Falling for Grace

by Maddie James

  “I understand.”

  She retreated two more steps. “Help yourself to whatever you need.”

  “We’ll be fine and will join you in a few minutes.”

  “Oh, sure.” She was nearly in her living room now. “And we’ll finish our business then.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “Okay.”

  Then Gracie left. She tripped over the throw rug at the entrance to her door and nearly turned her ankle on the first step down the stairway. What in the world was wrong with her? Obviously, stupid mode had traveled down to her feet.

  Stopping at the first landing, she paused a minute, allowing a couple of thoughts to collect themselves in her head.

  At that point she decided that she hoped stupid mode wasn’t going to bounce back up to her heart. She’d kept such tight control over that heart for such a long time, it would surely be a shame for it to do something stupid, like get broken over a guy like Carson Price.

  * * * *

  “Your change comes to two dollars and sixteen cents,” Gracie told the young woman on the other side of the counter. The woman took her change, the Aromatherapy candle she’d just purchased, smiled, then leisurely left the shop.

  Gracie watched her leave then made a mental note to order more of those candles. This was something new from a different supplier and that particular brand was flying out of the shop faster than she could keep them in stock.

  Turning, she glanced about and decided that instead of a mental note, she needed to make reference to the candles in her computer inventory software program before she forgot about it.

  She booted up the computer and glanced once more at the back stairway. Twenty minutes earlier she’d left Carson and Izzie upstairs. She’d seen hide nor hair of them since.

  Odd, she thought, hoping that Izzie was okay.

  “He’s probably still fumbling with the bandage,” Gracie said to herself, then chuckled. Her computer screen came to life with a series of clicks and clacks and pings. Every time she started the thing, she said a little prayer that it would keep working for a while longer. She couldn’t afford to buy a new one quite yet, although it was on her wish list. She started clicking icons to open the file she was after.

  During the time Carson had been upstairs, Gracie had seriously contemplated the sanity of renting the shop and the apartment to him and his daughter. She’d had her doubts early on—then in a moment of stupidity had reconsidered—now, she was sure she should not rent to him. Quite sure.

  There was no sound reason why she shouldn’t, really. He appeared to be a friendly person with good character and sincere intentions. Obviously, he wasn’t some derelict off the street. He was a family man with a child to raise. Besides, a nice café next door would certainly compliment her shop.

  The members of the Chamber would surely welcome the new business endeavor.

  But she didn’t know the wisdom of renting to this man who made her insides flutter. Fact was, she wasn’t used to fluttering insides and she was quite sure she didn’t want them to flutter. She’s was just going to have to come up with some excuse not to rent to him.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  “Oh, shut up!”

  “Excuse me?”

  Startled, Gracie turned toward the voice. “Oh! Mr. Price.”

  “Were you talking to someone?” he asked with a slight smirk on his face. “I swear I heard you tell someone to shut up.” He glanced about the shop. “And I don’t see anyone else here but the two of us.”

  Gracie felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. He was teasing her, sort of, and she wasn’t quite sure she liked it. Or maybe, she liked it at little too much.

  “I was—” She glanced around the shop. Where in the heck was that darned shop cat when she needed her? A lot of people talked to animals, didn’t they? Then she glanced back at her computer. “I was...I was talking to the computer,” she added quickly, then patted the monitor and turned back with a small grin. “I have to talk to her once in a while, a little sweet talk, you know. She works better for me that way.”

  “She?” Carson arched a brow in amusement.

  Gracie wrung her hands and glanced off to the side. “Ah, yes. She. The computer is definitely a she.”

  He nodded, slowly, the expression on his face still resembling amusement. “But that didn’t sound like sweet talk to me.”

  How in the heck was she going to talk her way out of this one? Gracie cocked her head to once side. “Well, I’d be inclined to agree with you, Mr. Price, but— “she turned and patted the computer monitor again, “you don’t know old Clara Belle here. She needs a good swift, sweet-talking nudge once in a while.”

  As if on cue, the newly-christened Clara Belle sputtered with another series of clicks and a bing as if she were acknowledging her own incompetence.

  Gracie then arched her brow and looked once more to Carson. She shrugged. “See? What did I tell you?”

  “Well, I fail to see—”

  “So how is Izzie?” She had to turn this conversation quickly. She had no intention of sharing with Carson Price the fact that she had these ongoing conversations with her biological clock once in a while.

  “Oh, she’s fine. All bandaged up and ready to move on to another escapade.” He glanced back toward the stairwell. “She’s actually staking claim on her room in the apartment upstairs. I hope you don’t mind, but while we were up there, we went ahead and looked around.”

  Gracie was a bit taken aback. “Oh?” She remembered now that she had unlocked the apartment earlier this morning.

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “We love it.”

  “Oh.”

  “So we’d like to take the package deal.”

  “You would?” Gracie wasn’t sure to be thrilled or panicked.

  “Yes. The apartment and the shop. I’d like to move as soon as possible, if that’s okay with you. In fact, I’d like to start this weekend.”

