by Mia Kay
“Can I help?” Grace offered.
“No, but you can visit with me while I finish scrambling the eggs. How is Sunny? She sounds fine during our talks, but it’s not the same as seeing her.”
“Well, the last time I saw her she was fine, and she must be well because she’s been scheming . . .”
Ben slouched against the doorframe and listened to their conversation and laughter. Despite being told to sit and not help, Grace bustled through the kitchen pulling condiments from the refrigerator.
She held up two jars of marmalade, apricot and lime, with a silent question aimed at him. He pointed at the lime and then grinned at her horrified expression.
He joined them, weaving and dodging to fetch the serving pieces his mother loved to use when entertaining, turning Grace toward the correct drawers for utensils.
“—Bavaria.”
That word caught his attention. “Sorry, Mum. What?”
His mother rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Bennett. I’m not repeating the whole conversation. But the short of it is that the Greers have invited Sunny and me to join their travel group. We’re going to Bavaria this fall.”
Ben looked at Grace, who appeared equally clueless.
“Mum, are you certain that’s wise?”
“It’s not like I’m hiring a taxi or riding a scooter through the Chunnel.”
Grace choked on her coffee.
Nodding decisively, his mother continued. “I thought we’d eat outside. Everyone carry something. Grace, you should take the stickies. If you don’t, Ben will hoard them and you won’t get any.”
“Jesus,” he muttered as he balanced the eggs in one hand, opened the door with the other, and then stood aside. Grace was still laughing as she passed him.
“Just wait,” he whispered. “I’ll take Sunny for drinks, and she’ll tell me everything.”
She looked over her shoulder. “She’d be making it all up.”
Ben saw the book waiting on the table and groaned. “Mum, you can’t mean to show her those.”
“Oh yes I can,” his mother retorted. “I’ve been waiting years to show someone your baby pictures.”
With every laugh, every story, and every sigh, Ben’s embarrassment increased even as his heart expanded. While they ate, Grace let his mother fuss over her and delighted when she doted on him. When his mother opened the album, Grace scooted closer.
“You had a mullet,” she teased.
“It was the style,” he countered. “Mullets were cool.”
She turned another page and paused, her eyes widening. “Are those combat boots?”
“Goodness yes,” his mother answered. “They made such an awful noise I finally tossed them in the bin when he wasn’t watching.”
“Oi. I wondered what happened to those.”
Grace turned a page and stopped with a frown. “Is this Ben?”
“That’s Douglas. His father.”
Ben moved his chair so he could see. His father, at almost his age, holding a squirming boy in one hand and a patient collie in the other. They were surrounded by sheep.
“Bennett followed Douglas everywhere.” His mother looked across at him. “Do you remember? You’d wake up and rush into the kitchen with one boot on, carrying your pillow and dragging your coat behind you. And he’d help you dress and carry you with him. He knew you’d sleep until well into his morning, and you’d be hungry most of the day. He always made me pack extra snacks for you.”
“I remember sitting on the stone wall at the top of the hill. Under our oak tree.” He took his mother’s hand as she nodded. “I’d munch on scones and apples and drink all his water while he worked. Then I spent the rest of the morning trying to distract Jilly.” He looked at Grace. “The dog.”
“He was a farmer?” she asked.
“Through and through,” Ben said, still lost in memories of cold mornings, fresh air, the smell of dirt and animals, and his father’s whistling melody. “He loved being out with the sheep, or in the vegetable garden, or cutting hay.”
He looked around them. “Speaking of which, your garden’s a little overgrown, Mum. When was Andy here last?”
“Ben,” Grace scolded.
“It’s okay, love. He’s only being a landlord. Andy worked two weeks ago, Bennett. It rained last week. He should be here tomorrow, unless in rains today. But you know I hate for him to work in my flowers. He never does it correctly.”
“You own your mother’s home?” Grace asked, arching her eyebrow.
He nodded, and his mother filled in the blanks. “Once he’d settled in London, he wanted me close.”
“I worried about you being alone in Yorkshire. At least here, Fe and Noah can help when I’m not around. And speaking of,” he looked at his watch, “they’ll be wondering where we are. We should go.”
Once back in the kitchen, they cleaned the dishes while discussing the filming schedule.
“You won’t be on location every day, will you?” his mother asked, turning to Grace. “Sunny would never forgive me if you did nothing but work.”
“There should be a few days I can work from town.”
“Ring me when you’re at loose ends and we’ll go to Harrods.”
At the sink, Ben glanced over his shoulder at the two women. His mother was lost in descriptions of her favorite shops and restaurants, already planning an itinerary. She had Grace’s full attention. He hated to say anything now and stifle their fun, but they couldn’t shop together. The paps would hound them. Worse, Mother didn’t need photographers camped in her garden and hanging from her trees waiting on photo ops.
But they both looked so happy. He’d talk to Mum later.
After he’d found Grace a cap to wear, they left the sanctuary, retracing their steps until they were swallowed by the crowd. Tugging his cap lower and pushing his sunglasses against the bridge of his nose, Ben clasped Grace’s hand to keep her close. He didn’t relax until they reached a quieter side street.
