by Mandie Tepe
“I could fix a late dinner and you could come by after your appointment. Bring Kelli with you. Unless you’d rather I cook at your place,” he suggested.
“Okay. If you want to go to my apartment, that would be great. It’s closer to the salon.” They’d exchanged keys a couple of weeks before.
“Awesome. I’m on it.” Sonny grinned.
Gracie smiled at him. “Thanks, babe.”
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Wednesday, after work, Trace plopped down on a bar stool at Maxie’s—the bar their SEAL team had always considered their “home away from home.” Although lately they were spending almost as much time hanging out at Savannah’s, since Sonny was a lot more interested in being there than dodging the SEAL groupies who hung out at Maxie’s.
Trace swiveled the stool sideways to look at Sonny, as the bartender slid his preferred beer over to him. He nodded a thank you to the bartender and said to Sonny, “Okay. You called and I came. What’s up?”
He was curious, because their paths had crossed several times that afternoon on base and Sonny had seemed fine. Sonny was still on office duty, though, while Trace and the other guys were in and out between physical training sessions on the obstacle courses, the beach and the BUD/S grinder—a blacktop slab where they put young SEAL candidates through their paces. Some wouldn’t call it putting them through their paces as much as torturing them, though. And it was torture. They all knew that, because they had lived through it and survived to become elite Navy SEALs. Not many did make it.
Sonny said, “I hope Meg didn’t mind you stopping by here on your way home.”
Trace waved his concern away. “No, no . . . she’s still at the Institute. They’ve got a planning session tonight for the show. What’s up, Sonny?”
“I have some news. And I need some advice.”
“Okay . . .” Trace made a get-on-with-it gesture.
Sonny took a deep breath and went for it. “I’m going to propose to Gracie.”
Trace looked stunned. “Already? Are you sure? You haven’t been together that long, Sonny.”
“How long before you knew you needed Meg?” He stared Trace down. “I’m not talking about all that wasted time after you sent her away ‘for her own good.’ I’m talking about from the time you first met her ‘til you knew you needed her in your life.”
Trace shook his head. “I can’t believe you just threw that right in my face like that.”
“I’m sorry, McKenna. But I hope I learned something from your mistakes.”
Trace and Meg had met when she came to town to work as visiting faculty—along with her dance partner, who was Trace’s stepbrother—at the San Diego Dance Institute. The two of them had fallen hard and fast for each other, both of them scared to death because of her plans to move on after her six weeks at the Institute. Just before she was to leave, Trace had given in to the panic and cut her loose—not wanting her to let him and their relationship color any decisions she needed to make about her career. He ran—hard—in the other direction. Little did he know that shortly after that she had been offered a permanent faculty position heading up the contemporary dance department at the SDDI. Having grown tired of life on the road, and having made some really good friends at the Institute, she decided to take the position and put down roots in San Diego—in spite of Trace. By the time they just happened to run into one another, several months had gone by and she had her new life all in place. And he realized what a mistake he’d made—that they could have had all of that time together—and he could have saved himself a lot of misery and loneliness—if only he had just hung in there with her.
“Yeah.” Thinking about his mistakes still gave him a twinge. He could have ruined his and Meg’s entire lives and he thanked God he decided to visit that church his first Sunday back from a short deployment—because there she was. It was as if God had kept her there, waiting for him to wise up. He glanced back at Sonny. “I guess it didn’t take me long at all to realize it. Just took me awhile to do something about it.”
Sonny nodded. “I love her, McKenna. I know I need her. I’ve dated a lot of women . . .”
“Ya think?” Trace quipped. Sonny had enjoyed more women’s company than any one man—maybe three men—he knew.
Sonny’s eyes glinted in amusement. “Okay, then. Don’t you think that means I’ve been looking for one particular woman? And don’t you think that means I would know her when I found her? Because I sure as hell knew when I didn’t.”