  “But I have to clean—”

  “No, forget about that. If you’ll give me a cut on the first month’s rent, I’ll clean and even paint Izzie’s bedroom upstairs. She wants purple. I hope you don’t mind. She said pink was for girls. And I’ve claimed dibs on the blue room at the back so the pink room has to go.”

  The blue room in the back. The room next to mine, Gracie thought. One thin wall separating us.

  Oh, boy.

  She took a deep breath. “Mr. Price. I think we need to discuss a few things before—”

  “Do you have a lease?”

  Puzzled, Gracie suddenly lost her train of thought. “Well, yes, I do. It’s in the computer, in fact, but—” She wasn’t sure she was ready to do this yet.

  “Good. Why don’t you print one off, I’ll take it with me tonight, read it over, and then come back in the morning with either the signed copy or notes about issues we need to discuss.”

  “But you haven’t filled out an application yet.”

  He nodded. “Well, print one of those off too, and I’ll bring it in the morning. You can sign the lease after you’ve checked my references.”

  “Well, I—”

  Clara Belle clicked and pinged in the background again.

  Carson chuckled and smiled at the machine. “I think she agrees. So, would you print all that off for me while I fetch Iz? I should be getting back to Louisville. We’ll touch base in the morning then, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Well, sure, I suppose. But—”

  But he was gone, already moving toward the back of her shop. Gracie was at a loss for words.

  Clara Belle pinged again. Gracie turned toward the computer and gave it one nasty look. “I didn’t need your input back there a minute ago, you know. Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  The computer monitor sat unmoving, silent.

  “Oh hell,” Gracie muttered quietly. Then she clicked on the program on which she’d saved a copy of her standard lease and application, made a few imp
romptu adjustments, tweaked a couple of other items, and generally made some overall ridiculous changes. Maybe, once he’d looked this over, he would decide not to rent after all.

  She sure hoped so. It would be much easier if he said no, rather than her having to say no to him. She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea, or anything. She didn’t want him to think that Izzie was the reason she couldn’t rent to him.

  In fact, she actually liked Izzie a whole heck of a lot. She just couldn’t see how she could live next to her father. Not when he made her insides flutter like he did today, on the first day they’d ever met.

  She printed off the lease and application then, not putting any further thought into it, keeping her fingers crossed that he would decide not to return with them in the morning.

  Chapter Four

  Normally, after a day like today, Carson had little trouble dropping off to sleep. He’d ran from one thing to another all day long; the trip to Franklinville and back, a meeting with a client, and a quick conference with Jack—all with Izzie in tow—which was, of course, a challenge. Always happiest when he was the busiest, though, he’d never had trouble with insomnia.

  Until lately.

  And tonight didn’t seem to be an exception.

  Lately, there had been one too many things on his mind, and it didn’t matter how many sheep he counted or how many pages of some boring legal document he perused, sleep just sometimes didn’t come.

  Tonight was one of those nights.

  Tonight, however, he wasn’t thinking about Izzie and some problem at her school. He wasn’t thinking about how Marci had all but abandoned her daughter three years ago—and now was making noises about coming back into his daughter’s life. Nor was he thinking about the lucrative legal practice he was giving up to set up an “establishment” in the small burg of Franklinville.

  No, none of those things entered his mind this night.

  He was thinking about Gracie Hart. And why in the world she didn’t want to rent to him.

  Lying in his bed, a soft, cool breeze blowing over him from the window, Carson welcomed the night calm. Spring had finally arrived in Kentucky and not only was he thankful for the warm night, but also the soothing quiet it brought to the end of his day. The day had been rather hectic. He wished he could just let this calm wash over him totally and lull him to sleep.

  With one arm thrown over his head and the other hand holding his copy of the Gracie’s lease, he squinted at the words while he read over the thing one more time by the dim light of his bedside lamp.

  He couldn’t figure out what she was up to. Unless it was just as simple as it looked. She didn’t want to rent to him.

  Period.

  She’d jacked up the rent.

  She’d made it impossible to do any physical alterations on the shop, including plumbing.

  She essentially implicated that Izzie would have to leave her room pink.

  She had required an outlandish deposit plus the first and last month’s rent up front.

  She was nuts if she thought he would go for this.

  Carson dropped the lease and application on his night table with a flutter, punched his pillow once, then twice, rolled over, and closed his eyes to try to sleep.

  He had no idea what Gracie Hart was up to, but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it tonight.

  Tomorrow. That’s when he’d take care of it.

  Tomorrow he would find out why Ms. Hart did not want to rent to him.

  Eyes still closed, her image danced before him as he started to drift off to sleep. Thing was, it bugged the hell out of him this very minute.

  There was some reason she didn’t want him and Izzie around. Well, after this morning, he supposed he had a pretty good idea why. It was just that he thought she liked Izzie. She’d smiled at her and didn’t seem too upset about the cookies and the teapot and she’d even appeared forgiving about the damages.

  Maybe he was reading her all wrong.

  Maybe he’d just have to prove to her tomorrow that things could be different.

