Startled from her thoughts, Grace turned from where she’d been staring, unseeing, out the front window, and found the redheaded waitress standing beside her table. She was a little taller than average height, with curves bordering on the knockout variety that even her deli apron couldn’t hide. Her gorgeous natural red hair was pulled back in an easy knot with just a few strands escaping and curling around her face. Grace guessed the woman was in her early forties or thereabouts. When she smiled, openly friendly and welcoming, Grace thought maybe she’d misjudged by a handful of years.
Only at the last moment did she notice the smile didn’t quite reach the waitress’s pretty aquamarine eyes. Not that they weren’t welcoming, exactly, but . . . nervous maybe? That made no sense at all.
Grace tensed as she realized what the problem might be. Please don’t tell me you’re some former flame of Brodie’s still carrying a torch. Gah. Why didn’t I just call instead?
Belatedly, she realized she was staring. “Yes, hi. Yes, I’m Grace. Grace Maddox. I’m sorry. Have we met? I’m—I’ve met so many people since I got here, and they’ve all been so great. I’m very sorry if I’ve forgotten your name.” She knew she’d never met the woman, but made a stab at a polite opening. Please don’t stab me back with a lobster fork.
“No, no we haven’t met. But I’ve been hoping to. I was just letting you find your way here, in your own time.”
Grace frowned, confused.
“I’m sorry. You really don’t know who I am, do you?” The waitress took a seat in the booth across from Grace, who could feel everyone’s eyes on them. “I’m Delia. O’Reilly. I own the diner.”
“Oh!” It was Grace’s turn to smile uncomfortably. “I-I was actually hoping we could talk.” She braved a quick glance around, forced a smile for the room filled with people who weren’t even pretending not to stare. “Maybe . . . not here. I know you’re busy—really busy,” she added with another darting glance at the other tables. “Just let me know when is good and I could come back. Maybe after you close or—”
Delia reached across the table and placed her hand on Grace’s arm, instantly quieting her. Her smile was as open as before, real emotion in her eyes, more than Grace could read. “It’s okay. I want to talk with you, too. You’re here about Ford, right?”
The breath and tension went out of Grace in a whoosh. “Yes. So, you’re . . . Dee, right? He called you Dee.”
Delia’s expression softened immediately, and there was even more emotion in her eyes, but Grace wasn’t sure what any of it meant. Then Delia grinned, and her tone was wry and also more relaxed when she laughed. “If that’s all he called me, I’d be surprised.”
“No, he didn’t say—well, anything, actually. I had to piece it together. I just—did you send me a letter?” Grace shook her head, her own smile coming more naturally, as did the self-deprecating note in her voice. “It was a long time ago, so I know it’s crazy to think—”
“Ten years almost to the day, come to think of it.” Delia squeezed Grace’s arm, her smile softer and sincerely friendly. “What took you so long?”
Grace wasn’t sure who was more surprised when tears stung her eyes. God, she was so tired of crying. “It’s a long story,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“Now, come on, there’ll be none of that. All that matters is that you’re here now. And you’ve seen your brother. At least, I heard that Robie took you out to Sandpiper yesterday.” Delia paused and seemed to realize they had an audience. “I’m glad you came to see me, Grace. I would love to talk with you. Tell you what. I’ll admit I’ve been dyin’ to see what you’re doing to Brodie’s boathouse, but I’ve stayed away because, well . . . we can get into that later, too. How about I drop by this evening once I get the night shift going? They can handle things for an hour or two without me.”
Grace smiled and forced even breaths, willing the tears to stay at bay. “That would be great. Though I’ll warn you, I haven’t done all that much to the place yet. We’re still getting it prepped for the rebuild.”
“I heard Langston deVry designed the remodel. I don’t guess you’d be willing to show me the plans?” Her smile turned conspiratorial as she leaned across the table. “Everyone is dying—dying—to find out what’s what with your little soon-to-be inn. I’d kill to be the first. Or at least before Fergus McRae, at any rate.”
