Harbor Street (Cedar Cove #5)(55)

Collapsing into a chair, she hid her face in her hands. Buttercup came to lie on the carpet next to her, gazing up piteously, as if she understood how Grace felt.

All at once, Grace was angry again—only this time it was with Dan, the husband she’d buried. She hated this, hated living alone, hated all the adjustments his death had forced her to accept. Her marriage had never been completely happy, but at least she’d been contented. Over the years she’d learned how to deal with Dan’s mood swings because, underneath it all, she’d recognized that he loved her and their daughters. In that moment she would’ve given anything to have her husband back, anything for her life to return to the way it was before his year-long disappearance…before she found out he was dead.

The doorbell chimed and she glared accusingly at the front door. Cliff. He’d made record time driving into town. Perhaps they should have this out now, face-to-face. It would be over then, and they could both go back to their own lives.

Grateful that she hadn’t given in to the compulsion of tears, she walked to the door and opened it. As she’d suspected, Cliff Harding was standing there.

“Let’s talk,” he said. With a repentant look, he removed his Stetson, holding it in both hands.

“Yes, I think we should,” Grace agreed, stepping aside to let him in.

Cliff surveyed the dining room table, set with china, crystal and candles, and exhaled slowly. “I can see I messed up big-time.”

“Yes, you did,” she said, “but the truth is, I’m just as glad.” She swept into the kitchen.

Cliff was right behind her. “Glad?”

Opening the oven door, she took out the Beef Wellingtons, warming on a cookie sheet, and unceremoniously dumped them in the garbage. Buttercup’s big round eyes followed Grace’s movements, silently pleading with her to consider the dog dish instead.

Cliff squatted down beside the golden retriever. “I think I’m in the doghouse now, girl,” he whispered loudly enough for Grace to hear.

She wasn’t amused.

“Are you going to toss anything else? Because I was just thinking that dinner looks too good to waste.”

Grace planted one hand on her hip. “I’m not going to be cajoled into forgetting this.”

“Come on, Grace,” he argued. “It’s just a dinner. I blew it, but I’m genuinely sorry.”

“Wrong!” she cried. “This wasn’t just a dinner. It was far more than that.” Her throat was clogged with tears, and she paused in an effort to regain control. “Perhaps you should sit down for a minute so I can explain.”

He did as she suggested and chose the sofa. Grace sat in her favorite chair. Buttercup trailed them into the room, but seeming to sense their mood, she paused, then returned to her bed in the kitchen.

Grace knew what had to be said; inhaling, she tried to work out how to begin. Her index cards were no use now.

“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Cliff said again.

She waved aside his apology. “I know. I don’t mean to be flippant but, Cliff, I’m past that. This—forgetting dinner with me, and not for the first time, either—is very indicative of your true feelings.”

He shook his head. “I should’ve written it down on my calendar. I don’t know why I didn’t. I could kick myself.”

“Stop.” She didn’t want to hear it. “I had a lot of expectations for this dinner. But I guess that’s my problem, not yours.”

He frowned. “What kind of expectations?”

“You might find this laughable…. I probably shouldn’t tell you, but I planned to set the stage by serving you the dinner of your life. I was hoping to soften your heart toward me so I could—propose.”

His eyes widened. “Propose…marriage?”

“It’s rather comical, isn’t it? Me cooking for two days, a nervous wreck, seeing to every detail, practicing how to tell the man I love that I’d like to spend the rest of my life with him. I’d hoped you’d feel the same way, and we could set a date for the wedding.” Her voice did crack then, and she struggled for composure.

“Grace,” Cliff whispered, his eyes warm, “I love you, too.”

Afraid of embarrassing herself further, she swiped at the tears that were running down her cheeks. “Don’t worry. I’m—I’m not going to propose.” She pulled the index cards from her apron pocket. “Look, I even made notes in case I got too nervous to speak. Funny, huh?” She didn’t give him time to respond. “There was no need for any of this. No need whatsoever.”

Cliff’s shoulders slumped forward. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” She took a deep breath. “Something occurred to me recently. You and Dan are actually more alike than I thought. He did this, too, you see.”

“Forgot dates?”

“No.” She attempted a smile. “He had a way of letting me know how he felt without saying a word. A counselor once explained that it’s passive-aggressive behavior.”

“I’m not like that,” Cliff insisted, stiffening at the implication.

“You’ve forgotten dinner dates. When we do manage to go out, you fall asleep during movies, and whenever I visit the ranch—generally at your invitation—you’ve got more important things to do than talk to me. Okay, there was a real emergency that one night, but what about the other times? Except for Thanksgiving, you seemed completely indifferent to my being there. Well, I got your message, Cliff, loud and clear. You haven’t forgiven me. And maybe you never will.” She stood then, her heart heavy. “You don’t have the courage to do this, so I’m going to. I didn’t lie when I said I love you, but for your sake as well as mine, it’s over.”