by Fiona Harper
Her flat was her space, her sanctuary, but she had absolutely no desire to go inside at the moment. The first thing that would greet her when she opened the door would be the photo of Rob in his uniform, holding Daisy just a few days after she’d been born.
She sighed. When they’d married, she and Rob had felt so grown up. And yet, when she looked back at her photo albums now, they both looked impossibly young, little more than children themselves. For goodness’ sake, Daisy was almost the same age as Grace had been when she’d got married. Just the thought of Daisy with a ring on her finger and a bump under her T-shirt was enough to make Grace break out in a cold sweat.
Back then, she and Rob had been so convinced that what they had would last for ever, but what really would have happened if he’d still been alive? Would they have been the perfect family of her daydreams, or would they be living in separate houses, fighting over custody arrangements and child support?
How could she walk past that picture of Rob when she was thinking like this? She couldn’t block him out and pretend he’d never existed, not when she’d spent all these years keeping him alive by being the Grace he’d fallen in love with.
She’d never doubted any of this before, not even in her twenties, when she’d dated quite a bit and had still been full of hope that she’d find someone new to fill the void in her life. But none of them had measured up to fun-loving, generous Rob, and twenty-something men had a habit of running scared from a ready-made family.
It had just confirmed what she’d known all along—Rob had been her soulmate and she wasn’t going to find another man like him. Just wasn’t going to happen. So she’d given up the search.
But now she’d found Noah.
He was nothing like her darling Rob, and any relationship she embarked upon with him would be totally different from her marriage. Noah wanted companionship, a partnership built on mutual respect. Those criteria hadn’t even been on her radar when she’d accepted Rob’s proposal. It had been about love and destiny and forever. Only forever hadn’t come. And now she had to decide what to do with the time she had left, rather than treading water and pretending she had an endless supply of days left to her.
Respect. Compatibility. Support.
It all sounded so logical. Yet the Grace inside her who liked fishnets, tequila and rock concerts was yelling no and shaking her head. Was she just being childish?
Grace rubbed her hands over her face.
The scary thing was, part of her wanted to say yes. Part of her wanted all those things. And, if she decided she could move towards this idea of a more mature, balanced view of love, what did that mean for her marriage to Rob? Would she be crossing it out and saying it was a mistake?
She might not know what it meant, but it felt like betrayal.
On the other hand, that love-song, only-in-movies kind of thing wasn’t the only kind of love. And perhaps, if that was what Noah wanted from her, she would have turned him down flat anyway. Love like that meant one thing—loss. It was as if the universe had to balance out the intensity by taking it away again. Too much perfection could not be good for a soul. And she couldn’t survive that again, losing the man she totally adored.
So, on reflection, maybe Noah’s idea was the logical choice…
Oh, she was going round in circles!
She sighed, stood up and let herself into the flat, avoiding both the photo and the laptop sitting on the coffee table in the living room. She had no intention of logging in to Blinddatebrides.com tonight to see if Marissa and Dani were hanging out there. They’d want to know about the so-called date.
She needed time to get her head round this before she shared it with anyone. She wasn’t even going to tell Daisy yet.
Noah didn’t come to The Coffee Bean for a few days, although he sent her a couple of very neutral emails in the meantime. He was such a gentleman, giving her space, knowing she’d freaked out a little. It was such a relief that she didn’t have to explain it all to him, that he understood.
She could do a lot worse than Noah Frost.
Grace unpacked a batch of miniature chocolate tarts and pressed a single fresh raspberry into the smooth surface of each one before lining them up in the display case.
Caz would know what to do. She’d been like a surrogate mother to Grace and a surrogate grandmother to Daisy in the last couple of decades. Grace didn’t go to her for advice often. Normally, because she didn’t like the advice she got and, even more frustrating, it usually turned out to be spot-on.
But as she approached Caz, who was sitting in the corner table poring over a large accounts ledger, she realised that the older woman was staring off into space, not even looking at the web of figures on the page before her. It was the third time today Grace had spotted her doing this, and it just wasn’t like her. She was normally so down-to-earth.
She pulled out an old wooden church chair—complete with hymn book holder on the back—and sat down opposite Caz.
‘Penny for them?’
Caz sighed. ‘I’m not sure they’re worth it, but a couple of thousand might be more welcome.’
‘Problems?’
Caz nodded and twisted the book round for Grace to have a look. Maths had never been her strong suit, unless it involved pounds and ounces rather than pounds and pence, and Grace was forced to nod without really knowing what she was looking at. She stood up again, walked behind Caz’s chair and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, pressing her cheek against the side of Caz’s face.
‘Don’t give up. We’ll make it. We’ve always managed before.’
Caz just patted Grace’s arm and stared off into the distance.
Private IM chat between Englishcrumpet, Kangagirl and Sanfrandani:
Englishcrumpet: Okay, girls. I have something to confess.
Kangagirl: Ooh! Juicy!
Sanfrandani: Ready and waiting.
