Just One Kiss (Appletree Cove)

by Hall, Traci

  “Don’t be foolish,” Griffin countered. “Many women would jump at a chance like this. It’s obvious you could use the money.” He flicked her tulle flounce on her skirt, and she suddenly felt like a child playing dress up.

  “I would rather eat nothing but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the rest of my life.”

  Griffin laughed cruelly and then tore the two pictures he’d purchased into pieces. “Your choice,” he drawled.

  He left the conference room, whistling a tune she didn’t know, and it was all she could do to keep from running after him to call him out for his rotten behavior. What would be the point? People didn’t go to jail for being jerks.

  Disappointment welled. Was it too much to want to save her house?

  Light shone from the open door, and people’s muted conversation could be heard in the lobby. She swayed on the chair.

  Her body shook at the unfairness of it all. Didn’t she know not to trust money? Griffin Carlisle was no better than he had to be, and she was a fool wishing on a silver lining that was nowhere to be found.

  Getting to her van nearly in tears, she inserted and turned her key. Dead, not even a click. She set her forehead on the steering wheel and cried.

  All she wanted was the beach—the sand at her toes, the surf at her ankles, the incessant lap of the waves. That never changed. Maybe because her life had been so chaotic, the ocean’s constant back and forth soothed her.

  What was she going to do? Park her van at the beach until the police told her to move along? She pulled at the dyed chicken feathers on her skirt. He’d laughed at her photos. Who did she think she was? An artist? She wasn’t fooling anyone.

  Maybe she should give up, go to the commune, live with her parents, milk cows, and harvest beans. No. She wasn’t a quitter. She knew her worth.

  She smacked the dash several times and tried the key again. With a miraculous grind, the engine started. Closing her eyes and taking a deep sigh, she put the van in gear and headed slowly home.

  She parked, showered the hairspray off, removed her lashes and the glitter, then dressed in yoga pants and an oversize T-shirt. She poured a large glass of cucumber water and ambled past the sleeping chickens to her dock.

  This was what she got for dreaming too big, for thinking she could have it all. People like Mr. Haviland at the bank, like Sawyer, with his rules, like Griffin, with so much money he had no rules—they could all live fully. But somehow, she knew despite what her grandmother had taught her, wanted for her, she was going to lose everything.

  She was stuck in the rut of the ordinary. Grace took her cup of water and walked to the end of the jagged dock. It was an eyesore, and she didn’t blame Sawyer for wanting her to fix it. For some reason, tonight, the whole place appeared as it really was: old and rundown. For the first time, she considered that maybe her home would be better off without her.

  Hearing the thump of feet on boards, she turned, and there was Sawyer walking toward her with a flannel blanket. He didn’t say anything as he sat next to her, careful to steer clear of broken boards and wood slivers.

  He tucked the blanket around her shoulders. “I take it Griffin offered you the contract? My brothers can answer the phone if you need to quit sooner.”

  He was thoughtful and kind, and it was killing her. She raised her guard. “I have one more week, thank you. I can handle it.”

  “You’re very talented, Grace.” He waited and gave her an encouraging nod.

  She wanted to tell him everything but couldn’t. Her ego and pride stung at the cheap proposal, her naivety. She’d overheard that his brothers thought she was a backwoods hipster. She was just Grace, and it wasn’t enough.

  “You can’t keep me hanging,” he rumbled in a low voice.

  She supposed she would have to come up with some sort of story as to why it hadn’t worked. What would Sawyer think? Again, she worried she would lose his respect.

  Sawyer’s warm hand covered her knee, reminding her that he was there, next to her. By her side. “You’re starting to worry me.”

  She swallowed over the hard lump in her throat. “Let’s just say that we had…artistic differences.”

  “He didn’t like your squirrel pictures? Or the beaver?”

  She gave a harsh laugh and observed Sawyer’s caring face in the dim light of the moon. “He liked the beaver a bit too much.” She should’ve realized Griffin had set her up as a joke, but she, too desperate, hadn’t paid attention to the nuances. She hadn’t let herself.

