Here With You

by Rice, Marianne

  “No. It’s awesome.” He took another forkful hoping he avoided another chunk of garlic. Not so much. Was garlic supposed to be spicy? To burn? To make his eyes water? He chewed and swallowed quickly, again chasing it with another healthy gulp of beer.

  He watched Grace take a delicate bite of her pasta and waited for her reaction. Her green eyes grew round and she frantically chewed and swallowed.

  “Water. I need more water.” She pushed back on the chair and jumped to her feet, filling her glass at the faucet and gulping it down while standing at the sink.

  “You okay?”

  “Holy crap. What is that? I didn’t use any spicy ingredients.”

  “Tastes like garlic.”

  “Garlic isn’t spicy.” Grace filled her glass once more and brought it back to the table.

  “I guess it depends how much you use.”

  “It called for three cloves. It looked like a lot but I followed the recipe to a T.”

  “Three cloves isn’t a lot. Are you sure that’s all you put in?”

  Grace picked at her lasagna with her fork. “Yeah. It took forever to peel. After the first one, I Googled faster ways to peel. I learned how to smash each little piece with the side of the knife. The skins come off much easier that way. Some of those cloves have like twenty pieces to them.”

  “Wait.” Brady covered his mouth with his hand and laughed. “You put in three cloves or bulbs?”

  “There had to be about twenty bulbs in each clove. It looked like a lot, but it smelled great.”

  “Oh, honey.” Brady sat back in his chair unable to contain his laughter anymore. He laughed until his eyes watered, or that could have been from the garlic. At this point, he was sweating it out of his pores.

  When he finally calmed his laughter down, he looked up at Grace who was anything but amused. Arms crossed and lips turned down in a scowl, he needed to let her know.

  “My mom grows garlic in her garden.”

  “Of course she does,” Grace pouted. “I don’t see what’s so funny. Does grocery store garlic taste different than Marshall garlic?”

  He got up and went over to the pantry, retrieving a braid of garlic bulbs. “This,” he said, holding out an odd shaped ball, “is a bulb.” He cracked open a bulb and held five cloves in his hand. “Each of these is a clove.”

  Grace’s mouth hung open in shock. Her eyes grew round as saucers, hell, round as a garlic bulb. “Oh. My. God.”

  “No worries about vampires anywhere in the vicinity tonight.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It is.” He snickered.

  “No, it’s not.” Grace leaped from her chair, the force and motion knocking it to the floor, and rushed to the door.

  “Grace.”

  “Shut up.” She shoved her feet into her sneakers, her heels sticking out over the backs, and yanked her coat off the hook.

  “Come on. Let’s finish dinner.”

  “I am finished.”

  He swore he heard a sniff followed by a curse. In a matter of seconds, she yanked the door open and was flying down the porch steps. Brady rolled his shoulders back and followed her outside.

  “Grace. Wait.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  Shit. She was crying. Fumbling with her keys and crying.

  “Grace.” He wormed his way between her and her car and put his fingers under her chin, lifting it until her eyes met his. “I’m sorry. I was only teasing.”

  “I don’t need you or anyone else to tell me what a screw up I am.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did. And you enjoyed it. Just back off.” She pushed at his chest, but he didn’t relent.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I apologize.”

  “Really? Making fun of me for not knowing the difference between a garlic clove and bulb? Warning off vampires? Yeah, have your fun, Brady Marshall. Tell the world Grace Le Blanc couldn’t even follow a stupid lasagna recipe. Tell them she’s a major screw up, just like everyone pred—”

  He cut her off with a searing kiss. It wasn’t gentle like he usually gave on a first date or the first time kissing a woman. He’d never kissed a woman before with the intent of shutting her up.

  Not that this was his intent. He wanted to stop her tears. Stop her self-deprecating rant. Stop her doubt.

  He softened his kiss when he felt her relax under him. Sliding his fingers from her chin to the side of her face, he massaged her scalp, pulling her gently into him. He sipped at her lips, full and plump now from their kiss.