Trace knew Sonny really had been looking for someone to spend his life with. Most of the guys admired him as a player, out womanizing his way through the greater San Diego area. But they didn’t know Sonny like he did. He knew Sonny ran a lot deeper than they gave him credit for. He really did love and respect women, and he treated them like gold while he was with them. But Trace could admit there was something different about him since he had found Gracie. He decided to be supportive and help plan this mission any way he could. He’d always been a strong tactician. Just ask anyone on his SEAL team.
“I think a lot of Gracie, Sonny. And I’m happy for you.” He reached out and clinked his beer bottle against Sonny’s, raised it and toasted, “To Gracie!”
Sonny laughed and drank to her too. “I need some advice.”
“Okay . . . walk me through it,” Trace prodded.
“Well . . . her birthday is the first week in November—actually the night of Meg’s show. I want to ask her at dinner before the show. What do you think?”
“Sounds good to me. I think that’s a great idea.”
“Okay. Good. I’m a little worried about the ring. Where do I go? How do I know what she’d like? Do I just ask her first and let her pick a ring later?”
“Slow down, dude,” Trace laughed. “I think we need an expert. And I’m not that.”
“Meg liked the ring you got her, though. Right?”
“I think I just got lucky, to tell you the truth. Then again, it’s Meg . . . she’s so sweet and sentimental she probably would’ve liked anything I gave her.”
Sonny dropped his head. “That’s true.” Then he brightened. “But Gracie is sweet and sentimental too, so maybe she’d cut me a break.”
Trace burst out laughing and motioned to the bartender for two more beers. “Something tells me you don’t want to take the risk.” He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and punched a couple of buttons. “Hey, babe, it’s me. You gonna be much longer?” He paused as he listened to Meg’s answer. “Great! Listen, I’m at Maxie’s with Sonny. Can you come by here instead of heading home . . . Oh yeah! I’d say something’s definitely going on . . . No way . . . You’ll have to wait ‘til you get here . . . Uh huh . . . Love you too. Bye.” He disconnected. “Our expert should be here in a few. She was almost home, so she’ll turn around and be here in no time.” He called over to the bartender, “Hey, Lee . . . I’m gonna need a glass of red wine too.”
Lee smiled. “Oh, is Meg coming by?”
“On her way.”
After Meg showed up, the celebration really began. She hugged and cried all over Sonny, then sat down to help plan Operation Engagement Ring. She arranged to hit the jewelry stores with Sonny. She insisted they bring Kelli in to shop with them, since she and Gracie were so close—and had, in fact, spent many hours window shopping together. She probably had the best perspective on Gracie’s tastes. She soothed Sonny’s nerves and assured him that Gracie would be happy with whatever he chose—and, for heaven’s sake, don’t try to feel her out about the kind of ring she’d like. She’d see it coming a mile away if he did. They called Kelli and decided to go out the following evening while Gracie was occupied singing at Savannah’s. The last task she gave him was to decide on a price range—and, oh, don’t forget his debit card when they met up on Thursday.
CHAPTER 14
The nondescript Honda sedan crept up the street as the driver peered over at the front of the bar. The large front window
was tinted black and he couldn’t see inside—the only thing visible was the neon sign reading “Savannah’s” in script. This was it. It was a Thursday and there didn’t seem to be very many cars in the parking lot, he noticed, as he pulled in to circle it. He didn’t even know if she still drove the Mustang. There it was. It was such a distinctive car and paint color he knew it was hers. She still had the Sing Like No One is Listening sticker on the bumper. His heart stuttered. She must be inside. He started to park his rental car, but decided he couldn’t risk going in if there wasn’t a full house. He didn’t want her to see him. Not yet.
He pulled back out onto the street and circled the block again. There just happened to be an empty spot catty-cornered across the intersection from the bar. He pulled in and looked at his watch. Surely the band would be finishing soon. Maybe he could sit here and watch her leave. The spot was perfect, with an unobstructed view of the door and the parking lot. It was dark and she would never even see him.
