Falling for Grace (6 page)

With one arm thrown over his head and the
other hand holding his copy of the Gracie’s lease, he squinted at
the words while he read over the thing one more time by the dim
light of his bedside lamp.

He couldn’t figure out what she was up to.
Unless it was just as simple as it looked. She didn’t want to rent
to him.

Period.

She’d jacked up the rent.

She’d made it impossible to do any physical
alterations on the shop, including plumbing.

She essentially implicated that Izzie would
have to leave her room pink.

She had required an outlandish deposit plus
the first and last month’s rent up front.

She was nuts if she thought he would go for
this.

Carson dropped the lease and application on
his night table with a flutter, punched his pillow once, then
twice, rolled over, and closed his eyes to try to sleep.

He had no idea what Gracie Hart was up to,
but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it tonight.

Tomorrow. That’s when he’d take care of
it.

Tomorrow he would find out why Ms. Hart did
not want to rent to him.

Eyes still closed, her image danced before
him as he started to drift off to sleep. Thing was, it bugged the
hell out of him this very minute.

There was some reason she
didn’t want him and Izzie around. Well, after this morning, he
supposed he had a pretty good idea why. It was just that he thought
she
liked
Izzie.
She’d smiled at her and didn’t seem too upset about the cookies and
the teapot and she’d even appeared forgiving about the
damages.

Maybe he was reading her all wrong.

Maybe he’d just have to prove to her
tomorrow that things could be different.

* * * *

Every Saturday morning,
like clockwork, they showed up for coffee and gossip. It had been
that way for almost nine years. Constance Greenspoon had shown up
first, coffee cup in hand, early one Saturday morning, wanting to
know if she could sit a spell in Gracie’s cozy corner and read the
morning paper. Gracie had eagerly obliged.
Romantically Yours
had been in
existence for several months at that point in time, and Gracie was
still grieving the move from New York and all that had happened
there. She welcomed the older woman into her shop with open
arms.

Constance, claiming her age as somewhere
beyond sixty, was like a breath of fresh air for Gracie. They’d
quickly become fast friends. And Gracie needed fast friends at that
point in her life. Constance had left that morning with a bottle of
bath salts the younger woman had concocted; the next Saturday
morning she was back with Mary White in tow, coffee cup in her
hand, as well.

Evelyn Walters joined them the next week.
Then Patsy Marcum. The next week Deni Carter.

And on it went.

The names and faces changed from time to
time, year to year, but the camaraderie was still the same. Cait
Conley had twins in September and they hadn’t seen much of her of
since. They’d lost Cassie Fields to cancer two years earlier and
Sylvia Parker was beginning to suffer from Alzheimer’s, but they
weathered the storms just as they celebrated the joys.

It was what they were about. Life. Death.
Living. Dying. And everything that comes in between. Coffee and
gossip and the morning paper. Nothing more, nothing less. Constance
often reported that they were worse than old men sitting around
talking about old women.

And yes, the subject invariably turned to
men, young or old. Short or tall, thin or fat. Straight or gay.
Good-looking or not.

Gracie, the youngest of the bunch, kept
quiet most of the time and listened, taking in the collective
wisdom of the women who had grown to be her friends. There were
times she welcomed their advice and their common sense approach to
life’s trials and tribulations. There were other times she really
didn’t want to hear what they had to say.

Nevertheless, they’d been there for her when
she’d needed a shoulder or two. Or three. Sometimes more.

It was the same most every Saturday morning,
week in, week out. Year in, year out. And there was nothing
different about this particular Saturday morning.

Except for the moment when Carson Price
decided to grace her doorstep. Again.

The bell over the door chimed a warning at
his entrance and Gracie sensed five pair of eyes, in addition to
hers, simultaneously look up and follow Carson as he crossed the
shop’s threshold and determinedly approached the group.

He stopped directly in front of Gracie, both
feet firmly planted into the polished, hardwood floors. She looked
up at him, her coffee cup poised halfway between the saucer and her
mouth, and gulped.

Oh damn. He’s back.

“
I would like to talk to
you, Ms. Hart, if you could spare a moment,” he said to her
then.

Gracie swallowed, looked into those eyes and
held that connection for about three seconds, then slowly lifted
the cup to her lips and took a sip as she glanced lower. She took
her time with the sip and the following swallow, then turned her
gaze back to Carson.

She was extremely proud of the self-control
she exhibited.

Finally, she lowered cup and saucer to the
table. “Of course, Mr. Price.” She rose. “Right this way.”

They’d walked perhaps two steps away, toward
the cash register side of the shop, when Gracie heard the low buzz
and chatter of the women behind her. She glanced back once and the
babble stopped. When she turned to face Carson again, it
resumed.

Women.

“
I’ve come to talk to you
about this lease,” he began.

Gracie glanced at the papers in his hand.
“And?” she replied, looking back into his face. She wondered what
kind of a poker face she possessed. It was hard being dead serious
about the ridiculous lease she’d offered him. No one in town rented
Main Street shops out for that amount of money or required such a
stiff deposit up front.

“
It’s absurd.”

She already knew that.

“
I’d like to discuss the
terms.”

She sort of figured that, too.

“
I’ve done a little
research around town and you’re way out of line on the
rent.”

“
Oh? Is that
right?”

He arched a brow in disbelief and slowly
nodded.

“
Yes. And I’ve taken the
liberty of redoing the lease with my acceptable offer to you. I’d
like you to take a look at it, and if it’s acceptable to you as
well, I’d like to move some things into the apartment this
afternoon.”

Gracie stared at him. Then she chuckled.
“Mr. Price, I think you are attempting to turn the table on me
here.”

He raised the other brow.