Grace slowed, dragging him to a stop. “I saw your face when she mentioned Harrods. Why don’t you want me shopping with your mother?”
“It’s not that,” he explained. “She doesn’t understand the pandemonium it will produce.”
“I see.”
He didn’t think she did. “Grace, she’s not quick enough on her feet. She’ll put both of you in danger.” Ben wrapped his arm around her waist, encouraging her to continue their walk.
“You worry too much,” she said.
“Just let the new wear off a bit. Please?”
When she stayed silent for a few blocks, uneasiness crept into Ben’s brain and slithered down his spine. It worsened when she slipped from his grasp and took his hand.
“So you bought your mother a house?”
Releasing a pent-up breath, he nodded. “The oldest cliché in the world. I bought it after my first large role. I lived next door until the paps became a problem.”
“So it’s not only her house?”
“It began as two, but then grew to all the surrounding ones. Noah and I own them. They’re rentals so I can make sure she has good neighbors.”
As he talked, he tugged her into an adjoining alley and then halfway down to a loading dock where he helped her up the steep stairs. “Sorry about this. When I left, the lobby was being renovated. I’m not sure it’s finished.”
They stepped through the door and trekked down a narrow hall before emerging into the cavernous lobby decorated with baroque details, columns, detailed moldings, and muted colors. Music from a string quartet filtered through the air, at times overwhelmed by the thumps and whirrs from hand tools or muffled conversation and laughter. The smells of wet paint mixed with the musty odors of wet clay and sawdust. This final stop meant he was well and truly home. The
last of his stress dissolved.
“Look who’s back from the land of cultural zombies.” A woman strode toward them with a bandana over her hair and wearing a paint splattered smock.
“Hullo, Cheryl. Back safe and sound. None the worse for wear.” He saw the scaffolding in the corner and followed it to the ceiling and the half-finished mural. “I see you’re coming along.”
“I am. I’d hug you but I’m covered in wet paint,” Cheryl said as she glanced pointedly over his shoulder.
“Cheryl Malcolm. E.G. Donnelley. Grace.”
“Great to meet you. You should stop in and meet Amelia on the second floor. She writes too, but mostly non-fiction.”
Grace was still staring at the ceiling. “Cheryl, that is beautiful.”
“Ta. I’m having fun channeling Michelangelo. I should get on the job before the paint dries.” She turned as she walked away. “Fe’s more frantic than normal, Ben.”
He guided Grace toward the stairs, but he kept the pace slow to give her a chance to take it all in.
“It was an opera house that had been vacant for years,” he explained. “Cheryl got the idea to turn it into artist space. There’s a kiln and a dark room in the basement, the painters and photographers share the studios with the best light, musicians have spaces to practice and give lessons. There are jewelers’ benches and carpentry spaces. Fe stumbled on it a few years back. Noah and I didn’t want a stuffy corporate office. And I can use the stage to rehearse.”
“This is . . .” her words trailed off as they walked up the grand staircase. “Wow.”
“We bought our suite. Several of the more successful artists did. It gives Cheryl the latitude to charge lower rent to the less prominent tenants. We split the utilities pro-rata, more or less.”
He finished the explanation as they reached the top floor. Putting his finger to his lips, he tiptoed to the door labeled ‘Ashe and Oliver.’ On the other side, it sounded like they were being invaded.
“Chivvy on, Noah. They’ll be along any minute.”
“Fiona, you can’t be planning to ambush them. They’re probably knackered. And you know how Ben feels about—”
“Feels about what?” Ben asked as he threw the door open.
He’d have sworn Fe jumped and spun in mid-air. “Nobby, one of these days I’m going to faint when you do that. You’ll have to buy me flowers for a fortnight. And even then . . .”
The rest of her sentence was lost as he hugged her. “Hullo, Fe. Miss me?”
“Not a bit, you horror.”
Noah clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome home, mate.”
Fe pulled the third member of their party forward. “Emily, join in. He’s only a terror to me, don’t worry.” Fe looked over his shoulder. “Your turn, Ben.”
He turned, relieved to see Grace’s smile. She took the hand he offered, and he squeezed her shaking fingers in encouragement. She’d faced a room full of questions, dealt with book signings and agitated crewmembers, but she was nervous about meeting his friends.
“Grace, this is Fe.”
“We’ve met her already,” Fe chided. “At least I have.” His agent brushed him aside, linking her arm with Grace’s. “He’s going to drag this out to create a dramatic moment just to make me cry. It’s an awful habit he developed to spite me when I made him give up smoking.”
“Fe,” Ben grumbled.
She crossed her eyes. “We’ve heard all about her, and she’s heard all about us. Let’s agree to be friends already.” Proving her point, she dragged Noah to her other side. “This is Noah. You remember him, don’t you?”
Grace nodded. “I do, but barely. You look much different without jet lag.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to finally meet you. Ben’s talked about nothing else.”
“Wanker,” Ben growled, but it was thwarted by Noah’s laughter. Chuckling in spite of himself, Ben pulled Grace away from Fiona. “Don’t listen to them, doll. Not a word of it is true.”