Rob Chilton had been released from prison the week before—much earlier than expected because of the notoriously overcrowded and over-stressed California prison system, his good behavior, and his first-time offender status. He’d gone home and tried to adjust to being free after almost two-and-a-half years of incarceration. His mother’s hovering, though, was almost as bad as the prison guards breathing down his neck twenty-four/seven.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Gracie. He’d always planned to see her as soon as he got back to their hometown, but had heard she was gone. With the help of a fellow prisoner with exceptional computer hacking skills, he’d gotten her new address several weeks before he’d been paroled.
After he moved back to his hometown, he stayed away from her parents, knowing her dad would love the opportunity to get his hands around Rob’s throat. And Rob knew that was the least he deserved. If he could only talk to her, he knew he could make her understand that he wasn’t the same person. All he needed was for her to save him and give him his life back. As soon as she did, her family would accept him too. He didn’t want them or her friends to know he was out yet, though—not until he had seen her.
After he’d run into an old high school friend of theirs, who casually mentioned he’d heard that Gracie had moved away to San Diego to sing with a bar band, Rob took it as a sign that he should stick with his plan. He played the ex-football buddy angle with his old friend, manipulating him into finding out which bar she was singing at—on the sly.
Rob understood he was breaking parole by leaving his hometown, but when he got Gracie back and she vouched for him, surely they would let him off the hook. It would all work out. He tried not to be angry that she hadn’t answered any of his letters. He couldn’t call her, because of the protective order, but if he could talk to her face to face and nothing bad happened, she would arrange to cancel that too. They could start over. He felt confident he wouldn’t mess it up this time.
The front door to Savannah’s opened and a group of young men poured out and drifted toward the parking lot. Maybe the bar was closing. A small pick-up truck pulled into the lot and a rough-looking man with a crutch got out and shuffled toward the bar, then went inside. That was a little odd—to be going into a bar around closing time. Rob shrugged and continued to sit, watching the door.
Maybe fifteen minutes later, the door opened and a small woman wearing a short skirt and boots swung out . . . the long-haired man with the crutch following. He tucked her under his free arm and they moved toward the parking lot. He said something to her and she looked up at him, laughing, just as they passed under the streetlight. He first recognized her laugh—then he saw her face. It was his Gracie! What was she doing with this guy? Rob gulped in air—his breath ragged—as he watched them walk over to her car. She turned to lean back against it and raised her hands in front of her. The man pressed his palms to hers and they linked fingers, as he leaned into her. They were talking quietly—he couldn’t hear what they were saying. The man leaned fully against her, pressing her back into the side of her car. Letting go of her hands, he lifted his to cup her face and they kissed. Rob waited for her to push this stranger away, but she didn’t. She wrapped her arms around his middle and pulled him closer, continuing to make out with him.
Another group walked out of the bar and toward the lot. This must be the rest of the band. Some of them were carrying guitar cases. He recognized the one in the beat up cowboy hat. It was a friend of Gracie’s from San Francisco. Rob had never liked him—what was his name—Cody . . . Colton . . . whatever. Hoots went up from a couple of the guys as they rounded the corner into the parking lot and saw Gracie with the stranger. He pulled back and said something to the band, and Cody . . . Colton . . . whatever . . . responded, causing all of them to laugh. It was obvious they were all well acquainted. Everyone went their separate ways, hopping into their cars. Gracie and crutch-boy said a few more words to one another, pecked each other good night, and he opened her door for her. She slid in, showing way too much leg, Rob thought, and crutch-boy shut the door. He stood and watched her pull out, Gracie blowing him a kiss as she did. Only then did he get in his truck.
Rob made a quick decision. He forced himself to pull out slowly, so as not to make anyone suspicious, and followed in the direction Gracie had driven. He’d catch up with her when he was out of sight of anyone in the Savannah’s parking lot. He just wanted to see where she lived. Even though he had her address, he hadn’t staked it out yet. He hoped she wasn’t headed to crutch-boy’s place—or that he wouldn’t show up at hers.