  * * * *

  Every Saturday morning, like clockwork, they showed up for coffee and gossip. It had been that way for almost nine years. Constance Greenspoon had shown up first, coffee cup in hand, early one Saturday morning, wanting to know if she could sit a spell in Gracie’s cozy corner and read the morning paper. Gracie had eagerly obliged. Romantically Yours had been in existence for several months at that point in time, and Gracie was still grieving the move from New York and all that had happened there. She welcomed the older woman into her shop with open arms.

  Constance, claiming her age as somewhere beyond sixty, was like a breath of fresh air for Gracie. They’d quickly become fast friends. And Gracie needed fast friends at that point in her life. Constance had left that morning with a bottle of bath salts the younger woman had concocted; the next Saturday morning she was back with Mary White in tow, coffee cup in her hand, as well.

  Evelyn Walters joined them the next week. Then Patsy Marcum. The next week Deni Carter.

  And on it went.

  The names and faces changed from time to time, year to year, but the camaraderie was still the same. Cait Conley had twins in September and they hadn’t seen much of her of since. They’d lost Cassie Fields to cancer two years earlier and Sylvia Parker was beginning to suffer from Alzheimer’s, but they weathered the storms just as they celebrated the joys.

  It was what they were about. Life. Death. Living. Dying. And everything that comes in between. Coffee and gossip and the morning paper. Nothing more, nothing less. Constance often reported that they were worse than old men sitting around talking about old women.

  And yes, the subject invariably turned to men, young or old. Short or tall, thin or fat. Straight or gay. Good-looking or not.

  Gracie, the youngest of the bunch, kept quiet most of the time and listened, taking in the collective wisdom of the women who had grown to be her friends. There were times she welcomed their advice and their common sense approach to life’s trials and tribulations. There were other times she really didn’t want to hear what they had to say.

  Nevertheless, they’d been there for her when she’d needed a shoulder or two. Or three. Sometimes more.

  It was the same most every Saturday morning, week in, week out. Year in, year out. And there was nothing different about this particular Saturday morning.

  Except for the moment when Carson Price decided to grace her doorstep. Again.

  The bell over the door chimed a warning at his entrance and Gracie sensed five pair of eyes, in addition to hers, simultaneously look up and follow Carson as he crossed the shop’s threshold and determinedly approached the group.

  He stopped directly in front of Gracie, both feet firmly planted into the polished, hardwood floors. She looked up at him, her coffee cup poised halfway between the saucer and her mouth, and gulped.

  Oh damn. He’s back.

  “I would like to talk to you, Ms. Hart, if you could spare a moment,” he said to her then.

  Gracie swallowed, looked into those eyes and held that connection for about three seconds, then slowly lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip as she glanced lower. She took her time with the sip and the following swallow, then turned her gaze back to Carson.

  She was extremely proud of the self-control she exhibited.

  Finally, she lowered cup and saucer to the table. “Of course, Mr. Price.” She rose. “Right this way.”

  They’d walked perhaps two steps away, toward the cash register side of the shop, when Gracie heard the low buzz and chatter of the women behind her. She glanced back once and the babble stopped. When she turned to face Carson again, it resumed.

  Women.

  “I’ve come to talk to you about this lease,” he began.

  Gracie glanced at the papers in his hand. “And?” she replied, looking back into his face. She wondered what kind of a poker face she possessed. It was hard being dead serious about the ridiculous lease
she’d offered him. No one in town rented Main Street shops out for that amount of money or required such a stiff deposit up front.

  “It’s absurd.”

  She already knew that.

  “I’d like to discuss the terms.”

  She sort of figured that, too.

  “I’ve done a little research around town and you’re way out of line on the rent.”

  “Oh? Is that right?”

  He arched a brow in disbelief and slowly nodded.

  “Yes. And I’ve taken the liberty of redoing the lease with my acceptable offer to you. I’d like you to take a look at it, and if it’s acceptable to you as well, I’d like to move some things into the apartment this afternoon.”

  Gracie stared at him. Then she chuckled. “Mr. Price, I think you are attempting to turn the table on me here.”

  He raised the other brow.

  She continued, “I think it is customary, since I am the owner of the building, that I set the rent and the fees and the restrictions on the property, is it not?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is, however—”

  “Then I’m sure you’ll understand when I tell you that the lease, as originally written, stands. Nothing more, nothing less. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  She turned and started back toward the buzz growing louder in the rear of the shop. In an instant, she caught Constance’s eye, noticed the horrified expression on her face, and the “no” signal she was flashing with her hands.

  What in the world?

  Carson Price laid a hand on her forearm and asked her to wait. Turning, she forgot Constance for a second and looked back into those damned sea-blue eyes.

  “I don’t understand,” he told her.

  Watching his face, Gracie felt a sudden pang. Like she’d done something morally and ethically wrong and the guilt was about to consume her. Carson’s face was telling a story and she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to hear it—but was almost certain that she was about to.

  “I need this place, Ms. Hart. Please hear me out. I have no idea why you don’t want to rent to me, but would you please just talk with me about this for a minute or two? Would you please just give me that?”