“Well, damn.” She looked up at him, a twinkle in her eye. “You sure know the way to a girl’s ego.”
“No you don’t,” he scolded. “You can’t take their side. I’ll never win with those odds. At least I can introduce one new person.”
Ben beckoned to his new P.A. “This is Emily Saunders. She was Archie’s assistant until we lured her to a life of crime. She nicked my audition package for Fiona.”
Grace clasped the girl’s hand. “Thank you for your help. We’d still be looking for Ian if Ben hadn’t arrived.”
“And I’d be miserable,” he whispered as he rested his forehead on her hair. Grace leaned into him.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Noah grumbled. “Fe’s a mess.”
Ben opened his arms for his teary savior as he teased, “I have the most daft, soft-hearted agent in the business.”
Bypassing him, she wrapped Grace in a hug. “I was so afraid I’d bodged it, and you’d never be able to forgive him. I never would have done it if I’d known.”
“I’m glad you didn’t know, then,” Grace said. “We needed a kick in the ass.”
The phone rang, and Emily left the circle to answer it.
“Fe, it’s Simon’s people.”
The younger woman made a bitter face when she sneered the last word. Fe had made a great hiring decision there.
“They’ve been calling every day,” Fiona said as she winked at Grace. “You’ll have to tell Rick not all Brits are whinging arses. Duty calls.”
Ben took Grace’s hand. “Let’s show you around.”
Fe had made her office next to Noah’s, and her pictures were still on the floor, balanced against the wall, her bookshelves in crates. She’d spun her chair, putting her back to the door while she negotiated. “No. I won’t agree to those terms . . .”
They whisked on to Noah’s office with its rows of file cabinets on one side, shelves on the other, and dove gray walls bisected by wainscoting. His folders were perfectly squared in an upright rack, and his spotless desk sat on a Persian island exactly equidistant from every corner. The only concession he’d made to Ben were comfortable side chairs. Noah looked up from his computer. “When can you talk about everything?”
“In a tick,” Ben promised as he moved on.
His office was the antithesis of his partner’s. The walls were navy blue, and the high ceilings kept the room from closing in on him. An extra-long chaise lounge sat in the window, angled toward the fireplace, and the knitted throw was piled at the end where he’d kicked it the day before he’d left for filming. The book he’d been reading still rested on the arm. His desk, his only concession to Noah, sat in front of shelves filled with a jumble of files, books, and photos, but everything was in arm’s reach. Reports were piled in his inbox.
“In the mornings, the light is amazing,” he said as he perched on the lounge. Grace wandered the room, reading the titles of his books, staring at photos, trailing her fingers along his dusty desk, lifting the glass globe paperweight he used as a fetish when he was thinking.
His pulse throbbed in anticipation. When she reached him, he wanted to tumble her to the chaise. Instead, he stood and led her through the French doors to his right and into the room beyond. This had seemed like such a good idea a few days ago. Now he was terrified.
It was small space, but Fiona had painted the walls a wheat color to reflect the light from the tall, narrow windows, which were open to combat any lingering fumes. A drafting table sat in front of them, and a soft chair waited in the corner. Narrow folding tables lined the walls.
“I’m hoping you’ll make this your office,” he whispered as he pressed the keys into Grace’s hand.
Teary, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“Purely selfish on my pa
rt,” he murmured, pulling her close. Her hair tickled his nose as he burrowed his fingers into her sweater.
“Well, that’s that,” Fe sang out as she came into the room. “Oops, sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” Grace squeaked as she stepped away. “What’s what?”
“Snidely’s show, two weeks from tomorrow. Live.” Fiona grinned. “He snatched at the offer. He’s hoping to make you look bad.”
Ben nodded, remembering his outburst this morning. Live television was risky, but Simon couldn’t edit the footage before broadcast, which he’d been accused of doing in the past.
“The offer of an exclusive film clip did it,” Fe explained. “It was a brilliant idea, Grace.”
“What are we taking?” Ben asked.
“Ted’s choosing it,” Grace said as she looked around her office. “Fiona, did you do this?”
“To Ben’s explicit instructions, but I owed you after you helped him shop for my bracelet in Venice.”
Noah stuck his head around the door. “Now, Ben? I want to catch you before you get derailed entirely.”
“Bollocks,” Fe exclaimed. “Nobby, I almost forgot. You have a meeting with Clive the day before Snidely. I made it as late as I could, but you won’t get much of a lie-in.”
“How’d y’ blag that, muppet?”
“I rang him and reminded him I’d not seen him in donkey’s years and he owed me for introducing him to Ruth and couldn’t you just nip in and chat. It’d be a doddle. And bob’s-your-uncle, you’ve got a meeting. And remember this when I knock you up at nine on a Saturday. No whinging and grizzling about.”
“Huh?” Grace asked.
Ben was thrilled to once again be her interpreter. “She called Clive, the casting director on the spy film, and bluffed him into a short, easy meeting. She’ll pick me up at nine and I’m not allowed to whine and grumble.”