Grace knew Fergus ran the Rusty Puffin tavern and was related to the police chief. She also knew as a somewhat less direct transplant from Ireland, that he was close to Brodie. She’d learned from talking to the locals that Delia’s diner and the tavern were the two main gathering spots for locals, and therefore, the two main grapevines in town with the respective owners being the head grapes, so to speak.
Grace smiled, the knots in her stomach finally easing completely. On first impression, she liked Delia. A lot. Thank God. “Well, since you asked and Fergus hasn’t, probably only because I haven’t made it in to the tavern yet, then I guess you win.”
“I’ll take a default win,” Delia said with a laugh. “I’m not proud. Say around eight-thirty?”
Grace nodded. “That would be great.”
Delia started to slide out of the booth, then paused. “Because I’m going to get grilled on this as soon as you leave—not that you have to leave—”
“I-I think I’m going to head back to the boathouse. I have work crews there. And . . .” She glanced around, then back to Delia and made a kind of ack face, which made Delia laugh.
“And you’re all done being on center stage. I get that, but you might have to get used to it. Not so much because of your brother. Who we all love and respect,” she hurried to add, when Grace’s smile faltered. “No, it’s more about a certain sexy Irish shipbuilder who might have sailed the seven seas to your rescue yesterday.” She placed her hand over her heart. “If I was only about a dozen years younger. Hell, half a dozen.” She cracked out a laugh, and the crow’s-feet that winked from the corners of her eyes and the lines next to her mouth told Grace she spent a lot more time laughing than anything else. “Who am I kidding? If I thought even a fraction of that charming Irish blarney he sends my way was serious, I’d jump him right here in this booth today.”
Grace laughed even as she felt her face go flame red. “So, the whole town . . . ?”
“Oh yeah. Half are jealous, the other half just want every last steamy detail. Okay, so all of them are jealous.” She winked. “But only half of them would admit to it.”
Grace pressed her hands to her warm cheeks.
“I’m not talking about the hot blush, though that speaks volumes on its own.” Delia’s smile turned sweeter, softer. “I’m talking about that look in your eyes.” She leaned across the table. “I’ll let you in on a not-so-little secret. When he talks about you, his eyes do that same thing.” She grinned as Grace’s eyebrows rose, and the flush spread to her neck.
“He . . . talks? About me? In a good way?”
Delia frowned. “Well, of course in a good way. To be honest, it’s been a hoot to watch. When he first moved here, I had him pegged as a bachelor lifer. You know the kind, loves all women, so can’t commit to any one of them. Then I saw him get all googly-eyed over Alex and—well, shit. I’m sorry. There I go, talking out of school.”
“It’s okay. I know about Alex.”
Delia lifted a brow and gave her an entirely new considering look. “Huh,” she said, then murmured, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Grace’s eyebrow furrowed with the unspoken question.
“Alex MacFarland caught his eye briefly, but I’d make a guess that you’ve grabbed something a lot more valuable. If he’s telling you about other women he’s cared for . . .” Delia trailed off, but her blue eyes were lit up in pure delight. “Why would you think he’d say anything bad about you? Oh!” The light dawned. “The boathouse. Yeah, well, I’m sure he was none too happy with that in the beginning, but honey, he doesn’t hold that against you. That all goes on Cami Weathersby
’s doorstep.” She leaned forward again, voice dropping. “Not that I’m all that surprised she did it. Conniving is her middle name. And the woman holds a grudge.”
“A grudge? Against Brodie? For what?”
“He didn’t tell you? He tells you about Alex, but not—” Delia broke off, rolled her eyes. “Men. They can be such idiots. Well, it’s not my place to tell, but I’d ask him about it. He probably doesn’t think there’s anything to say, and from his viewpoint, there isn’t. But considering the deal he’s got going on with her father . . . that’s exciting, isn’t it?” At the blank expression on Grace’s face, she blanched. “Well, shit again. I don’t usually stick my foot that deep in it.”
“He did mention yesterday that he had something to talk to me about, but I ended up falling asleep and slept the entire boat trip back in.” Grace felt the heat climb to her cheeks again. “I . . . didn’t get much sleep the night before, and the whole meeting thing with Ford . . .”