Grace took a deep breath. She’d kept this info to herself for a few days, but now she needed to let it out.
Englishcrumpet: The day after we went to the awards, the date-that-wasn’t-a-date? Well, Noah kissed me.
Kangagirl: !!!!!!!!!
Sanfrandani: Wow!
Englishcrumpet: I know.
Sanfrandani: This would explain why, after a severe case of mentionitis where the author is concerned, you’ve suddenly gone quiet about him.
Kangagirl: Grace? Why didn’t you tell us before?
Sanfrandani: I can understand the need for a little privacy. Sometimes there are things you just need to keep to yourself. It’s not a reflection on our friendship that Grace wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell us. Right, Grace?
Englishcrumpet: Right! You know I think the world of you two! You’re my sanity in an increasingly crazy existence. I just…couldn’t get my head round it.
Kangagirl: So…how was it?
Englishcrumpet: It was…
She bit her lip. Soul-churning? Firework-inducing? Utterly fabulous?
Englishcrumpet: It was nice. Different from last time.
Sanfrandani: Grace!
Kangagirl: Last time!!!!!!!! Grace?
Englishcrumpet: Go easy on the!!!, Marissa. You’re going to wear your keyboard out.
Kangagirl: (raspberry)
Sanfrandani: I’m guessing that, in your very British, understated way, that you’re saying it was pretty great?
Grace covered her face with her hands. Even now, just thinking about the hotel terrace, she went all hot and tingly. She’d never be able to look at a croissant the same way again.
Kangagirl: And last time!
Englishcrumpet: Whoops! Forgot to mention that, didn’t I? We had a little kiss after the first date.
Kangagirl: Little kiss? Grace, you’re holding back. I can tell.
Englishcrumpet: Okay! Okay! He pressed me up against the coffee shop window and kissed me until I was left breathless and melting, is that what you want to hear?
Kangagirl: (grin) It’s a start!
Grace chuckled,
despite herself. Marissa was right. She had been holding back from her friends. Which was incredibly daft. She really needed someone to talk to at the moment. Her head was constantly going round in circles and sleep deprivation was setting in.
Sanfrandani: And you said no to a second date? Why?
Englishcrumpet: I was scared.
She hesitated for a moment, then began typing again.
Englishcrumpet: I still am.
Sanfrandani: What’s happening now? Are you dating?
Englishcrumpet: Not exactly.
Sanfrandani: What does that mean?
Englishcrumpet: It gets worse.
Sanfrandani: How?
How did she say this? How did she explain all the weird things she’d been thinking, all the strange things that had been happening to her since that night? Did she tell them how her stomach did the high jump every time Noah walked in the coffee shop? Did she tell them about how, when she was alone in bed at night, she longed for him to be there with her, holding her, touching her…
She swallowed. Okay, she might not be ready to voice those thoughts, but there was something concrete she hadn’t told them yet.
Englishcrumpet: He asked me to marry him.
For the first time in their Internet friendship there were no witty replies or strings of exclamation marks, no probing questions. These girls kept her real, asking the questions she was too scared to ask herself, encouraging her to reach beyond what she thought were her limits. But, right now, they were obviously just as stunned as she was about what she’d just told them.
After dealing with two very shocked friends, Grace logged off Blinddatebrides.com and turned off the laptop. Her brain was whirring far too hard to let her sleep, so she walked over to the bookcase and pulled out one of the photo albums.
Not the wedding one. One of the family ones, full of shots of her and Rob—and later Daisy too. A record of their relationship.
It had all seemed so romantic, marrying a handsome young soldier before he went off on active duty, and he’d come safely home again. That time.
She sighed. Rob had been husband material from the day he was born—kind, dependable, full of determination. Only a fool wouldn’t have snapped him up the minute she’d laid eyes on him.
She flicked through the pages…She and Rob hanging out with their friends…The pair of them in front of the Christmas tree with matching Santa hats and silly grins. And then she came to her favourite one. The one she’d taken on their budget honeymoon in Broadstairs—Rob smiling at her as he sat on a wall eating fish and chips.
She almost couldn’t bear to look at it.
Even though I haven’t said ‘yes’ to Noah, I feel like I’m leaving you behind. How can I do that after all we were to each other?
She searched his smiling eyes, looking for answers.
Slowly, surely, the words filled her head, just as if he’d been sitting on the sofa with her with his arm round her, speaking to her, stroking the wisps of hair above her ears with his thumb. She knew exactly what Rob would have told her, his generous spirit and common sense shining through.
You have to. You have to leave me behind. You can’t freeze-frame yourself and pretend that time hasn’t moved on, because it has. A part of me will always be with you, but it’s time to let go. Time to become who and what you were always supposed to be.
But did that mean accepting Noah or turning him down? And what was she supposed to be when she grew up, anyway? She gently closed the album and put it back on the shelf. At forty years and three months, she supposed it was high time she found out.
