“You’re not eating these eggs. Do you have any idea how long they’ve been in that store?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “These big companies don’t give a damn about the conditions of their farms and cram as many chickens they can into—”
“Seriously?” Grace snagged the eggs from his grasp. “I highly doubt it’s as bad as you think it is. The government regulates everything these days. Now back off and leave me and my eggs alone.”
“Why didn’t Carter give you some of our farm eggs? You’ve been seeing a lot of him lately.”
Where the hell did that come from? It sounded almost as if... as if Brady was jealous. “Maybe we were too busy doing other things to talk about eggs.” She taunted.
Brady huffed and stomped off to his truck. He’d peeled out of the lot before Grace could register what had just happened. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to think she and Carter—heck, she and anyone—were having an affair. She wanted nothing to do with men or relationships. Or even quick hook-ups, which was what Mia had been pressuring her into. It would take time and patience to clean up her past, and messing around with men was one sure way to slow down the process.
Shoving the eggs in the bag, Grace noticed two packages of butter sitting on the hood of her car. She should drop them off at Brady’s on her way home. Only his farm was no longer on her way home. He could come back and buy another package of butter.
Screw the arrogant odd farm boy.
Boy. Yeah. That word didn’t apply to her old neighbor anymore. Brady Marshall had filled out in all the right places.
Which made him nothing but trouble.
TY AND HIS CREW FINISHED ahead of schedule, which meant Grace could skip up the outside stairs to her apartment and not have to go through the spa. With all her belongings already moved in—which wasn’t much—she had nothing to do but spin around in her new place.
After a few spins, which unfortunately didn’t turn her into Wonder Woman, Grace poured herself a bowl of cereal and dined alone in her kitchenette.
No more checking in with Mom and Dad when she was coming and going. Not that they hounded her. Still, it was the polite thing to do.
No more having to make idle small talk in the morning before her cup of coffee, or at night before bed. Grace loved her parents, she really did, but she didn’t like the pressure of having to always be... on. Sometimes vegging out was all she wanted to do. Yet she felt guilty doing so after her parents worked all day and she, well, didn’t.
Her father had taken up his carpentry work again and spent most of his days in the barn. Even though their mother was supposed to be cutting back hours at the vineyard, she still put in a full day’s work.
Since she’d been home, Grace had helped out here and there. Pouring samples to visitors or selling wine from inside the tasting room. Working in the fields was not her thing. Dirty her hands? Risk breaking a nail? Never.
Even though her family thought she was a lazy, pampered princess, Grace had no problem putting in a fifteen hour day in a boutique, or behind her computer shopping for her store, and making lists and budgets. It was the manual labor gig that wasn’t her style.
Starting her own business was a lot more work than people gave credit for. She’d invested nearly her entire savings in her belief in a handful of fashion designers. Thankfully they weren’t the high maintenance divas she’d worked for in Paris.
Arianna grew up in Scotland and wanted to infiltrate more stylish dresses and skirts into her countryside towns. Kendall was from a family of five brothers. Her family owned a pub in Ireland, and she’d ventured on her own to follow her passion. Her focus had been on designing stylish pants and jeans that hid common troublesome areas but were cute and trendy.
Maria’s Icelandic background had her gravitating toward winter gear, which was perfect for Mainers as well, while Lacey’s rugged attitude reminded Grace of her sister. Lacey didn’t have many friends in the fashion industry. Many balked at her attempt to make flannel fashionable. Grace had a feeling her designs would be more widely accepted in Maine than in France.
For months, Grace witnessed firsthand how women—and a handful of men—were scoffed at and laughed at not only behind their backs, but to their faces as well for their designs. At first, it hadn’t bothered her. She, too, didn’t know why people would spend so much money to study fashion in Paris when they clearly didn’t fit in with the outlandish stereotypes.
It was after a year working retail, when she felt snickers behind her back, that she’d fallen for Robert Powers. He was her ticket to the top. Not in design, for she knew that ship had sailed, but in fashion merchandising. With his connections, anything was possible.
Only he’d never used his connections to help her. He used her for one thing, and it ended up ruining her career.
Now, here she was, sitting at the two-person rickety table in her new kitchenette with her bowl of cereal for dinner, and four hopefully up-and-coming fashion designers supplying her store with up-and-coming designs.
Four women who didn’t fit in. Just like Grace. She respected their passion and determination to stay true to their styles. Paris may not have approved of them, but they were perfect for The Closet.
The five of them would come out on top. They had to.
Wanting to look at her storefront one more time, Grace rinsed her bowl and danced across her apartment to the new outside door. Lost in her own happiness, she nearly tripped over a basket of something and tumbled down the twenty-two stairs.
“What the—” She bent to pick it up and peeked inside. “Eggs.” No doubt they were fresh farm eggs. Grace couldn’t help the slight tug at her upper lip. The man had some odd obsession with his farm’s eggs.
Leaving the eggs for a few minutes, she skipped down the stairs to admire her store. This end of Seaview Drive wasn’t busy with foot traffic like the other end with the bookstore and The Happy Clam, which were closer to the water. That would change though.
