomorrow night?”
“Can’t you just phone her?”
“She’s only three houses away. At the Wilson cottage.” Aunt Connie shot her a look of disapproval. “You young people are too quick to pick up the phone or do that…that, whatever they call it, that typing with your phone.”
Torrie rolled her eyes. “It’s called text messaging, Aunt Connie.”
“Whatever. It’s no substitute for personal contact.”
“All right, all right. I’ll go ask. What did you say her name was?”
Connie smiled with satisfaction. “Why, you’ve already met her, Torrie.”
“I have? I haven’t seen anyone since I got in yesterday.”
“You met her in Hartford last week.”
Dread came over her sharp and quick, the way it did when she knew she’d hit a bad golf shot as soon as the ball left her club. Oh, no. Not Grace. It couldn’t be. Grace cannot be here. And she cannot possibly be
friends with Aunt Connie. No way. This is not happening. I’m not going to go crawling to—
“Torrie, dear. You look like I’ve just told you there’s no Santa Claus or something.”
“Grace Wellwood is here on the island?” Torrie barely recognized her own voice.
“You didn’t know she was spending the summer here?”
Torrie shook her head, feeling foolish. Feeling fooled, more like. Why hadn’t Grace mentioned it? Then again, neither of them had talked about their immediate plans. It had never come up. What mattered now was that her aunt was looking expectantly at her, a little worriedly even.
Torrie grasped the edge of the counter for support. Christ. Did her aunt really think she and Grace could sit across the table all evening as though nothing had happened between them? That they could carry on some kind of innocuous conversation like polite strangers suddenly thrown together? That they could so easily forget the searing attraction between them that had almost landed them in bed—or at least, in a compromising position on the floor of Torrie’s hotel suite? Torrie, to be sure, could not forget those things, nor the way desire had flared in Grace’s eyes in direct contrast to her uncompromising words as she blew her off. “I, ah…” Shit. How the hell could she get out of this?
Aunt Connie was clearly growing impatient, snapping her hands to her hips, her arms stiff as tree branches. “What is the matter with you two?”
“Huh?” Torrie was instantly reduced to a chagrined third-grader, capable of only one-word answers.
“Where are your manners? Grace is a very pleasant woman. Surely you saw enough of her at the golf tournament to know that much!”
“I…well, we didn’t really get to—”
“You don’t dislike her, do you?” Her aunt’s tone implied there was only one reasonable answer.
“Of course I don’t dislike her.”
“Good. Then please go ask her to join us for dinner. I haven’t seen her for a couple of days, and I thought it might be nice for the two of you to renew your acquaintanceship.”
Oh, so that’s what it is…an acquaintanceship. Yeah, right.