She just gave up and let it go. If everyone knew she was spending time with Brodie, there was no point in pretending some of that time wasn’t spent having sex. She probably had slept more due to the sleepless night before followed by the emotionally exhausting reunion with her brother than because she and Brodie had ended up in bed again.
Actually, it was more how safe and cared for Brodie had made her feel than what they’d been doing that had lulled her into such a deep sleep. She hadn’t even woken when the boat engines started up With no wind, Brodie had motored them back to the harbor. She’d gotten back to find two workers had stopped by to let her know that another member of her crew had gotten hurt trying to take advantage of the last night of eel season. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon finding a replacement for him and the evening in talks with Langston about starting the next phase of construction. She’d finally begged off dinner with Brodie, headed out to the Point house with Whomper, simply crashed out cold until morning.
She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the whole letter thing and was stuck on Ford’s mention of Dee, so that had been her mission upon waking. After a night in a decent bed, followed by a long shower and a big breakfast, she’d headed back to Half Moon to figure out how best to approach her.
“It’s been a busy morning, and Brodie and I haven’t had the chance to talk,” Grace finished somewhat lamely.
Delia slid out of the booth and put her hand on Grace’s arm. “Well, I’ll let the two of you sort that out. I think it’s all good news, but with Camille in the mix, there’s always room for catastrophe.” She squeezed Grace’s arm gently. “Don’t let her do anything to screw things up between you and Brodie. He’s a good man. Sometimes when the ones you think will never fall do, they fall good and hard. And stay there. Trust me,” she added with a flashy grin. “I’ve got a pretty good eye for these things.”
“Thank you,” Grace said, scrambling to assimilate a whole new host of information she hadn’t anticipated. She’d come hoping to gain greater insight into her brother and what he’d been doing for the past thirteen years. She hadn’t been prepared for other bombshells. Or potential bombshells. “Are we still on for tonight?”
“I’m game if you are. Why don’t you give me a shout when you’ve talked with Brodie and have your day figured out. We can talk another time.” Delia patted Grace’s arm, squeezed one last time. “About your brother, and what I know about him? Don’t worry. It’s all good stuff. Okay?”
“Okay,” Grace said, letting out an unsteady breath. “Thank you.” She looked up at Delia and smiled. “I mean that.”
“I know you do,” Delia said with a sincere smile. “I’m glad you came in.” She looked over at the still packed tables, grabbed her order pad, and slid the pencil out from behind her ear. “The natives are getting restless. Talk to you soon.” Then she hustled off.
There was no music blaring as Grace stepped into the open doorway of Brodie’s workshop. Big Brown was nowhere to be seen. She had stopped by her boathouse first and left her satchel and checked on Whomper, who was happily keeping the construction crew company as they worked on the roof and putting new shakes on the exterior. Apparently outside noise wasn’t as scary as inside noise.
She leaned against the doorframe and watched Brodie do his version of inside work. He was in yet another pair of old jeans, sawdust-covered boat shoes, a long-sleeved tee. The hull of the sailboat he was building was taking shape, and she marveled that he’d constructed it by hand. It wasn’t anywhere near as big as his two-master—he’d need the big boathouse for that—but it was gorgeous. The curve of the wood, the slope of the design seemed more like a piece of art, with the functional element a mere bonus. She hadn’t talked to him about how he envisioned Monaghan’s Shipbuilders as a company, moving forward. Was he planning to be a one-man crew, building boats to order? Or was he hoping to take on other craftsmen with like skills? Or teach them? She didn’t know. In fact, there was far more about him that she didn’t know, than that she did.
But she wanted to know. She wanted to know everything about him.
Specifically, she wanted to know everything about him and the Winstocks.
She waited to knock on the doorframe until he’d put down the hand lathe and picked up a towel to brush the sawdust from his forearms and chest before pulling off the work goggles he’d been wearing.