  She loosened her grip on his shirt and skirted her hands up his chest and to his neck. She didn’t choke him, and he took that for a good sign.

  Coaxing her mouth open, he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips until she invited him in. It may have been frigid around them, but in their tight circle, arms around each other and chest to chest, he felt nothing but warmth and satisfaction.

  Her tongue slipped past his lips into his mouth, teasing him. They played until she moaned. Sliding his hands forward, he cupped her cheeks, turning their kiss deeper until she touched something unfathomable.

  “Brady.”

  He opened his eyes and studied her features. Her long lashes feathered out under her eyes, her cheeks red from their passion. She must have felt his gaze on her and opened her eyes.

  The spell broken, Grace released her lips from his and dropped her hands from his neck.

  “I like them there.” He picked them up and put them back up on his shoulders.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Why not?” He’d gone through a dozen reasons why not before dinner. But he couldn’t think of a single one of them now.

  “We’re not... you and me. You don’t even like me.”

  “Oh.” He grinned. “I like you plenty.”

  “I’m not right for you.”

  He didn’t like the seriousness in her eyes, the doubt someone put there.

  “Says who?”

  “I’m not.”

  He didn’t budge, forcing her with his stare to open up.

  “Besides”—a beginning of a smile formed on her lips—“you have terrible garlic breath.”

  He opened his mouth to protest and clamped it down again. Grace giggled and slipped from under his arms and into her car.

  “You had garlic too so you couldn’t smell mine,” he said over the roar of her engine.

  “That’s a myth.” She closed the door on his face with a smile and sped off into the dark.

  Brady stood alone in the driveway and watched until her taillights could no longer be seen. Holding up his hand to his mouth he breathed out and sniffed.

  Shit. His breath stunk.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GRACE LIFTED HER FACE and closed her eyes, sighing into the warm spray from the shower. Her body melted into the water, the steam and warmth wrapping around her body after a mentally exhausting day.

  She’d screwed up big time with last night’s dinner and had been on the defensive, waiting for Brady to make fun of her. To put her down. Insult her ability to do... anything.

  Twenty-four hours later and she could still taste the lingering drudges of garlic.

  And Brady’s kiss. She expected to be shunned, the door slammed in her face, not kissed senseless in his driveway. That kiss got her through nine hours of work. Not that it was work work. Standing on her feet all day, she filled online orders, placed strategic ads on websites, made some targeted Facebook ads, and searched for new recipes.

  In the spring and summer, she’d stay open seven days a week. For now, she decided to make winter hours: closed on Monday and minimal hours on Tuesday and Wednesday. Hopefully, her online sales would keep her financially afloat for a few months.

  She turned so the water could massage her back. She pictured Brady’s strong hands behind her, touching, rubbing away her insecurities. He grew up just down the road from her, she’d known him since birth, and never, ever had she fantasi
zed about him before.

  Granted, he’d never kissed her before. Normally she liked her men tall, dark, and lean. Brady had the tall part down, and even a bit of the dark. Her hands had the luxury of touching his chest, hard from working outside all day. She knew the rest of him had to be just as solid. Maybe rugged was more her style.

  Those gray and green eyes weren’t bland and didn’t look at her with disdain. Instead, they’d darkened, even crinkled around the corners when he smiled. And not to make fun, she now realized.

  Fun. Not a word she’d use in the same sentence with Brady Marshall. His brother, sure. Carter oozed fun. Took all the fun genes in the family leaving his older brother with nothing but seriousness.

  And responsibility. He was the male version of Alexis, which was why they didn’t get along. Or rather, hadn’t gotten along until last night.

  He wasn’t angry with her for screwing up the dinner. Instead, he reacted the way she expected Carter to. Even after dealing with his mother’s cancer, taking care of her physically and emotionally, he didn’t snap at Grace.

