Home Sweet Home (A Southern Comfort Novel) (17 page)

“T
he library meeting room is still out of commission.” John, the library director, shook his head sadly into his mocha latte. “And I’m afraid it would be too small for what you have planned.”

“Pembroke’s out,” Marilyn added, placing a definitive check on her notepad. “One of the trustee’s daughters is getting married there that weekend.”

“I don’t suppose she’d want a Jane Austen-themed wedding?” Mary Beth asked.

“What’s more romantic than Jane Austen?” asked Mrs. Wallace. “Just don’t tell me that Will is catering the wedding. We have to have Will.”

“Will is available,” said Marilyn. “And he’ll donate his services if he can claim the first two dances.”

“I’m dying of the romance,” Helen gushed, flopping dramatically in her seat.

“Speaking of dances, did you guys get the YouTube videos I sent out?” asked Giselle, one of the dance teachers at Pembroke.

Everyone nodded, even Henry, who thought the dancing was the worst part of the plan. Nobody believed him for a second. John admitted that he and his wife had been practicing, too. Mrs. Wallace updated them on the costumes—the theater department at Pembroke was donating suits and breeches for the men, and the Willow Springs Community Players had a pile of empire waist dresses they were fixing up for the women.

It was all coming together. The Pembroke Chamber Music Group was going to play, the food was set, the costumes were in progress. The only thing left was to find a venue.

No problem.

“If only we knew someone with an old house,” Mary Beth said with a sigh, dropping her chin into her palm.

“If only,” agreed Mrs. Wallace. “Someone with a nice, old house with a big yard.”

Grace felt the back of her neck prickle.

“Yes,” said Helen. “Someone with a scholarly expertise, like, say, a PhD, who might be able to host and help with finishing touches.”

“Where, oh, where,” said Mrs. Wallace, “can we possibly find such a person?”

All sets of eyes at the big coffee shop table turned to look at Grace.

She thought about the floorboard sticking up in the front hallway, and the fact that things tended to fall without warning.

“I only have one bathroom.” It was the most practical excuse she could come up with.

“So? Both of my bathrooms work,” Mrs. Wallace offered. “People can pee at my house.”

She could do it, probably. She wanted to do it. But she had a lot of students pulling extra credit and had a senior thesis to advise. Plus she was leaving for the conference in a few days, and wouldn’t get back until right before the fundraiser.

But she really wanted to do it. She thought about Jake, and what he’d said about Pembroke people being different from Willow Springs people, and now here were half a dozen of each, crammed around a few pushed-together tables in the Daily Drip, working together to restore the Library Window.

The only person who was vehemently against it was Henry.

“It’s too much for you, Grace,” he said softly to her. He’d been stopping by her office more and more, and she found herself confiding some of her stress to him.

Not the stress about Jake.

Which wasn’t really stress. Just . . . she didn’t know what. It was stressful that she thought it
should
be stressful, but wasn’t. It was easy. She was into him, he was into her, and that was it. The ease was what made her nervous. It had never been this easy. She kept telling herself what she always had in all of her pre-Lou relationships—that she could walk away any time. And she could. She would. At least, she would if she wasn’t sure someone in town would find a way to get them back together.

There was no point in fighting the inevitable. And she did like him. So, for now, they were together.

Also inevitable: she was having a Jane Austen party at her house.

Jake nodded hello to the guys working at his dad’s shop and headed for the office. Don wasn’t there, though, so he wandered around until he found his father and his cousin, Keith, in the yard, leaning over the open hood of a diesel pickup.

“Hey, Dad. Hey, Keith.”

“Hey, Crane Man,” Keith said, shaking Jake’s outstretched hand.

Don smiled at him. “How’s it feel to be the town hero?”

“It would feel better if it would make people forget about the time I ran the football captain’s helmet up the flagpole,” Jake said.

“Small towns have a long memory,” said Keith.

“It was the night before the state championship. Jake here nearly cost them the game.”

“Hey, if he’d quit picking on my math tutor, I wouldn’t have had to do it.”

Don looked at Keith. “See what I mean? Town hero.”

Jake knew his dad was joking, but liked the note of pride he heard in his voice all the same.

“What’s this?” Jake asked, indicating the truck.

“Just bought it,” said Keith.

“Yeah, I don’t think I told you congratulations on getting back into the veterinary business.” Jake gave his cousin a pat on the shoulder. “And congratulations on the baby.”

“Thanks. Mal’s due any minute now.”

Jake remembered when Keith’s first wife was killed by a drunk driver. It tore the whole family up, and he was glad as hell that Keith had found happiness with Mal. He was a good guy; he deserved it.

“Shouldn’t you be getting a station wagon or something?” Jake asked. “I don’t think a baby seat will fit into this thing.”

Keith flushed. Don piped up, “Fixed up a four-door and delivered it last week.”

