One More Night

by Jennifer Mckenzie

  The problem was, neither did she. “Owen,” she began again, “it isn’t that simple.”

  He frowned at her. “Of course it is. What’s so complicated about it?”

  Her business, her plan. “I have a schedule for these things.”

  “Well, tell me your schedule and I’ll accommodate it.”

  She shook her head. “It’s really not that simple. I have my business to think of. I...” Her voice trailed off. She had her business to think of, yes. But that wasn’t the root issue. No, the root issue was that she was scared. Owen rattled her, he didn’t check any—well, okay, he didn’t check many—of the boxes on her future-husband list, but she still wanted him. But to what end? Was he looking to settle down? In a year? In five years? Did he want kids or a dog? But these weren’t the kinds of questions to ask when they hadn’t even been on a real date. Talk about getting ahead of herself.

  Owen leaned forward. “I think we could have some fun together.”

  They could. “I’m not looking for fun,” Grace told him. She planned to treat her love life with the same meticulous care that she ran her business. “Dating someone is serious.”

  “It’s supposed to be fun, too.” He reached out and placed his warm hand over hers. “Tell me you’ll think about it.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t a good idea, but he squeezed her fingers, just a gentle press, and it shot a sizzle right through her, making the words dry up. She studied him, the easy tilt to his head, the friendly smile he always seemed to wear. He had a point about fun. She wanted a husband who was stable, one who could be counted on to follow through on his promises, who would cherish her and their future children—but she wanted to laugh, too. And she didn’t actually know what Owen’s plans were. Maybe he aspired to more than running a bar. She swallowed. “I’ll think about it.”

  * * *

  GRACE CHECKED HER travel bag again. Nothing had changed since the last time she’d looked, but she liked to be thorough. Everything was folded in neat squares, toiletries and shoes were double-bagged and she had extra clothing in case of weather or spill.

  She zipped up the case and flipped it onto its end. The wheels clicked as they rolled over the hardwood floor and rumbled as she headed for the front door and her weekend away.

  Grace wouldn’t normally choose to spend a weekend with her family. She loved them and she knew they loved her, but they didn’t always understand each other. Which only became an issue when they started to poke at her about her life choices, about how wasteful the extravagant weddings she designed were, about the lack of locally grown food in her diet, about falling into the trap of wanting more when she already had so much.

  There was nothing she could say to convince them that she liked her life the way it was just fine, thank you very much. So she no longer wasted her breath. She’d sit and listen, nodding every once in a while to make it appear that she was engaged, and make mental notes and plans for her upcoming week. It was better for everyone that way.

  She didn’t own a car—it was one of the few things her mother approved of about her city life—so she booked a cab to take her to the ferry terminal and her island destination.

  As they cruised out of the city, leaving behind the concrete buildings and buzz of people, Grace wished she had work to keep her home. Or that she wasn’t going until tomorrow morning.

  A Saturday-morning trip had been her original plan, but then her mother had wanted her to stay for dinner on Sunday. As farmers, they ate early anyway. The only way Grace had been able to talk her way out of it was to agree to come out on Friday instead. But now, she wondered if that had been her mother’s plan all along. She resolved not to think about Owen and whether or not he’d actually show up. This weekend wasn’t about that. It was about doing her daughterly duty.

  The ferry terminal was busy with cars as the large passenger ferries dropped off and picked up. According to the signage, her ferry was 100-percent full, but she knew that number was for vehicles only. There would be no such reprieve for her, a lowly foot passenger.

  She joined the winding line for tickets to Salt Spring Island. Since it was summer and lots of people wanted to visit the charming—according to her mother—island, they had a dedicated crossing route. Unfortunately, ferries only ran every two hours and on a schedule that didn’t fit hers. Instead, Grace was going to take one of the larger, more luxurious ferries to Victoria on Vancouver Island and then catch a smaller vessel that would take her to Salt Spring.

