Always Be Mine: Sweetbriar Cove: Book Nine

by Melody Grace

  Griffin stopped. What Lila did in front of the fire was of no concern to him. And besides, she could turn around and decide to move back to Hollywood before those first poppies had even bloomed.

  He was forgetting he’d taken this job for the garden, not her. He didn’t even like the woman.

  Except . . .

  “What about this one?” Lila called over from across the way. She was hoisting a ceramic planter that was almost as tall as her.

  “Whoa, you’ll damage something.” Griffin hurried to help her out.

  Lila handed it off, smiling. “Aww, you don’t have to worry about me.”

  “It was the planter I was talking about,” Griffin replied curtly. He set it down, scolding himself for letting his thoughts run away with him. Lila was about as off limits as they came—and not just for professional reasons. She was exactly the kind of woman he’d sworn to stay away from, and no matter how disarming and beautiful she was, there was a part of him who still didn’t trust the act.

  She was here on a whim, and that whim would just as easily take her back to the bright spotlights of Hollywood again, where she belonged. “Let’s get things wrapped up here,” he said, all business again. “It looks like rain.”

  The sooner he got that cold shower, the better.

  7

  Griffin was right. By the time Lila decided on the perfect shade of blue glaze for her planters and they’d placed an order for the rest of the plants, rain was hammering heavy on the corrugated iron roof of the warehouse. She was glad she’d brought that extra sweater, but it would be no match for this torrential downpour.

  “You want to be careful out there,” Mickey warned, ringing up Lila’s card. “They closed the highway last month because of flooding. I wouldn’t want to risk it in this weather.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Griffin replied curtly.

  Lila glanced over at him. Somewhere between lilacs and sweet peas, Griffin had clammed up. She wasn’t sure if it had been something she’d said, but their playful banter on the way over seemed to be over. Now, he was acting like he couldn’t wait for their trip to be done.

  “A pleasure doing business with you,” Mickey said, handing her the order receipt. He glanced around and dropped his voice. “And, might I say, I’m a big fan of your work. French Kiss is one of my favorites.”

  Lila almost laughed with surprise. It was hard to believe this big, grizzled man had sat through even five minutes of her chick-flick movie, but it just went to show, you never could tell. “Thanks,” she said, smiling. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  “The wife loves it, too,” he added. “Especially the big happy ending. Have you seen it, Griffin?”

  “No.”

  Lila caught the impatient look on Griffin’s face. “We should get going,” she told Mickey apologetically. “But I’ll be back for those tulips.”

  “I’ll be in the car,” Griffin said, already striding for the exit.

  Crap. Lila hurried after him, pausing a moment in the doorway to brace against the rain. It hit her in cold sheets as she dashed across the parking lot, and she was already soaked through by the time she reached the Jeep.

  “Wow, Mickey was right.” Lila scrambled inside. Griffin already had the engine running, windscreen wipers moving furiously, but it barely made a difference to the deluge. She peered out, concerned. “Is it safe to drive?”

  “I can handle it,” Griffin answered shortly. She blinked.

  “OK.”

  Lila sat back, trying to relax as Griffin got on the road again. She was used to men switching hot and cold on her, but he wasn’t some insecure actor. Perhaps he was just annoyed they’d gotten caught in the storm. After all, she was the one who’d insisted on coming—and then spent too long deliberating over all the different plants and options.

  “I really love the things we picked out,” she said, trying to fill the silence. “It’s going to look beautiful when you’re done.”

  “Uh huh,” Griffin said, keeping his gaze fixed on the road.

  “And the colors are all so great,” she continued brightly. “The blues, with those pops of red—”

  “Look, I’m trying to focus here,” Griffin cut her off.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Lila fell silent again. She should probably be glad he was driving so carefully. The rain was still pouring down, making it almost impossible to see more than ten feet ahead. There were stretches of highway that were part-flooded, sending up a spray from their wheels as Griffin carefully steered them through.

  “Damn,” he cursed. “Mickey was right. Some of this flooding . . .”