He noticed she didn’t live far from the bar. She pulled up to a Spanish-style house, which had obviously been converted into apartments. He stopped halfway down the block, not wanting to drive past her and risk her seeing him. Sure enough, she stepped out of the car, carefully locked it and walked up the short walk to the front door. She had to use a key to get into the building. He was happy to see it was a secure building for her safety, but disappointed too. What if he needed to get inside to lie in wait for her . . . if he couldn’t find another way to see her alone? He rubbed his forehead. He wouldn’t think about that right now. He really was ahead of the game, he thought. He knew where she worked and where she lived—and it was just his first day in town. He couldn’t rush it. This was too important.
Rob waited around for another fifteen or twenty minutes, but the long-haired stranger didn’t show up. That was something, at least. Rob couldn’t imagine Gracie picking up someone at a bar. But . . . he hadn’t seen her for a while. He knew he’d hurt her pride with his affairs, and maybe she’d just been blowing off steam. He couldn’t really blame her, he supposed. Once they were back together, though, she wouldn’t think about anyone else. She never had before. He pulled out and headed back toward his budget motel. He would go ahead and sleep there tonight, but check out in the morning and find one closer to Gracie.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Friday night was hopping at Savannah’s again. Sonny and Charley showed up during the band’s first set and decided to make their way toward the stage end of the bar. As Sonny rounded the end closest to the door, he glanced up and saw a man, baseball cap pulled low over his eyes turned toward him. Sonny couldn’t see his eyes, but had the feeling the guy was watching him. Oh well . . . maybe he thought he knew Sonny or something. That happened all the time. He and Charley continued on their way, speaking to several regulars and employees as they went. One of the bouncers, Rocky—which was interestingly enough, not a nickname in honor of the tough boxer of film lore, but a shortened version of his given name, which was Rockwell—stopped Sonny with a shoulder-bump guy-hug. He knuckle-bumped Charley on his way past too. Sonny and Charley found stools at the far end of the bar, closest to the dance floor and stage and ordered beers.
Sonny was in high spirits. His shopping excursion with Kelli and Meg had gone well, and they found the perfect ring. At least that was what the girls had called it—“perfect.” He could only t
ake their word for it. The jeweler described it as an art deco crown solitaire setting with scrolls etched around the band. It was made of rose gold and he’d also gone ahead and purchased the matching band, with the same art deco scroll design etched around it. After coming by to see Gracie for a few minutes the night before, he’d gone home and spent hours staring at those rings . . . imagining sliding them on her finger. They would look beautiful on her delicate hands.
Charley was scoping out the girls, trying to decide if he should ask someone to dance. Sonny watched him for a minute. “Misty didn’t last too long, huh?”
“Nah. She went back to her old boyfriend . . . some guy named Duke . . . her personal trainer.”
“Sorry to hear that, dude,” Sonny said sympathetically.
“Oh, don’t be. Saved me the trouble of having to shake her loose,” Charley took a slug from his beer bottle. “She wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. My usual hints wouldn’t have worked on her. I might’ve had to get mean . . . and you know I hate that.”
They both turned their attention to the band. Sonny got caught up in the enjoyment of watching Gracie charm the entire room. She was looking particularly hot tonight in a turquoise ruffled blouse, hanging over her hips with skinny jeans and bright pink peep-toed platforms with stacked stiletto heels. The neckline of the full blouse plunged, and her black camisole and multi-colored beaded necklace teased as the shirt gaped open occasionally. She was watching Sonny as she sang Sara Evans’ I Could Not Ask For More. She really shouldn’t look at him that way in a crowded room like this, he thought. He got lost in her eyes, and felt like they were the only two people in the room. As the last note faded away, she kept watching him. The corners of his mouth tipped up and he winked at her, causing her to grin back at him. The spell finally broke as the band broke into one of Colby’s numbers—Marshall Tucker Band’s Heard It In a Love Song—featuring Les playing the flute solo parts on the steel guitar.