Jake just smiled. Keith was a quiet guy, and Jake didn’t want to torture him with more attention. So the three men retreated into the engine, decided it was sound, and fiddled around with some more stuff just to make sure.

“So, how’s your professor?” Don asked Jake.

Jake rolled his eyes. “She’s not my professor, Dad. And she’s fine.”

“Jake here has been seeing a Pembroke gal,” Don told Keith.

Jake shrugged. “Nothing major.”

“But you like her?” Keith asked.

“Sure, I like her. You gonna give me love advice now that you’re an expert?” Jake had always looked up to Keith like an older brother, but he didn’t need to hear more of the same she’s-too-good-for-you crap he got from his dad.

Keith raised his hands in defense, and kept his mouth shut. He checked his watch. “Hey, I gotta get back. If I’m gone much longer, Mal’s gonna think I’m stranded by the side of the road.”

“Say hi for me,” said Jake. He gave Keith a one-handed man-hug, and they waved him off.

“She’s a good girl,” Don said.

“The truck?”

Don cuffed him lightly on the back of the head. “No, Mal.”

“Yeah, she’s great.”

“I hear your professor’s pretty great, too.”

“Dad, don’t start—”

“I’m serious! Marilyn loves her. Of course, Marilyn loves everyone. But I heard your professor’s throwing a big Jane Austen party to raise money for that library window.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“You going?” Don asked.

“Hadn’t thought about it. I think we have to dance.”

“I know.” Don bowed and turned with an imaginary partner. “I’m taking Bertie. She got me fitted for this fancy coat and everything.”

Jake couldn’t believe it. His dad didn’t even wear a coat at his own wedding.

“Wow. That will be . . . interesting.”

“You might as well resign yourself to fate, son. If Mary Beth isn’t dragging you, your girlfriend will.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Don looked at him. “Why not?”

Jake shrugged. “It’s complicated, Dad. Well, no, it’s not complicated. That’s the way we want it. Uncomplicated.”

Don shook his head. “You’re a fool.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Anyone can see you got it bad for this girl. What’s this ‘uncomplicated’ nonsense?”

“Weren’t you just telling me that she’s too good for me?” Jake asked.

“No, I told you that you were too different from each other.”

“Great. First Keith, now you. You’re getting laid, so you can give out love advice?”

“Watch your tone, son. I just mean I may have been misguided.”

“So now she’s not too good for me?”

“I’m sure she is, but that doesn’t matter. I was married to your mother for almost twenty years, and I spent the whole time trying to convince her that I wasn’t good enough for her.”

“Dad—”

“No, listen. I’ve been thinking about this,” Don said. “Because of your professor, and because of Bertie. Your mother’s stubborn, and she’s determined to see the good in people. I did my damnedest to get her to see that I was no good. I did things I’m not proud of, son, but she got the message. It took pert near twenty years, but she got it.”

Don wiped his hands on the rag he pulled from his back pocket. He did it carefully, focusing on his fingernails. “I got what I wanted. I got her to see that I was no good for her. Stupidest thing I ever done.”

Jake just stood there, watching his father rub his hands with a dirty rag. He knew Don was a miserable, lonely man, and Jake never understood why he’d treated his mom so badly. Learning that it was a self-fulfilling prophecy wasn’t exactly comforting, but he got it. Didn’t like it, but he got it.

“I’ll never forgive myself for the way I treated your mother when we were married. And not just ’cause it made me lose the love of my life. She didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve it. At least she never thought so. Instead of being the man she knew I could be, I took the coward’s way out. I didn’t trust her, that the version of me she saw was the real me, dirty fingernails and all.”

“Geez, Dad.” Jake didn’t know what to say. He’d never expected such . . . emotional clarity from his father. Bertie must be doing him good.

“The reason I bring this up, son,” Don said, “is because I don’t want you to make the same fool mistake with your professor.”

“Dad, she’s not—”

“I know, I know, she’s not your professor. But I know you, son, and I can see that you want her to be. And I don’t know what’s holding you back, but if it’s because you think she’s too good for you, well, I advise you to leave that up to her to decide.”

“That’s not it, Dad. We’re just . . . different.”

“Because she works with her brain and you work with your hands?”

Jake shrugged. “Yeah, that’s part of it.” The other part, that neither of them did love, seemed like the kind of argument his father was ready to poke holes into.

“Jake, I’ve seen what goes into planning one of those houses of yours. It takes as much brains as it does muscle to get that done.”

Jake blinked. Was that a compliment?

“Dad, it’s just different, okay? Her whole life is . . .” He waved his hands around his head, unable to explain exactly how Grace’s world worked.

“How do you know that? Does she talk to you about it?”

“Yeah, sometimes.” Jake loved to hear her talk about her work. She had great stories about her students, and when she got on to Jane Austen, her eyes lit up and her hands started waving and even though he didn’t always know what she was talking about, he loved to watch her.

“Do you talk to her about your work?”