  Sawyer scowled protectively and gazed out at the dark gray water. “I see.”

  She pictured her torn photos Griffin had left in the conference room trash. “I told him no thank you. Bottom line is that he no longer wanted the coffee table book of Puget Sound. He wanted something I couldn’t give.” As she spoke, her fighting spirit raised its head. She covered Sawyer’s fingers with hers to let him know she appreciated him being there.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She heard his genuine concern. On a heart level, she knew that he was different than Griffin, though both men were handsome and rich. Griffin used his money to toy with people, while Sawyer used his to build a business, training dogs and helping people.

  She glanced at Sawyer, the angles of his face highlighted by the silver light of the moon.

  He leaned toward her, his hand on her lower back. He was going to kiss her. God, she wanted it, too. For him to take away the ice from Griffin. Equals—how could they ever even be on the same playing field?

  Grace allowed herself to sink into his embrace, to taste him as his lips captured hers hungrily, passionately. She dug her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, caressing, wanting to be as close as one. She lost her senses in him, not even hearing the soft slap of waves against the dock.

  This time it was Sawyer who dragged them up, his eyes glazed with desire. “Grace, let me help…”

  Grace bowed her head then shrugged out of the blanket. “Thank you, Sawyer. I’ll handle it.” She dropped the blanket next to him and turned hurriedly away. “See you Monday.”

  Grace raced back to the house, where she planned on hiding for the entire weekend and licking her wounds. No, she realized right away. If she stayed here, she’d want to see Sawyer, so she had to go. She’d stay at Lottie’s and hang out on the couch with Vi and watch cable TV while Lottie worked.

  One week of torture where she’d see Sawyer every day, and then it would be the torture of not seeing him at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sawyer recognized the exact moment when Grace had almost opened up to him. And then she’d slammed the door closed when he’d broken their kiss.

  Why?

  He got up and eyed the broken dock. She said that he was worried about how it looked, when in reality he worried that she would get hurt and dumped into the cold water again.

  His brothers were inside watching a movie, disappointed at the lack of nightlife in Kingston, Washington, but he’d been listening for Grace to come back, watching for the distant headlights of her van. He didn’t care about a poker game or watching sports on TV.

  If she would just tell him about the back taxes, then they could brainstorm a solution. He’d poured most of his cash into Bark Camp, but there had to be a way.

  Why wouldn’t she talk to him?

  He’d watched her walk to the end of the dock and stare out at the moon. He’d imagined Griffin had made her dreams come true. But she hadn’t moved, and he’d had to know what she was feeling.

  The jerk had crushed her dreams, giving her hope only to snatch it away. He smacked his fist into his opposite palm, tempted to pay Griffin a visit.

  He was a man who thrived on finding solutions. Could he have her make a coffee table book of his own? A Sawyer Rivera Collector’s Edition? He breathed in the scent of pine and salt from the bay. She’d see right throu
gh that. Besides, there was the matter of extra money.

  He folded the blanket under one arm and headed home, keeping an eye out for any movement on Grace’s back porch, a sign that she might let him in to talk, but the lights were off.

  He took his steep stairs two at a time. Back inside, Tomas and Bobby shouted a greeting from where they were watching a game on the couch in his living room.

  Sawyer just waved and went into the kitchen to grab a beer.

  Grace’s reticence made his heart hurt. Why did she make everything so difficult when all she needed to do was ask for help?

  His parents came to mind, the way he’d had to practically drag them out of the dangerous neighborhood where he’d grown up. Had he asked for help? Not really—other than Tomas and Bobby. That counted, right? Juan and Luca, he wasn’t as close to.

  Bobby shuffled into the kitchen and selected an IPA from the fridge. “Everything okay, man?”

  “Get me a fresh one!” Tomas said, joining them.

  Sawyer took a drink and sat at the high-top kitchen table. “The fridge is full—help yourself.”

  Tomas did then settled on a stool facing Sawyer and Bobby. “You’re not really mad we’re here, are you?”