  “Will we make it back?” Lila felt a flicker of anxiety. The only thing worse than being stuck in the Jeep with a surly Griffin would be winding up stranded on the side of a rain-drenched highway with him instead.

  “I don’t know . . .” Griffin’s knuckles were white against the steering wheel. “My place is closer. We should probably wait it out there.”

  Lila felt relief, but then she wondered. A stormy evening, his place conveniently close . . . If it were anyone else, she would have suspected a setup. But no, Griffin seemed as annoyed by the holdup as she was, and definitely not the type to have secret cameras hidden in the walls.

  Besides, what else was she going to do: swim home?

  Griffin drove the last few miles in silence before pulling off the road and parking out front of an old barn-like structure. He climbed down and strode into the house without even looking back, and Lila hurried after him, already wet through.

  Inside the front door, there was a mud-room entryway, so she kicked off her soaked sneakers and hung her thin jacket to dry. She peeled off her socks, too, and laid them on the radiator, then padded barefoot on the cold floors, deeper into the house.

  She looked around, curious. The place was rustic and cozy, with wooden beams still crossing the double-height ceilings and a wood-burning stove in the middle of the room—which Lila made a beeline for.

  “It’s cold!” she exclaimed, trying to huddle in closer to the warmth.

  “Here.” Griffin materialized again. He’d changed into sweatpants and a loose blue T-shirt, his hair still damp from the rain. He handed her an oversized sweatshirt, and she tugged it over her head. It smelled like him: clean, and woodsy, and she inhaled without thinking, snuggling deeper in the soft folds. “Want something to drink?” he asked.

  “Do you have vodka?” Lila asked, only half-kidding.

  “Irish coffee work for you?”

  “Perfect.”

  Griffin went over to the kitchen area, which was all concrete counters and clean lines. He got to work with an expensive-looking contraption. Lila drifted closer. “Are you making coffee, or splitting the atom?” she joked.

  He cracked a smile. “I’m not fussy about much,” he said, setting the machine to work with a jolt. “But coffee is one of those things.”

  “What are the others?” Lila asked.

  Griffin turned. “Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. He looked more relaxed now that they were out of the storm. “Good compost . . . woolen socks . . . pizza.”

  “Deep dish, or thin and crispy?” she quizzed, smiling.

  “Deep dish. I went to school in Chicago,” he added, handing her a mug of coffee. “So, we definitely have some opinions up there. You?”

  “Anything,” Lila said, already hungry at the thought. “As long as there’s extra cheese and pepperoni.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.” Griffin smiled at her, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and for a moment, Lila forgot that she was cold and soaked through.

  Hello.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “What?” Lila blurted, her cheeks flushing.

  “All this talk of food has made me hungry,” Griffin continued, because, of course, he was talking about actual food, and not her raging hormones. “I can’t promise deep dish, but I think I have a frozen pizza around here somewhere.”

  “Oh, right.” Lila swallowed. “Sure. That sou
nds great.”

  Griffin looked surprised. “No weird Hollywood diets?” he asked, teasing. “Vegan? Raw? You only eat foods colored orange on Mondays?”

  “Hey!” Lila protested, laughing. “I’m not that high-maintenance.”

  Griffin arched an eyebrow. Lila grinned.

  “OK, I’m not that high-maintenance anymore,” she corrected. “Bring on the carbs. The more the merrier.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Griffin smiled, and Lila felt that heat spread through her again. It wasn’t just the whiskey kick in her coffee, either.

  She cleared her throat. “So, nice place,” she said, browsing the room as Griffin busied himself in the kitchen. “Did you do the work yourself, or . . . ?”

  “Some,” Griffin replied. “Most of the changes are out back, in the yard. I’ll show you sometime,” he added. “When it’s not pouring down like this.”

  Lila nodded. She was still restless, so she found a vintage record player in the corner and flipped through his collection. She was tempted to put on one of the heavy metal records as a joke, but chose classic Fleetwood Mac instead. The needle lowered into the groove, and the opening chords filled the room, moody and atmospheric, and perfect for this rainy afternoon.