“Sure.” Since she found out about his business, Grace was bombarding him with questions—probably knew enough to open up her own house-flipping business now. He wasn’t worried about the competition though; she still didn’t have a hammer.

“So you both love what you do, and you share it. Probably talk about a lotta other stuff, too, right?”

Jake saw where his father was going. He wasn’t wrong. He and Grace had never had a shortage of things to talk about. But that was because they were both talkers, not because they had anything in common.

As soon as Jake thought about it, he realized how wrong that sounded. He’d never talked to any woman the way he did with Grace. They stayed up for hours, just talking. Well, not always just talking, but there was an ease to their conversation that he found himself missing when they were apart. He just liked being with her.

“And you have some,” Don waved his hands vaguely, “chemistry. Right?”

“Yeah, Dad, we’ve got chemistry.” Chemistry and electricity and fire. They had it in spades.

“And when you don’t see her, you miss her, right?”

Jake didn’t say anything.

“Sounds like love, son.”

Jake shook his head. “Dad, it’s more complicated than that.” Even if he did love Grace, which . . . well, he was pretty sure he did. But it didn’t matter. Love was off-limits for Grace. He couldn’t betray her like that.

But damn his father for bringing it up. Because saying it out loud gave him hope, and that was one thing he’d promised Grace he wouldn’t do.

“Love is complicated, son. That’s always true. But I bet this Grace of yours is stubborn like you are. And I bet, brainy as she is, she’s convinced herself that you’re all wrong for each other.”

Jake had no idea how Grace felt. Well, she didn’t love him, he remembered overhearing that loud and clear over the holidays. But that was a long time ago. And the look in her eyes, the intensity between them when they had sex . . . they were making love, that was what it was.

“I’m just saying, don’t let some dumb pride get in your way like I did. And don’t let some stupid preconceived notions of Pembroke people prevent you from being happy.”

“When did you become such a love guru, Dad?”

“Eh, don’t listen to me. You’re probably right. She probably is too good for you.” Don clapped him on the back as they walked back to the shop.

She probably was. But it still got Jake thinking.

G
race was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. She’d overslept and couldn’t find anything, and now the cab was outside, waiting to take her to the airport.

It was Jake’s fault, of course. Helen and Mrs. Wallace had moved back home, so Jake had come over last night and they celebrated her roommate-free status on every available surface of the house. He was acting strange, kind of intense, and she was a little relieved that her early flight gave her an excuse to send him home so she could get a good night’s sleep. Which hadn’t worked because she spent the whole night tossing and turning, unable to stop thinking about the look in his eyes as he hovered over her, or the way he held her close and she melted into him. And then, when she finally did get to sleep, she slept so hard that she slept through her alarm.

And now she was tearing up the house, trying to find her cell phone. Fortunately, she’d packed the night before, conference clothes neatly folded in her suitcase to minimize wrinkles, and conference notes and a backup flash drive in her shoulder bag. Everything was by the door, ready to go. Everything except her phone. She threw the door open and gave the cabbie a signal that she was almost ready.

Then she heard a faint twinkling sound. Her phone. She froze, trying to find the source of the sound. She followed it into the living room, then to the couch, where Mr. Bingley was dozing in a sunny spot. A sunny spot on top of her phone.

She shooed him off and then, without looking, picked up the phone.

“You’re going to miss your flight,” Jake drawled in her ear.

“I know! I know. I couldn’t find my phone.”

“Did you find it?”

“Ha ha. Yes, Mr. Bingley was hiding it.”

“He must not want you to go. Smart cat.”

“It’s just for a few days. And then when I get back there’s the Jane Austen dance and then . . .”

“Grace, Grace,” Jake said soothingly. “Deep breaths. Focus on one thing at a time.”

“Right, yes. Focus on the conference.”

“I was going to suggest focus on getting to the airport.”

“Crap, yes.”

“Listen, before you go—”

“Jake, I’m going to be late!”

“Just quickly, I promise. I left some tools over there.”

“What? Where? I didn’t see any.”

“I’m sure I did.”

“Which ones?”

“Grace.”

“I know, I know, I wouldn’t know them if they hit me in the head. Fine. Well, I’m leaving. Do you really need them?”

“I really do. I’m sorry. Can you leave a key under the pot or something?”

“Grr. Yes, fine.” Grace pulled the door closed behind her and locked it. Then she took her front door key off the key ring and placed it under the pot of herbs on the edge of the porch.

“It’s under the basil,” she told him.

“Thanks, babe. Have a good conference.”

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Don’t throw up. Knock ’em dead. You’re a genius, remember?”

Grace smiled. Jake was too charming for his own good.

“Grace?”

“Yeah?”

“Get to the airport.”

“Right! Yes. I’ll, uh—”

“Call me when you get there?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Talk to you later.”

“Okay.”

“Grace.”

“Yes?”

“Airport.”

“Yes! I’m going! ’Bye!” Then, before she could say anything stupid, she hung up the phone and got into the cab.