  It was a bit of a hassle, making the transfer, but the larger ship with its private quiet lounge and Wi-Fi connectivity made up for it. And it meant she could stay at work until closing and not have to wait until 8:25 p.m. to catch a ferry. She checked her watch as the line moved forward. It was quarter to seven, which meant she had fifteen minutes to buy her ticket, cross the terminal and get to her berth.

  The first crossing took just over ninety minutes and the second another thirty-five. With the transfer time, she wouldn’t actually land on Salt Spring until 9:30 p.m. or so. On the plus side, it meant by the time she arrived everyone would either be in bed or close to, so she could do the same. On the minus, it was a long trip even with her laptop and work.

  The line moved quickly and when she got to the berth, they hadn’t even started loading yet, so the small waiting area was packed with other walk-on passengers—a young family with a crying toddler, who looked at her with wet eyes and a quivering lip as though she might be the soft touch that bought him a cookie. A college-aged couple with backpacks straining at the zippers, their sandals and shorts grimy. Business people returning home for the weekend. There were a fair number of people who owned homes on the island but worked and rented in the city during the week. Grace didn’t understand it, but then she’d been looking to leave island life since she’d been ten.

  They all blended together, a mass of moving bodies as they boarded their ferry. Grace moved past the empty groups of seats—they’d all fill up once everyone was on board—and headed to the top level, with the adults-only quiet lounge. It cost extra, but the price would have been worth it even if they didn’t serve coffee and light refreshments. They had dedicated outlets and internet access. The chairs were wide and comfy and all faced floor-to-ceiling windows that showed off spectacular scenery.

  Grace pushed open the glass door, exhaling softly as it swung shut behind her, muting the clang of feet in stairwells and the echo of voices. By the time the ferry pulled away from the dock, she was settled with a large black coffee and her laptop open. She even took a moment to look out the window and appreciate the scenic views as they headed toward open water. Even though she’d grown up in the region, the sight of the water, the trees and the mountains on the mainland always made Grace’s breath catch.

  “Beautiful.”

  She jerked at the voice near her ear. She knew that voice, had been waiting to hear it even though she hadn’t spotted him anywhere in the terminal. “Owen. What are you doing here?”

  “Enjoying the view.” He was watching her and not the vistas outside.

  “Does that ever work?” She reminded herself not to be won over by his attention. No doubt he’d been using that line, or one similar to it, from the time he was old enough to talk.

  “Never hurts to try.” He lowered himself into the seat beside her. “I thought the fact that it’s true might also carry some weight.” He leaned closer. Grace could smell his smoky cologne. She felt another shiver. “Is it working now?”

  “No.” She crossed her legs, clamping them tightly together and hoping this infernal shivering would end. Ridiculous. So she was attracted to him. So what? It didn’t have to go anywhere. But she wanted it to. She could feel that with every breath, every thump of her heart.

  “Then I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

  He stretched his long legs out, looking as comfo
rtable in the ferry seats as he did everywhere. She didn’t want to notice the way the denim clung to his thighs, highlighting the bulk of muscle there, but she couldn’t stop staring at those muscular legs, remembering what they felt like when she sat on them, gripped them for support. Remembered where his hands had been while she’d done so.

  “You look good.”

  Grace smoothed a hand over her own legs, also encased in jeans. Dark denim that she’d ironed to a crisp finish. She knew they were too dressy for the farm, but she didn’t have farming clothes anymore. She’d either sacrifice these to the gods of dirt or borrow something from her mother. And thinking about the farm and her mother helped cool her rising desire. “Thank you.” She swallowed. “Why did you come?”

  She had to ask. While she hadn’t said no to his suggestion, she hadn’t said yes, either.

  He didn’t answer right away. There was only the sound of the engine, the heavy whir as the ferry cut through the water. The steady beat of her pulse in her ears as his gaze held hers. “I came for you.”