  He kissed her. She liked to believe she’d been kissed like that before. With passion and humor, but she couldn’t remember a time. Back in high school, she kissed a lot of boys. There was definite humor involved. She never got too serious with a boy.

  In her twenties, she kissed men who had connections. Men who wanted her for her body. There was no humor there, just passion. Lust.

  With Brady, there’d been a combination of everything. Anger, confusion, lust, humor, even friendship.

  Well, maybe friendship was going too far. They seemed to have stepped off the ledge from strong dislike to... not disliking each other.

  Turning off the water, she shook her hair like a wet dog and stepped out of the shower. She reached for the giant, fluffy lavender towel Lily got her as a housewarming gift and wrapped it around her body. Twice.

  Padding across the hall to her bedroom, she debated on leggings or sweatpants. Glancing at the clock, she opted for sweats. No one was coming by at eight o’clock. Her friends were home with their husbands or out with other friends.

  Mia had called earlier asking if she wanted to join her and Jenna at karaoke in Camden, but she was tired. And she wanted time to herself to process what had happened last night with Brady.

  Finishing off her outfit with her black T with a picture of the Eiffel tower on the front, she finger-combed her hair on her way back to the bathroom. Finding her wide-tooth comb, she ran it through her hair, then twisted it up in a bun and secured it with a clip.

  She glanced in the mirror and froze. Two dots donned her nose.

  “Great,” she mumbled. She found a blackhead remover strip and stuck it across her nose. Good thing she didn’t have any plans for the evening.

  Since dinner consisted of a salad, she decided to make brownies for dessert. From scratch. If they came out well she’d bring them along with tomorrow’s dinner, chicken tetrazzini, to the Marshalls.

  Gathering the ingredients she’d written down, Grace hummed to herself, wishing she had enough money to buy a stereo system. Her phone would do.

  Searching her playlists, she selected the two-thousand dance party mix. Nothing like Cypress Hill and Eminem to get her moving around the kitchen.

  With the wet ingredients mixed and waiting, she started on the dry. One and a half cups flour, leveled with the back of a butter knife—she’d learned that trick from her mother. A knock on her door scared the crap out of her, and she jerked her hand, flour flying everywhere, including all over her front.

  “Seriously?” Some of it landed in the bowl, the rest on the counter, floor, and her shirt and navy sweats. Whoever it was, wasn’t getting any brownies.

  Pushing a loose strand of hair off her face, she marched to the door with a growl and a sigh.

  “Who is it?” she asked as she opened the door.

  “Shouldn’t you wait to see who it is first?”

  Six feet of Brady stood on her doorstep. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to apologize. And to offer a peace offering.” He held up a plastic shopping bag and a Cheshire grin.

  “What is it?”

  “Apple pie. I took it out of the freezer about an hour ago. It might still be cold. We can warm it up in your microwave.” He held up another bag. “And I have vanilla bean ice cream as well.”

  The pie and ice cream were tempting but not nearly as tempting as Brady. Now to figure out what he came to apologize for. If it was for the kiss, she’d crawl in a hole and die. It meant too much to her to be apologized away.

  If it was for insulting her cooking, well, the lasagna was a bit... ripe.

  “Can I come in?”

  “I guess.” Grace stepped back and waved him in.

  “I was worried I’d be interrupting your night.” He stood in the middle of her living room, taking up too much space with his bags and his kind eyes.

  “So why didn’t you call?” Grace crossed her arms.

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t answer.”

  She cocked her head to the side and inadvertently jutted out a hip as well. “So you came by my apartment instead?”

  Damn, that grin. “Harder to turn me away in person. Especially if I have pie.”

  “What if I don’t like apple pie?”

  Brady flinched as if she’d said something ridiculous like buying eggs from a store.

  “Everyone likes apple pie.”

  “I’m sure there are people who don’t.”

  “You’re not one of those people... are you?”

  Grace unfolded her arms and walked past him to the kitchen. She had forgotten about the mess. Brady’s fault.