She continued, “I think it is customary,
since I am the owner of the building, that I set the rent and the
fees and the restrictions on the property, is it not?”

“
Yes, ma’am, it is,
however—”

“
Then I’m sure you’ll
understand when I tell you that the lease, as originally written,
stands. Nothing more, nothing less. Now, if you’ll excuse
me.”

She turned and started back toward the buzz
growing louder in the rear of the shop. In an instant, she caught
Constance’s eye, noticed the horrified expression on her face, and
the “no” signal she was flashing with her hands.

What in the world?

Carson Price laid a hand on her forearm and
asked her to wait. Turning, she forgot Constance for a second and
looked back into those damned sea-blue eyes.

“
I don’t understand,” he
told her.

Watching his face, Gracie felt a sudden
pang. Like she’d done something morally and ethically wrong and the
guilt was about to consume her. Carson’s face was telling a story
and she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to hear it—but was almost
certain that she was about to.

“
I need this place, Ms.
Hart. Please hear me out. I have no idea why you don’t want to rent
to me, but would you please just talk with me about this for a
minute or two? Would you please just give me that?”

Gracie swallowed hard and searched Carson’s
face a little longer. Then for some reason, she glanced back at the
women behind her. Smiling, Constance then slowly nodded and gave
her a thumb’s up sign. The other four women all nodded in unison
beside of her.

It was a conspiracy. Plain and simple.

“
All right,” she said.
“Let’s talk.”

A commotion erupted behind her then and
Gracie turned once more to see all five women standing, gathering
their coffee cups and newspapers and purses and the like. They were
chatting about this and that, nodding and speaking their brief
farewells as they passed.

Constance, in particular, had a huge grin
plastered all over her face.

Not much later, after the doorbell chiming
their departure silenced, Gracie found herself alone in her shop
with Carson.

Finally, she motioned toward the corner the
women had just left. “Would you like to sit down?”

He faltered a second, then agreed.
“Sure.”

Gracie followed him. He chose a Queen Anne
wingback; she chose the overstuffed armchair opposite him. “Coffee?
Tea?” She motioned toward the table between them.

He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“
Pastry?”

“
No.”

“
Cook—”

“
Ms. Hart, why is it you
don’t want to rent to me?”

“
Why Mr. Price, I’ve never
said—”

“
It’s Izzie, isn’t
it?”

That thought had never entered her mind.
Even though she was sure the child was a handful, Gracie thought
her rather precious. No, the reason she didn’t want to rent to him
had nothing to do with his daughter; it had everything to do with
Carson Price, himself. “No,” she told him.

“
No?”

“
No.”

“
Ah ha! Well then, if not
Izzie, what is it?”

Clearing her throat,
Gracie glanced about the shop. Reason. Suddenly her brain was all
jumbled. What
was
the real reason she didn’t want to rent to him? Let’s see,
there was one, wasn’t there? Otherwise she wouldn’t have jumped up
the rent.

“
Well?”

She looked into his eyes again. Oh damn,
yes. That was it. Those eyes, and the man attached to them.

“
Mr. Price, there is no
reason not to rent to you. I’ve given you my terms. It’s up to you
to accept them or not.” Gracie rose.

So did he.

“
The terms are ridiculous
and unacceptable.”

“
But they are my
terms.”

“
All the more reason for
me to believe that you have some ulterior motive for not wanting to
rent to me. Did you get another offer? Is someone else actually
going to rent from you for this exorbitant price? Because if there
is…”

“
No, Mr. Price. That’s not
it.”

He threw his hands into the air. “Then what
is it?”

Heaving in a thick sigh, Gracie turned away
from him and walked toward her cash register. On the pretense of
organizing her cash drawer, she gave herself a few seconds to
settle her brain and organize her thoughts. She had to give him a
reason; she had a feeling he wouldn’t leave here without one. But
what in the world could she say? I don’t want to rent to you
because you’re too good looking and you make my heart flutter?

Somehow, she didn’t think that would cut
it.

“
Well?”

She looked at him. He looked back, waiting
for her to reply, appearing to study her face. “I’ve decided not to
rent out that side of the building after all. The apartment,
either.” Where that statement came from, she had no clue. It was a
weak reason. She knew it and so did he. Thing was, she couldn’t
back that up for long. She needed to rent out the whole shebang and
soon. There were bills that needed to be paid.

Suddenly, he looked defeated. The hand which
still held the lease dropped to his side and he glanced away. For a
few seconds, she watched his profile as the expression there
appeared to fall away, too. He heaved in a sigh, his chest rising
and then falling, and he exhaled long and slow. Finally, he turned
back to fully face her.

“
All right then. I suppose
I have to accept that. Maybe I can find something else. It was just
that this seemed so...perfect.” His words were spoken with a hush
that caught her totally off guard. There was something in his
voice, some sort of inflection that echoed something more than just
mere disappointment. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger
on. All of a sudden, she felt sort of queasy and upset with
herself.

“
Thanks for your time,” he
said then and turned to leave. “Sorry to interrupt your Saturday
morning.”

He set the papers on her counter and started
for the door. Gracie watched his back as he moved away from her,
his shoulders appearing to slump further with every step he took.
In the next minute, he slowly opened the door and stepped out to
the street.

An awful, empty feeling suddenly landed with
a thud in the hollow place of Gracie’s belly. She didn’t like
it.

* * * *

“
So, we’re not moving to
Franklinville?” Izzie looked up with confused eyes. Carson laid the
storybook he’d been reading to her on his lap and gathered the
child under his arm. Tucking the covers up around the two of them,
he hugged her tight. Darn it. He should have just kept quiet about
his plans until everything was set. The child had gone through
enough transitions in her life, she didn’t need to endure more than
necessary.