  Grace felt her heart thump again. A long, slow thud that reverberated through her entire body. She’d already known that, but actually hearing the words sent a low hum of pleasure through her. Probably all that off-schedule orgasming. Her hormones were misbehaving. She really needed to get back on her schedule. “Why?”

  “You seemed like you could use some support, so here I am supporting you.” That touched her, far more than his hot kisses and agile fingers. She didn’t know what to say. “But if you want me to go...”

  Did she? Part of her knew it was the smart thing to do, the appropriate thing. But part of her enjoyed the attention even though she probably shouldn’t. She exhaled. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Owen.”

  “Not going to tell me what you want, either, are you?” He still wore that easy expression. Grace wondered what it must be like to simply go with the flow. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been without a plan—even the idea of it made her feel edgy.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m not.” Because suddenly, even with her plan, which was supposed to take all the guesswork out of life, she didn’t have an answer.

  Rather than saying anything, Owen just reached out and ran a knuckle down her cheek. Grace squeezed her thighs together to keep the shiver from rocking through her body and letting him know just how much he affected her. She sensed that could be dangerous.

  He stroked her cheek again. “Do you want me to catch the next ferry back?”

  Did she? She’d been disappointed when she thought he’d changed his mind. “No, that’s ridiculous. You’re here. You should enjoy the island.” Even though she’d spent her teen years plotting how quickly she could get out, Grace still loved Salt Spring. She didn’t want to live there, but it was nice to come home to sometimes. “You can see the sights.”

  “There’s only one sight I want to see.” She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away from him, either.

  “This isn’t a date.” It came out as a whisper.

  “Okay.” He swiveled his wrist to cup her face. She could feel the warmth seeping into her skin, wanted to rub her cheek against his palm.

  “I mean it.” She was grasping at straws. Something she sensed they both realized.

  “Okay.” He smiled and started to draw her forward. And when he kissed her, she practically melted.

  Yes, not a date at all.

  * * *

  THEY DOCKED ON Salt Spring before ten. The sun hadn’t even fully set, leaving everything bathed in a golden glow. Owen’s fingers tightened around the handle of Grace’s bag and the strap of his own.

  “Do you have somewhere to stay?” She turned those big, blue eyes on him. He wanted to reach out and rub the wrinkle between them.

  “No, but I’ll find a place.” He hadn’t planned that far ahead, but surely there would be vacancies. The summer season was over and Salt Spring was a popular destination during the warmer months. Maybe he could convince her to come for a visit. “Want to join me? I can promise no parents.”

  “Tempting.” She looked as if she meant it, too. “But I made a promise and if I canceled I’d get the mother of all guilt trips.”

  Owen grinned. “Sounds familiar.” His own mother had given him one when he’d told her that he wouldn’t be attending Sunday dinner. He put a hand on the small of Grace’s back as they followed the crowd toward the exit, both for the excuse to touch her and ensure they didn’t get separated. “If you need a break from the family togetherness, you can stay with me.” When she raised an eyebrow, he shook his head. “Strictly platonic. Now, I won’t say that it’s my first choice, but I won’t push. Two beds. No touching.”

  He saw some of her tension slide away and her lips turned up in a smile. “Thank you, Owen. That’s really thoughtful.” He wasn’t sure, but he thought she walked a little closer as they made their way off the boat.

  The evening had cooled, thanks to the breeze off the ocean, and Owen wondered if he could slip his arm around her shoulders in the name of conserving heat.

  “Gaia! Sweetheart!”

  He didn’t take note of the shout until he felt Grace stiffen. Then he turned to see where the voice was coming from and saw a tall woman with light brown hair frizzing around her face, waving like crazy from the small pickup area. As if they weren’t the only two who weren’t heading to their own parked cars and as if she wasn’t the only person idling in the pickup space, aside from one lone cab with no driver in sight.

  “Gaia.” She waved again. Clearly looking at them.