  Wetting a paper towel, she wiped the countertop then crouched to clean the floor.

  “What’ve you got going on in here?” She heard the freezer open and shut and the rustling of the plastic bag as he removed the pie from it.

  “Brownies.”

  “I love brownies.”

  “I’d have them in the oven by now if I wasn’t interrupted.” She swiped one last time across the floor and stood, tossing the paper towel in the trash. Picking up her cell phone, she turned off the music.

  “I take it you’re still mad at me about last night.” Brady shrugged out of his winter coat and draped it across the back of a chair. “I can leave if you want me to.”

  “Yet you took off your coat.” Ah! Fish hook. Leave his mouth alone.

  “I figure it will be harder for you to kick me out if I already have my coat off.”

  “Pushy much?”

  “Not usually.”

  “All that garlic must have gone to your head.”

  Brady tipped back his head and laughed. “It was strong. Good, but strong. I gave Carter a heaping plate full. He was so hungry he was about ten bites in before he stopped to breathe and actually taste it.”

  “Oh no.” Grace scrunched her nose and bit her bottom lip. “Is he okay?”

  “No worse for the wear.”

  “Good thing he didn’t have a date last night.” Instantly Grace regretted her words. She didn’t want to bring up their kiss. It was a knee-jerk reaction, she was sure. Brady had no interest in her other than as a friend of the family. They had mutual friends and would be running into each other more frequently now that he wasn’t needed on the field twenty-four-seven.

  His mother, however, needed him.

  “How’s your mom doing?”

  The laugh lines around his eyes dissipated, his face growing somber. “Last night was tough for her.”

  “You’ve been up all night?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “At least I’m not in pain. My mother...” he trailed off, sagging into a chair. Brady leaned over, his hands on his knees, his head hanging loosely.

  “Brady?” Grace squatted in front of him and covered his hands with hers. “What can I do to help?”

  She watched as he closed his eyes and swayed from side to side. His breathing was labored, loud and s
low. He looked up into her eyes and stopped moving.

  Grace hadn’t noticed the dark circles under his eyes when he first came in. The charming smile gone, replaced by a vacant stare. His full lips flatlined, his jaw somewhere between tense and relaxed, Brady finally swallowed.

  Movement. That was good. She’d give him time to compose himself. He didn’t seem the type of man who openly talked about his feelings, especially with a near-stranger-not-quite-a-friend like Grace.

  Absently, she squeezed his hands and he came to life, turning his palms up and threading his fingers through hers.

  “You’re doing it.”

  “Doing what?” Her thighs began to shake from squatting.

  “Distracting me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” This time he squeezed. “That’s good. I needed to get out of the house for a bit.”

  “Oh, so the apple pie really isn’t an apology but an excuse?” she teased. It worked. That grin that didn’t happen often enough appeared again.

  “Both. I call it multi-tasking.” Brady drew himself upright, taking Grace’s hands with him. “I’m really good at it.”

  The sparkle in his eyes did funny things to her knees. Or it was the squatting. Either way, she stood and slipped her hands from his.

  “I, on the other hand, am not. You interrupted my brownies. I need to get the dry ingredients measured and mixed.”

  “Can I help?”

  She didn’t trust him—okay, she didn’t trust herself—to work side-by-side with him. “You sit there and look pretty. I’ve got this under control.”

  The cute and loud laugh barked from his solid chest again. “Pretty? I think we have the roles reversed, honey.”

  The compliment, forced or not, it didn’t matter, caused a stirring in her belly. “Can you cook?” She tried not to be distracted by his cuteness as she measured out the flour again, and the sugar, cocoa powder, baking powder, and salt.

  “I can follow a recipe. Sort of. You cook a lot?” He leaned back, draping an arm across the back of the chair.

  “I’m still learning. Like you, I can follow a recipe. It’s just a matter of understanding what it says. Clove. Bulb. Tomato tom-ah-to.”

  “Who says that? Tom-ah-to?”