  “Of course not. Family.” Even if they did drop in unannounced, they’d always have a place to stay. Hell, he was even letting them in his house instead of the bedrooms in the gallery at Bark Camp.

  “When Mom told us you were starting over again, going back to your roots,” Tomas popped the top off an amber ale, “it didn’t seem right for us to not be here to help you.”

  Bobby tucked his stool in close to the table. “We hopped on a plane. You shoulda called us.”

  Sawyer tightened his grip on the beer. He’d gotten so busy with his Sawyer Rivera persona that he’d been out of touch as he’d rebounded and tried to get things in some semblance of order. He’d been out of control for so much of what was going on around him.

  Tomas and Bobby had been in the trenches with him. Guarding the dogs from angry gang members. Bunking down in the storage container without complaint, because they also believed the dogs deserved better. “I trust you both with my life, and you’re welcome at Bark Camp. Sure you remember how to get your hands dirty?”

  Tomas laughed. “Challenge accepted.”

  Bobby rolled the beer bottle between his palms and studied him closely. “Daniella on your mind?”

  He slashed his hand through the air. “Definitely not.”

  “Is it about Grace? Your temporary receptionist?” Tomas rubbed his beard, but the sad truth was he just couldn’t grow one—not like Juan, their older brother. Sawyer and Bobby didn’t even try.

  “I think it is,” Bobby pressed. “You know you can’t date her, right?”

  “Not while she works for me, that’s true.” Sawyer sipped his dark lager. Eventually, things would settle down with Daniella. His business would flourish. Hell, he might even get his show back.

  It didn’t excite him like it used to.

  Bobby shook his head. “Bro, like, never. She isn’t your usual type. That’s a recipe for unhappiness.”

  “Like you know.” Sawyer scoffed.

  Bobby was the shyest of the brothers and rarely dated. He’d helped Sawyer put together the manuscripts for his books while Tomas managed the videos. Luca stayed out of the business, choosing to do God knew what. Juan worked in insurance. Steady and stable, but not connected to Sawyer.

  Tomas snorted and punched Bobby, who was sitting closest to him. “That could be a good thing.”

  “What does that mean?” Sawyer glared at Bobby. “I don’t have a type.” Did he? He’d dated but had never found The One.

  “You do. Beautiful. Vain.” Bobby tipped his IPA back for a sip. “Usually shallow.”

  “Hey!”

  “Don’t shoot the messenger,” Tomas said. “And hey, who’s to say you can’t change? Just because you used to like strawberry doesn’t mean you can’t change to blueberry.”

  He stared at his brothers. All five of the siblings had Mom’s brown eyes and Dad’s slightly crooked sniffer. He wondered if his son would inherit his nose and his daughter Grace’s eyes. Oh, no.

  He gulped his beer. “You know what? Let’s change the subject. How’re the folks? About time Juan finally proposed to Rose.”

  Bobby stood up to peek in the living room and the TV then came back. “Mom hounded him. She wants grandbabies, and she’s tired of Juan using the excuse of the almost lawsuit—it’s been four years, right? Right there over chicken dinner, she ripped into him for hiding and making Rose wait while he dragged his feet. Asked point blank if he loved Rose.”

  “Oh, no.” Sawyer smacked the table with a horrified grin. “Was Rose there?”

  “Nah,” Tomas said. “It was just us and Luca. I about died trying not to laugh out loud.”

  “Juan said yeah, very reluctantly, you know how he is about admitting to his feelings,” Bobby shrugged, “and Mom asked if Rose was the one.”

  “How are you supposed to know that?” Sawyer demanded. He had his own reasons for wanting to know.

  Activity from the basketball game sounded. Cheers and whistles. Bobby went to the couch, his back to Sawyer. “She asked him if he needed Rose to be complete.”

  Sawyer’s mouth dried. “And?”

  More cheers.

  Tomas headed toward Bobby and the couch, eye on the TV. “Duh. He proposed the next weekend at church and everything.”