  He knew he wasn’t Gaia... He glanced at Grace, who appeared to be steeling herself as she angled toward the woman. Since he still had her suitcase, he walked with her. “Is that your mom?” Even as he asked, he knew he needn’t have bothered. They weren’t twins and didn’t look like sisters, but there was a similarity to their bearing. And the height. “Why is she calling you ‘Gaia’?”

  “Long story.”

  “Sweetheart.” Grace’s mother enveloped her in a hug. Her long skirt swung as she moved and showed off heavy leather sandals. “And you brought a friend.” She opened her arms to include Owen in the embrace, so they were in a sort of threesome. Though not the kind Owen had ever imagined. “Welcome, I’m Sparrow.”

  Like the bird? But Owen was too polite to ask or even give any visual cue. “A pleasure to meet you, Sparrow.” He slid a shade closer to Grace. She looked as though she could use the support. “I’m Owen Ford.”

  “Owen.” Sparrow made a circle with her lips while she pronounced his name, as if she was tasting it. Then she nodded. “I like it. Owen is a good, solid name.”

  “I’ll tell my parents you approve.”

  Sparrow nodded as she moved around to open the back of the vehicle. “I can tell you not only have the look of the Black Irish, but the charm, as well.” She sent her daughter a smile. “A handsome devil you’ve brought with you, Gaia.”

  “I didn’t exactly bring him,” Grace said, but she didn’t say it loudly.

  “Don’t be shy.” Sparrow grinned at him as she opened the SUV’s hatch. Owen loaded the bags, though Sparrow tried to help. “Will you be staying in the guest room this weekend?” She smiled at Owen as she closed the door. “It’s a queen-size bed.”

  “He’s not staying with us,” Grace announced.

  “Why not? We have plenty of room.” She faced Owen. “We have plenty of room.”

  “I appreciate the offer.” He did and even two weeks ago, he would have happily accepted the invitation, but with his sister and sister-in-law’s concerns still ringing in his ears and a look at the pained expression on Grace’s face, he swallowed the inclination. “But I’ll stay in town.”

  “Absolutely not.” Sparrow opened the back door for Owen and then hopped into the driver’s side. Grace slowly climbed i
nto the front passenger seat and sent Owen a beseeching look. He could pick up what she was putting down, but he didn’t know what she wanted him to do about it.

  “I booked a room,” Owen lied when Grace sent him another pleading look. “At Bronze Frog farm.” He remembered the name from his quick search.

  “No.” Sparrow pulled away from the curb. Owen thought he saw where Grace got her attitude as well as her height. “You’ll stay with us. I won’t hear another word about it.”

  “Sparrow—” Grace began, but her mother cut her off with a wave of her hand.

  “Gaia, don’t be unwelcoming. I know you’re shy. We’ll put Owen in the guest room and pretend not to hear him sneak down the hall to your room in the middle of the night.”

  Owen might have been embarrassed except Grace looked humiliated enough for both of them. She wouldn’t even look at him now, just faced forward, her hands fisted in her lap.

  “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Monroe. If you’re sure it won’t be any trouble?”

  “I insist, and please call me Sparrow. I’m not Mrs. Anything.”

  “Sparrow doesn’t believe in marriage or changing her name. Except that her birth certificate says Susan.”

  Sparrow laughed. “She’s right. Marriage is simply a way for the government to govern our personal lives. I think they should keep their noses out of my private business. I pay my taxes and that should be enough.”

  Her attitude surprised Owen, given that marriage was how her daughter made her living.

  “And I’m not the only one who changed my name, Gaia.”

  Grace clasped her hands more tightly. “No, but I respect your wishes about it.”

  Owen saw Sparrow wince. “You’re right. It’s just that Gaia is such a powerful name. The earth. The mother goddess.”

  “I prefer Grace.” The corners of her mouth were tight.

  “I know.” Sparrow sighed and patted her daughter on the arm. “And I’ll try to remember to call you that.”

  Grace nodded and didn’t say anything.