CHAPTER SIX
NOAH highlighted the last three pages he’d typed into his word processing program and hit the delete key with force. Then he highlighted the three pages before that and deleted them too.
His current hero was giving him hell and, no matter which way he tried to write him, he just wasn’t working. Something just wasn’t clicking.
He pushed himself away from his desk and let his chair roll backwards. What he needed was a change of scenery, a change of atmosphere. What he really needed was to stop thinking about Grace and what answer she’d give him. He didn’t want to pressurise her, but the waiting was driving him crazy.
Maybe it would have been better if he’d picked a glamour vixen instead. At least he’d have had an unequivocal answer there and then.
Actually, he needed to walk. It was a great way to clear his head and get the ideas flowing. And if he could walk where other people were, even stop and watch them sometimes, so much the better. Little questions popped into his head as he observed them, and these little questions were often the sparks for some of his best ideas.
Why is that guy wearing a coat in July? What are those two people sitting on the bench not saying to each other? Those sorts of things.
He got into his car and drove into Vinehurst and parked near the large common with a swing park at one end. Although the average person wouldn’t think a bit of wild grassland was a great place to people-watch for a writer of spy novels, they’d be wrong. He often wrote about characters who looked so domestic, so benign on the surface, but underneath they were sinister, heroic or just plain nasty.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and moved his feet. It was time to let his brain off the leash and see where it would run.
It was nearing six o’clock in the evening and most of the mums and kids had gone home for tea, leaving the common to dog-walkers and joggers, but as he passed the playground he spotted a lone figure, pushing themself backwards and forwards with a listless movement of one toe.
Why? his brain asked. Why is that person—an adult—sitting here all alone as the sun lowers in the sky? Why are they using one foot, not two?
He looked again, capturing the exact pose, the exact movement of the swing, because he knew this image was going to come in handy some day. But, as he looked again, he realised it was Grace sitting there on the swing and, suddenly, it stopped being an exercise in logic and became urgently personal.
‘Grace?’
She almost jumped off the swing she was so surprised to hear his voice. She couldn’t disguise the look on her face that said: Oh, heck. Does it have to be him who finds me like this? And then he noticed the puffy red patches under her eyes and the way she sniffed quietly, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Long story,’ she said, finally giving in to a good loud blow into a tissue. He sat down on the vacant swing and they both stared out into the distance, rocking in time.
‘Good job I like stories,’ he said, risking a look at her. She looked back, but didn’t smile.
‘The Coffee Bean is on its last legs.’ Her voice was almost monotone, so unlike her usual animated conversation. ‘Java Express has made Caz an offer to buy the shop and I don’t think she can afford to refuse it. If she waits until she has to sell, or goes bust, she won’t get nearly as much.’
‘You’ll lose your job,’ he said. ‘What will you do?’
Grace sighed. ‘I would go back to college and finish my training if I could, but I need a roof over my head. I need to work. Actually, I literally need a roof over my head. The flat is part of the deal.’
She shook her head and big fat tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘I can’t stand the idea that they’ll rip out that beautiful counter and pull up the floor. The Coffee Bean will lose all its character. They’ll just make it…generic.’
Oh, hell. He never knew what to do when people cried. Really cried. He never let himself do it, so he couldn’t even mimic what other people did when he was in the same situation. He didn’t do huggy stuff and there-theres. Didn’t know how.
What did Grace like? What would make her feel better?
Food.
Grace liked cooking. And she certainly enjoyed eating.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you to dinner.’ He wondered if Barruci’s would have a table free.
Grace looked up at him, her eyes hollow. He w
as about to pull his mobile phone out of his pocket and make a reservation when his inner Rottweiler growled at him. She stood, and didn’t even bother trying to argue with him.
‘Where are we going?’
‘The Mandarin Moon.’
He didn’t know why. He just knew it was the right choice.
Grace poked at her roast pork chow mein with a chopstick. She must really be in a bad way, Noah thought, if she couldn’t polish this lot off. He offered her some more sweet and sour chicken and she just curled her lip.
‘What are your options?’ he said, putting the bowl back down on the table.
‘I don’t seem to have many options. I do okay working for Caz, but going to one of the large coffee shop chains would earn me virtually nothing. I’d have to move out of the area to find somewhere to live. But where the property is cheaper, the jobs are scarcer. Vicious circle.’
‘And there’s nothing you can do to save The Coffee Bean?’
She shook her head. ‘Nope. I offered Caz my savings, but she said it would just be a drop in the ocean. It’s a sad day when ten grand is a drop in the ocean.’
Ten grand. Not a lot to him, but Grace must have worked really hard to save that amount of money. Every day he knew her, there was more to marvel about her.
‘In a month’s time, I’ll have no job, no home. No Daisy, even. It’s worse than being back at square one. It’s square minus ten.’
He had told himself he wouldn’t push it. That he’d leave the whole marriage thing off the table tonight, but his mouth ran away with him.
‘My offer still stands. Marry me.’
Grace looked as if she was going to put her head face down in her noodles and cry.