He glanced up, surprised to see her, a grin instantly creasing his face. “Top of the morning to ye.” He wiped his hands on the same cloth, then tossed it aside before walking over to her. He took her hand and gently tugged her closer. “I’d pull ye all the way in, but I’m no’ exactly user-friendly at the moment.” He glanced down at his damp and dusty self.
She smiled, despite the butterflies in her stomach. Nervous ones. Not that she was worried he was going to tell her something that would change things between them, but she’d feel a lot better once she knew what was going on, what he hadn’t told her. And why. She leaned in and kissed him, then moaned a little as he instantly claimed her mouth, taking the kiss deep and hot. Her entire body went up in flames as it always did with him. She wondered if that part would ever change . . . and couldn’t imagine it would as long as both of them were still breathing.
“Hi,” she said, smiling, breathing a bit more heavily when he finally lifted his head.
He smiled right back into her upturned face. “Hi, yourself. To what do I owe the honor? I’ve been hearing the nail guns going all day. Shakes going up and on. That’s good. Means you’ll start on the real work soon, right?”
She nodded. “This week, if all goes well and no other catastrophe befalls me. I heard from Langston. He plans to come end of the week or beginning of next to help me plot the best course of action. I’ve got Owen compiling a list of various subcontractors for me.”
“New guy doing okay?”
She nodded, pleased that he remembered and thought to ask. “I don’t think it’s particularly challenging work today. Mostly just tedious and endless. I also heard from Shep, the guy who was injured. He’s okay, just needed some stitches from a fall he took on the boat. Cut his head.” She smiled. “Apparently his is pretty hard. They say he didn’t even have a concussion. He’ll be back in a day or two providing he can keep it bandaged properly.”
Brodie gave her a look that told her what he thought about sissy things like bandages, but wisely said nothing on that. “Sounds like Owen is helping you out pretty well. He’s a good man. And a walking encyclopedia of the locals and local history. He knows more about Monaghan Shipbuilders than I do.”
“He’s been a huge help. A lifeline, really. I like him. Such a nice guy. Met his daughter, Lauren. She’s home from college for the summer and working at the store with him.” Grace smiled. “She’s nothing like him. He’s this quiet, sort of nondescript, unassuming guy, and she’s tall, vivacious, very outgoing, lots of laughter. Pretty blonde hair while his is kind of spongy red. I guess she must take after her mom. I really like her, too. They’re good together, father and dau
ghter, it seems. That’s a really nice thing.”
“Aye, ’tis. He’s been the sole parent to her after her mum passed when she was little. Happened long before I arrived, of course, but I’ve heard the story all the same. Cancer, I believe. And yes, apparently she was a stunner. Owen used to take a fair share of ribbing from what I’ve heard about how he managed to snag such a heavenly creature. But I think the envy went a lot further than her good looks. Apparently, they were childhood sweethearts whose bond only grew stronger with time.”
“That’s so wonderful to hear. But all the more tragic then, that she died so young. I wonder if that’s why he’s never remarried.”
Brodie lifted a shoulder. “I couldn’t say. He’s been busy raising his daughter, so that could be the better part of it. He’s done a good job of it, too, from what I know. She got a scholarship to university, full tuition, so clearly he did something right.”
Grace nodded, smiled, trying not to let her thoughts drift to her conversation with Ford—that he hadn’t known she’d invited him to her college graduation . . . but that he’d been well aware of her path through school. She wasn’t sure how she felt about all of that yet. It was good—great—to know he hadn’t truly abandoned her, at least not from his perspective, and yet, at the same time, he’d never given her the comfort of knowing he was still invested, that he still cared. Cared at all. That anger-love thing boiled up all over again, confusing her. She really wanted to move beyond the emotional roller coaster of their past to start working on what came next . . . only it wasn’t that simple or that easy.
Brodie’s smile shifted and he tipped her chin up with a single fingertip. “What else is going on over there? You didn’t come down to make idle chitchat or steal a kiss, did ye now?”
It was funny how much she didn’t know about him . . . and yet how quickly they’d come to know each other. “Well, the kiss was pretty nice. I might have to find reasons to come down here more often.”
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