Rosewood Lane (Cedar Cove #2)(55)
Walking into his office, Cliff reached for a novel, the latest thriller by an author he particularly enjoyed. But even before he went back into the living room and opened the book, he knew it was useless. His mind was on Grace, not the mindless entertainment of a television sit-com, or even the involved plot of a murder mystery.
Christmas week was the last time he’d seen her. Again, it had been at his own instigation. After the trip to the ranch, she’d written him a brief note. Three lines. A simple thank-you, and yet he’d read that card over and over, looking for some secret message, some encouragement.
He waited until just before Christmas, then dropped in at the Cedar Cove Library with a gift. It was nothing creative or terribly expensive. Just a token gift so she’d known he’d been thinking about her. From her brief note, he saw that she’d used a fountain pen. He preferred fountain pens himself. He’d picked up one of his favorite brands, had the store wrap it and then promptly delivered it to her at the library. She’d seemed surprised and grateful but also embarrassed because she didn’t have anything for him.
She couldn’t afford it, he realized. Her ex-husband’s disappearance had obviously created financial difficulties; she’d worked with a budget that included two incomes and now there was only one. Their conversation was brief, the day he saw her at the library, but he could easily read between the lines. This was a difficult Christmas for her, and not only because it was the first since her divorce became final.
Cliff harbored a secret hope that she’d invite him to Christmas dinner, but she was joining her youngest daughter for the holiday. He’d hoped she might call him on New Year’s Eve, perhaps suggest meeting for a drink. But that hadn’t happened, either.
Now Cliff was beginning to doubt himself—and Grace. She might never recover from Dan’s disappearance. Even if they got involved, he feared she’d always be looking over her shoulder for Dan. Perhaps the best thing to do was walk away and forget he’d ever met her.
It should be easy. They’d never kissed. Okay, once on the cheek. They’d held hands a couple of times, but that was about as sensual as it got. Cliff was more man than saint, and whenever they were together the temptation to hold and kiss her, really kiss her, grew more potent.
The phone rang, startling him out of his reverie. He’d never been one for extended telephone conversations. His gruff, unfriendly voice usually turned telemarketers away, which he considered a definite bonus.
“Harding,” he barked.
No one spoke, and Cliff had started to hang up when he heard Grace’s tentative greeting. He jerked the phone back to his ear.
“Grace?”
“Hello, Cliff. I hope you don’t mind me phoning you out of the blue like this.”
“Hello, Grace.” He kept his voice just a little impatient.
“I wanted to thank you for the fountain pen. I really like the way it writes.”
His problem, Cliff decided, was that he was too eager, which was why he’d come up with his wait-and-see strategy, why he hadn’t been in touch since Christmas. If he was a bit more standoffish, she might appreciate him more, seek out his company. Apparently, his plan had worked—although only seconds earlier he was ready to forget the entire relationship. Cool Hand Cliff, that was him.
“When you came by the library, you suggested the two of us might go out for dinner one night.”
“Did I?” he asked casually, although he knew very well that he had.
“Yes.” She sounded pretty certain of herself. “I was thinking I’d take you up on that offer—if you’re still interested.”
He was interested, all right, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend otherwise. “When?”
“I…I don’t know. What’s a good time for you?”
“Let me check my calendar.” He ruffled through the pages of his book, as though he had to consult a full social calendar. “How about tomorrow night? Seven?”
She sighed, clearly relieved. “That would be perfect.”
All day Saturday, Cliff was in a state of nervous anticipaton. Saturday night, Cliff had shaved, showered and dressed by six. He could leave now, but in evening traffic it only took about fifteen minutes to get from his ranch to her house. He’d rather arrive early, though, than hang around at home.
As it was, even after taking his time, he got there a whole half hour ahead of schedule, which he was afraid might give Grace the wrong message. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that she seemed equally nervous.
“I thought we’d drive into Tacoma,” he said. He wanted Grace to feel comfortable, and he wasn’t sure that would be possible if she was constantly worried about who might see the two of them together. “There’s a nice Italian place I’m fond of on the other side of the bride.” The Narrows separated the KitsapPeninsula from Tacoma and the bridge linked the two communities.
“I love Italian food.”
Cliff had called ahead and reserved a corner table. The drive was relaxed, conversation alternating with companionable silence. Their meal took nearly two hours as they lingered first over dinner and wine and then coffee and dessert. Cliff wasn’t eager to leave, but the restaurant was filling up and it didn’t seem right to hold on to the table all night.
Returning to Cedar Cove, they approached the NarrowsBridge. As traffic slowed, Cliff glanced at Grace and saw she’d leaned her head against the back of the seat, her eyes closed.