  He lost their attention completely as Tomas yelled, “Score!”

  What did Sawyer need? Was it the same equation?

  It wasn’t the missing spotlight he thought of, or Bark Camp, but pixie-like Grace and her great big blue eyes that came to mind. He needed her like a hole in the head, but he couldn’t stop wanting her.

  He sipped a cool, malty, high-end beer, a beverage loaded with flavor that was a far cry from the cheap pony keg Grace had served him, but damn if he didn’t wish he was back in her tiny kitchen or sitting next to her on her faded navy-blue couch.

  He’d listen to her talk about why she was upset rather than fume by himself in his steel-and-glass kitchen. What did luxury matter without someone to share the finer things with? Did Grace complete him? God, he hoped not. She was not part of his Sawyer Rivera plan.

  And yet, even with his brothers in the other room, without Grace, he somehow felt alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Saturday, while Lottie had been at work, Vi had lost her temper in a major way. Grace hadn’t been able to binge-watch cooking shows like she’d planned as Violet had sapped all of her energy.

  The little girl had sobbed herself to sleep by the time Lottie arrived home at six, and she hadn’t woken up until the next morning for breakfast.

  Grace had made Violet waffles, her favorite, but then Vi had gone outside to swing rather than eat. Lottie warmed the waffles in the oven and cracked five fresh eggs in a sizzling skillet. Sitting at the kitchen table, Grace stared out, nearly hypnotized by the back and forth motion of the girl on the swing.

  “They’re going to keep her in class, for now,” said Lottie, turning the eggs.

  “Well, thank God for that,” said Grace.

  “I told them about your dog idea, and the psychologist said she’s seen service dogs that helped. The principal seemed on board, too.”

  Grace studied her friend, sliding fried eggs onto a plate, and wished she could do more about getting a pup. “Sawyer said those dogs are as much as I need for Grandma Dahlia’s place.”

  Lottie set the plate on the table, hands on her hips. “Oh, now it’s just Grandma Dahlia’s place? That house is yours, fair and square. Damn that bank!”

  They both regarded Violet swinging back and forth, kicking high into the sky.

  “That swing was the best thing I ever bought,” said Lot
tie. “It’s the only thing that tires her out.” She put her hand on Grace’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to give up, you hear me? We’re going to do whatever it takes to keep your home.”

  Grace appreciated her friend’s optimism, but her confidence was wavering. “And while we’re at it, we’re going to get Violet a service dog, if that’s what’ll help, though to be honest, I’m not sure how.”

  “Grants,” said Lottie. “I’ve been looking into them.” She pulled a tray of waffles out of the oven, using gray mitts. The smell of warm cinnamon wafted through the kitchen. “And a school bake sale to raise money and awareness.”

  “Smart.”

  She and Lottie had discussed the Griffin incident up one side and down the other, and in the end, they’d come to the conclusion that it was better to say nothing about Griffin’s offer to Carlos at the museum.

  Grace had left a message for Carlos, thanking him for the opportunity and letting him know she’d be willing to try for other projects.

  Lottie called out the window for Violet to come in, and the girl stopped her kicking. “Stop doubting yourself, Grace. Griffin Carlisle is a jackass. You’re worth a hundred million Griffin Carlisles, do you understand me?”

  “It’s not that easy,” said Grace, overwhelmed. “Maybe I should’ve just done the pictures?”

  Lottie slapped her palm against the counter. “There’s a word for that you know—exchanging sex for money. It’s illegal in most states. Besides, you know, Sawyer’s the one you want to get naked with.”

  She gaped at Lottie in sheer disbelief. “Don’t go there. He already has a starring role in my dreams. He was so thoughtful to bring me a blanket, and I know I could have told him what was going on, but then…”

  “You clammed up, chickened out, closed him off. I think you really care for him.”

  Grace swallowed back tears and poured more tea. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Oh, how Lottie was exactly right. “I’ll take two, please. Extra syrup.”

  On Monday, Grace drove to Bark Camp fully aware this was her last week working for Sawyer.