  Perfectly romantic . . .

  No. That was crazy. It was just the whiskey talking, and “Rhiannon” playing, and the smell of melting cheese in the air. She definitely wasn’t having those kinds of feelings for a man who was the walking definition of “not her type.”

  And Griffin sure wasn’t feeling that for her, either.

  Lila glanced over. He was chopping something on the counter, his sleeves rolled up over his forearms, moving the knife with sure, swift strokes. She swallowed. Since when did the sight of a bare forearm make her stomach flutter?

  “What are you making?”

  “Just amping up the frozen pizza,” Griffin replied. “Takes me back to college. Late-night snacking after a night at the bars.”

  Lila smiled. “I never went,” she admitted.

  “Hopped a Greyhound bus straight to Hollywood?”

  “Close enough,” Lila replied. She snuck an olive from the chopping board and popped it in her mouth. “I worked as a waitress in my home town after high school,” she explained, “long enough to save up a little. Then I moved out to LA, and then . . . did exactly the same thing there, too. It was an all-night diner, right in Hollywood, so I was serving all the guys their late-night snacks after a night at the bars.”

  Griffin winced. “On behalf of them, I apologize.”

  Lila laughed. “No, it was fine. Drunk guys tipped more,” she added. “Plus, it let me go to auditions during the daytime. It was a good group working there.”

  She paused, wistful. Those first couple of years in LA had been fun. Sure, she was broke, working terrible hours and hustling to get her first big break, but she’d lived with three other girls, trading outfits and bad-date stories, and sharing their tips at the end of the week to buy cocktails at the fancy bar down the block. They were all aspiring actresses, trying to make it together, and she’d thought they would be friends forever. But after she landed that first big role, everything had changed. The encouragement turned to thinly veiled barbs, and they stopped inviting her to those weekly drinks, until finally, they told her that maybe she should move out and find her own place. After all, she could afford it now.

  “Penny for them?” Griffin raised an eyebrow.

  Lila shook the memories away. “Nothing. What can I do to help?” she asked instead.

  “Chop these.” Griffin handed her a knife and some fresh tomatoes, and Lila happily did just that. By the time the pizza emerged, hot and gooey from the oven, and Griffin added the chopped herbs and olives, it was as good as any restaurant pizza.

  “Oh my God . . .” Lila sighed with pleasure, inhaling the scent. They ate with their fingers, cozied up in front of the fire. The rain had mellowed to a steadying drumming on the roof, and with the music playing and gooey cheese all over her chin, Lila finally felt herself relax.

  She was almost done inhaling her food when Griffin’s cellphone rang. He glanced at the screen, then set it face down.

  “Girlfriend?” Lila joked, then cringed. Could she be any less subtle?

  But luckily, Griffin didn’t seem to notice. “I’m not with anyone,” he answered casually, taking another bite of pizza. “But I do have plenty of girlfriends . . .”

  Lila quirked an eyebrow. She shouldn’t have been surprised—after all, he looked like that—but for some reason, Griffin hadn’t struck her as the playboy type.

  But what did she know? The universe had already proven that when it came to men, her instincts were way off base.

  Griffin looked over, his feet propped comfortably up on the coffee table. “What about you?” he asked. “Anyone special waiting back in LA?”

  “Ha!” Lila snorted. “Now I know you don’t read the tabloids, because you definitely wouldn’t be asking me that.”

  “Right,” Griffin nodded, “I heard something about a wedding . . .”

  “The perfect wedding.” Lila sighed, remembering it. The flowers, and the dress, and Summer’s famous peach cake. “At least up until the moment I decided to hitch a ride out of there with the delivery guy,” she added, rueful.

  “You left him at the altar?”

  She could see the disapproval clear on Griffin’s face.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Lila tried to joke.

  The only idea . . . besides pledging her devotion to a man she knew, deep down, wasn’t who she’d thought he was.