The brick building was old but well cared for and looked charming on this end of the street. The windows weren’t as big as she’d like, so she’d made sure to utilize the space well.
Ben had rigged mannequins out of PVC for her. So sweet, her brother-in-law. The one on the left donned a pair of practical olive khakis and a cranberry cotton and wool blend long-sleeve shirt. The top was loose, wide, and free in the arms, but the cut pulled in toward the waist and wrists, streamlining the body instead of making a woman look boxy. Kendall’s designs were simple and flattering.
The mannequin on the right wore one of Arianna’s skirts. Patterns were only a hit on skinny models and in flashy cities, yet this area of Maine needed some sprucing up other than the plain black skirt, so Grace showcased a burnt orange, auburn, and maroon swirled maxi skirt and paired it with an off white fitted shirt and auburn infinity scarf.
The windows looked good. Two more days and she’d be open. Just one more weekend to get it all ready, and Grace couldn’t be more excited. She turned to her left and admired the Sea Salt Spa. The lower half of the building was brick as well, but somewhere along the way someone must have expanded, building up. The second and third floors were sided with sage colored wood shingles, and cream colored shutters hung next to each window.
Lily had cute flower boxes in front of her windows. In the summer she kept them filled with petunias, and in the fall she planted mums. That’s what was missing in front of her store.
Tomorrow, she’d find some bales of hay, cornstalks, and mums. The fall festival was only one week away. Decorating for it should’ve been on the top of her list. Grace cursed herself for completely missing the obvious. She’d been so excited about her shop, and then her apartment, and worried she’d have enough inventory without ordering too much, that she’d spaced on decorating the outside of her store.
With a new mission for tomorrow, she took the steps two at a time until she reached the top. The basket of eggs still sat there. A reminder of the surly and unimpressed, cute yet not h
er type man who lived not too far away.
Picking up the basket, she let herself inside and got ready for bed.
CHAPTER SIX
“YOU’RE SERIOUSLY OUT of hay and cornstalks?” Grace couldn’t believe her luck. The Robertsons had a billion horses. There was hay everywhere.
“We only have a few bales that we need to save for the horses. Nowadays we buy the big rounds of hay. That’s not going to look so pretty in front of your new store. Try the Marshalls. They’re busy this time of year so they could be out, but they sell all that kind of stuff. Mums too.”
Figures. “What about the Petersons? They have a farm.”
“Pig farm, honey. They’re not going to have the stuff you’re looking for.”
“Okay. Thanks anyway.”
Grace trudged back to her car and drove down the road to the Marshalls. Maybe Brady would be busy in the fields and not spot her. Why she was avoiding him, she didn’t know. But it was never good when they ran into each other. He scowled too much. She didn’t like it.
The dirt parking lot was crowded, even for a Saturday. Wanting to make her purchases and leave, she headed to the store and hoped a local teen was manning the cash register.
No such luck. Mrs. Marshall smiled as she talked with the customers. She looked up when the door opened, her smile faltering just a smidge. The sleeves of her green work shirt were rolled up to her elbows and her hair pulled back in a bun. She’d never worn makeup or jewelry, except for the plain gold band on her ring finger. Even some fifteen years after her husband’s death, she never took it off.
“Grace. What brings you here? Carter’s busy working.”
“I’m not here to see him. I’d like to buy some mums and pumpkins. And a few bales of hay and corn stalks if you have any left.”
“Slim pickings with it already being October. I can ring you up for most of it, but you buy the pumpkins by the pound. You’ll need to get those yourself.” There was an edge of challenge in her voice as if she didn’t expect Grace to be able to pick out a few pumpkins.
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Grace went outside and picked up two decent sized pumpkins, impressed with herself for carrying one under each arm. It was a good thing she’d had the forethought to wear flats instead of heels today. Her light gray top would need to be washed, but that was what washing machines were for.
When the next customer opened the door, she asked him if he could hold it for her. Thanking him, she stepped inside and waited in line as Mrs. Marshall took care of the two customers in front of her.
They’d purchased some of the baked goods Mrs. Marshall was known for. Maybe Grace would buy a few treats as well. When it was her turn, she placed the pumpkins on the counter, grateful to have feeling in her hands again, and wiped her palms on her jeans.
“I’ll take six mums, four bales of hay and... um... six corn stalks as well. Oh.” She reached for a pumpkin whoopee pie and a blueberry donut. “And these.”
With only the lift in her brow as communication, Mrs. Marshall tapped into her calculator and gave her the total.
Grace paid and thanked her with a polite smile. She managed to pick up the pumpkins, but the rest would be a challenge. Biting her lip, she looked at her treats, then the door, then Mrs. Marshall, who didn’t appear to be in the giving mood.
“I’m going to make a few trips.”
“You do that.”
In all her years living across from the Marshalls, Grace never remembered the Mrs. being so... bitchy. After a few runs to the car, loading the pumpkins and mums in the trunk, she looked over at the bales of hay she stacked by her car and sighed.
“I’m so stupid.” Once again, her brain had been in overdrive and didn’t think things through. How the heck was she supposed to fit all this in her tiny sedan?
“How the hell are you going to fit all of that in your toy car?” Brady, reading her thoughts, mocked behind her.
Not wanting him to know what an idiot she was, she shrugged him off. “My back seat.” She opened the backdoor and cringed. The straw would make a mess.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all day. All week.” He stepped forward into her peripheral vision. He was a sight in his heavy work boots and jeans. A pair of gloves hung from his back pocket. The gray Henley with “Marshall Farm” etched over his heart pulled taut across his broad shoulders. Holy broad shoulders. Were they always that big?
He might be somewhat attractive, but she didn’t like being treated like a fool. Not by his mom and not by him.
“I can manage.”
“No, you can’t. I’ll load this stuff in my truck and bring it by on my way to the town meeting.”
“Um. Sure. What time is that?” She wanted to be sure she was at the store when he got there.
“You’re not going?”
“To a town meeting?” She nearly shuddered. Only old people went to those. She remembered her father and mother going when she was younger. “No thanks.”
“Figured as much,” he muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She cocked her hip and gritted her jaw.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
Brady lifted an eyebrow and stared her down. “We’re in the final stages of planning the fall festival. Since you haven’t been part of it from the beginning, I didn’t think you’d be there tonight. Shop owner or not.”
Without asking her permission, he picked up a bale of hay in each hand, grabbing on to the twine that magically held it together, and strode across the parking lot. She watched him heave them into his truck. His stride was long and casual as if he wasn’t in any rush, but not lazy and slow either.
Methodical, maybe. No words were spoken as he picked up the rest of the hay and did the same. Figuring she should help out at least a little, Grace managed the corn stalks and handed them to him at his truck. She had no comeback regarding the meeting.
He was right. She hadn’t paid any attention to the meetings in the past. When Hope and Alexis talked about the festival during their book talks, Grace tuned them out, thinking about color swatches and patterns that would work well for the rural women.
Avoiding his revelation on her lack of commitment to the town, she attempted to save her dignity by acting as her name suggested. Gracefully. “I appreciate this. Oh. And the eggs. That was... nice of you.”
“They’re better than store bought,” he stated as fact. Which was true.
“I had a lovely omelet this morning. So thank you.” She wouldn’t kiss his ass too much.
“Hmpf,” he grunted before taking off.
Manners were not a specialty in the Marshall household.
True to his word, the headlights to Brady’s truck shone in her storefront at ten minutes to seven. He’d already unloaded her hay and corn stalks by the time she locked the door behind her.
His gray eyes peered at her over the back of his truck.
“I appreciate the delivery.”
“Sure.”
“I guess I’ll see you at the meeting.”
His eyebrow quirked similarly to how it had this afternoon, as if she surprised him. There was no lift in his lip to say he was amused or furrow between his brow that indicated he was annoyed. Just the light brown caterpillar above his intense eyes bumping up in the middle.
“Guess so.” He slammed the tailgate shut and stepped up into his truck, leaving her in a puff of exhaust and her hay dust.
So much for small talk.
She rifled through her small Coach clutch until she found her keys and jogged out back to her car. She’d tidy up the pile of hay when she came back. It was more important to make it to the meeting on time.
After returning from Marshall Farm this afternoon, she’d texted Hope and Alexis and asked about the meeting. Sure enough, they were thrilled she was coming. The fall festival wasn’t a thing the last time she lived here. It was Ben’s doing, drawing the community together and garnering one last surge of busi
ness before winter turned Crystal Cove into a cold, lonely town out of a Stephen King novel. At least, that was how she remembered it from her high school days.
Hope had encouraged her to offer incentives for shopping during the festival. Buy today and save twenty-five percent off your next purchase. Or something like that. If Grace had paid attention to this event earlier, she would have had cute cards and signs made up. Maybe there was time, though, if she could get Ben or Carter to design something simple, she could get them printed and ready for next weekend. She’d ask Ben tonight.
It took less than five minutes to drive to the town hall. The building hadn’t changed at all over the years. An old farmhouse converted into a meeting center. The parking lot was full. Of course with only ten spots, that didn’t mean the meeting was necessarily packed.
Grace drove down Maple Street, past eight more cars, and parked in front of Brady’s truck on the side of the road. Running her hands down her skinny jeans, she took in a few deep breaths, dropped her keys in her clutch, and walked with purpose toward the front steps of the meeting hall with the poise of a woman who knew what she was doing.
“Hey, girl,” Mia greeted her with a hip check. “Surprised to see you here.”
Annoyed that it wasn’t just Brady who had low expectations of her, Grace scowled. “I do own a business in this town, you know. I’m more surprised to see you here.”
“Rrrr,” Mia screeched like an annoyed cat, curling her fingers in a claw-like motion. “Someone’s pissy tonight.” She laughed.
At least she took Grace’s sass in stride. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so...”
“Bitchy?” Mia said with a smile.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“Please. I’m the queen of bitchy. I’m only going to be mad at you if you start to take over my role.” They strode side-by-side up the weathered steps of the meeting house. “Normally town meetings aren’t my thing. But I had so much fun volunteering at last year’s festival that I wanted to make sure I got the good jobs again this year.”
“What exactly are the good jobs?”
Here With You Page 6