  “He’s fine,” she added, “better than fine. He’s cavorting on a beach somewhere with a swimsuit model. Plus, he’s a Cartwright. He’ll be governor in five years.”

  Three, if his fearsome mother had her way.

  Now, that was a lucky escape.

  “So, what happened?” Griffin asked.

  Lila shrugged. “We . . . wanted very different things.”

  He gave a wry grin. “Good line, isn’t it? Nobody to blame, just the way it works out.”

  Lila frowned. Was he judging her?

  “Not you,” Griffin added, seeing her expression. “I was talking about my ex-wife and me.”

  “Oh.” Lila was burning up with curiosity about the mysterious former Mrs. Forrester, but she didn’t want to seem nosy. “You two didn’t get along?”

  “Like a house on fire.” There was that wry look again. “But sometimes you get to a point, and you know, it’s just not worth saving. So maybe it’s better you cut things short,” he added, reaching for another slice. “If you knew you couldn’t live up to the vows.”

  There it was again. The note of judgment in his voice. Or maybe she was just defensive, after being raked over the coals about it for the past year.

  “When I get married, I want to mean it. Every word,” Lila said quietly. “Or do you think I should have just gone through with it: walked down the aisle and said I do, then gotten a quickie divorce a year later like everyone else?”

  “No,” Griffin said immediately, but he was one of the only ones.

  Lila had heard no end of it. It would have just been a few words, right? She was an actress. It’s what she did every day: hit her mark and read her lines. If she just could have performed as the perfect bride that one day, it would have spared everyone the scandal and shame. It would have made her life simpler, that’s for sure.

  “I don’t know,” she added with a sigh. “Maybe it’s naïve: thinking any two people can make it work until death do they part. You meant it, didn’t you?” she asked. “When you got married?”

  She couldn’t imagine Griffin taking that kind of step if his heart wasn’t in it.

  Griffin gave an unreadable smile. “Yes. I meant it. And then I reached the end of the line, and called it quits anyway. So, what do I know?”

  “About as much as me.” Lila raised her coffee cup in a toast. Griffin smiled and tapped his beer bottle to it.
>
  “Amen to that.”

  Lila paused. “Would you do it again?” she found herself asking, even though she knew his answer was none of her concern.

  Griffin took another gulp of beer, thinking about it. “Yes,” he said at last. “One day. But I would go in with eyes wide open, that’s for sure,” he added, getting to his feet. “Because I think you know. Deep down, if you’re paying enough attention, you know if somebody is right for you or not. The hard part is paying attention.”

  He flashed a smile as they cleared their plates to the kitchen, and Lila couldn’t help but pause. He didn’t mean anything by that . . .

  Did he?

  No.

  She focused on helping clear things away, but as soon as she turned around in the narrow galley kitchen, she found herself bumping up against him, his body solid against hers. “Sorry!” she blurted, cheeks flaming.

  “No problem,” Griffin smiled. He stepped to one side—at the same moment as Lila.

  She walked right into him again.

  Could she be any clumsier?

  Griffin chuckled. He took her by the arms, and gently moved her against the counter. “There,” he said, smiling.

  Their eyes caught, and something in Lila shivered. The closeness of him, the gentle ease of the evening . . . She felt herself leaning closer, closer. And then, like gravity, Griffin did the same.

  Time stilled.

  Was she really doing this?

  Lila didn’t have time to ponder how reckless she was being, her brain had missed the memo, and all she could feel was a new deep spark of desire. She hadn’t felt it in so long, the power of it took her by surprise. Her breath caught, and her heart raced as the distance between them closed, and she reached up and touched her lips to—

  “Lila?”

  Griffin lurched back from her, looking confused. “I, uhh . . .” He gestured to the counter behind her. Where there was a dishcloth. That he’d been reaching for.

  Oh my God.

  Humiliation crashed over her. Of course he wasn’t trying to kiss her! What had she been thinking? Lila wanted to curl up and disappear into the floor.