Saving Grace (16 page)

“Yes.” Grace took his hand, shook it firmly, and let it go.

“Warren Daniver.” The smile in his eyes was warm and genuine.

“The team owner.” Grace nodded. He’d been so abrupt when she’d spoken to him on the phone. Her first impression of him didn’t fit the man in front of her.

“Yes, I’m a huge fan.” He slipped a hand into his left trouser pocket and pulled out a phone. “I’d love a selfie with you.”

Silence rippled through the players. By the look on Devon’s face, Daniver might have asked for angels to come down from heaven and make him a sandwich.

“Sure.” Grace squished up next to him while he held the camera at arm’s length and took the picture.

When she moved away, he put a hand on her arm. “I have a business proposition for you, would you be available some night this week to discuss it over dinner?”

It took a full ten seconds for it to register he was asking her out on a date. She glanced at Chord who was pointing to HW’s kite and laughing. Were she and Chord on the verge of starting something, or did he just want sex?

“I see.” Daniver’s voice cooled by several degrees.

Her eyes flicked to his face, and she noticed his gaze was now on Chord.

“You and Chord are an item.” He sounded mildly disappointed.

“What? No…” Heat settled on her cheeks, and she was sure they were Valentine’s Day red.

A knowing smile touched his lips and then he said under his breath, “Too bad the coach spotted you first.”

“But we’re not—”

“Not yet.” He grinned and showed a lot of perfect white teeth. “That’s okay. I would still like to discuss some business with you. How about tomorrow night? After dinner?”

“Why don’t you come for dinner tomorrow? Six-thirty, good for you?” Grace had no idea what business he could have with her, but she was always up for the opportunity to feed people.

“I’ll be there. Can’t wait.” He winked at her. “I don’t suppose you’d sing something for us?”

Sing? Grace hadn’t more than fiddled with her guitar in a while. Her father’s old Gibson was in her trunk…and she had been working on a song called,
Waiting
before she’d met the kids.

“Why not?” It was both exciting and comforting to perform. She’d missed it. Pulling the keys out of her back pocket, she unlocked the truck and pulled out the guitar. She walked around to the front of her car, stowed the guitar case on the roof, pulled out the guitar, and leaned against the door. She strummed, tuned, and then strummed again. She started with a little Willie Nelson and then moved into some Don Henley to warm up her voice.

When her vocal chords were good and ready, she started on
Waiting
. She let the plaintive chords of the ballad wash over her and felt herself fall into the music. The song was about waiting for love and thinking she’d found it, but learning that it wasn’t the real thing, so now she was back to waiting for love. Chord’s face popped into her mind. In her mind’s eye, she traced his cheekbones and the knife’s edge of his nose. She’d waited for so long for someone to come along who’d spark her interest and now that person was—she glanced over at him—running like a maniac in designer trousers across a parking lot towing a kite. In that moment, she knew for certain that she’d been waiting for him.

As a child, when she’d laid awake at night trying to picture who she’d end up with, it surely hadn’t been a charming football coach with a boyish smile who could care less than he was ruining a perfectly good pair of Gucci loafers as he did his best to get that kite into the air. But now, it made perfect sense. He was crazy-fun in his own way, loved his kids, valued family, and calmed the part of her soul that was restless. She needed to create her own adventure, and he was perfectly happy to let her do it. He was steady and strong and just a little bit south of normal just like her.

She transitioned into the song,
Lovely
.

It should be frightening to realize that she was falling in love with a man who may or may not want only a physical relationship with her, but she just couldn’t work up the emotion. Right now, the thought of loving Chord gave her a strange sort of peace. She waited so long to give her heart away that finally having done it proved that she was capable of finding love.

She was finding her hearts and candy idea of love was incorrect—at least real love. It was about sharing a life with someone, finding that she liked herself when she was with that someone, knowing each other’s weakness and darkest secrets, and still wanting to be together. Love was like being at a cocktail party with a hundred other people, but only wanting to spend time with her lover. Not because she felt obligated, but because even after knowing everything there was to know about him, she still found him the most interesting person in the room.

She started in on
Lifetime
, the fateful song she’d sung on her last episode of
The Voice
. Her gaze fell on Cart who was smiling from ear to ear as he marveled at his kite going higher and higher. Her heart squeezed with a deep maternal love that grew not out of her womb but her soul. HW was having a very serious—if she was interpreting all of the arm waving correctly—conversation with his father. And then there was CoCo who really should be here. The family wasn’t complete without her smart mouth and sweet nature.

She loved all of them. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did. She loved all of them and wanted more than anything to mean something to them. She wanted to be more than their nanny…she wanted something permanent, but it was too soon to label it. For now, it was enough that she knew they were her future.

The next afternoon at five, Chord packed up his laptop bag with the various files and papers he needed to go over tonight, walked over to the light switch, and flipped it off. He was going home to Grace…and the kids.

“Tell Grace I’ll be there at six.” Daniver called from the hallway.

“What?” He stared at Daniver for a good five seconds waiting for an explanation.

“Do you know what she’s making? I thought I’d bring the wine, but I don’t know whether I should pick up a white or a red.” Daniver loosened his tie. “I’m tired of wearing suits. From now on, let’s do khakis and jeans in the office.”

If Daniver had sprouted a third leg and started tripod tap dancing, Chord couldn’t have been more astonished. The man always wore a suit.

“Sure. Works for me.” Chord shrugged.

“So red or white for dinner?” Daniver shrugged out of his coat.

Daniver was coming to dinner? Damn, Chord’s work kept following him home. “I don’t know. Let me text Grace.”

He pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text. In no time at all, his phone buzzed. He read it out loud. “How nice of him. Ask him to bring over that yummy white he told me about yesterday.”

So they’d discussed wine, and she’d invited him to dinner. Was this another fake date? Only now she was fake dating at his dinner table?

“Tell her I’ll bring over two bottles, and we can share the second after dinner.” Daniver looked a little too eager to share things with Grace.

Chord narrowed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek trying to get his temper under control. Wasn’t it enough he gave this man sixty hours a week and a Super Bowl winning football team? Now he wanted Chord’s—well, Grace wasn’t really his anything, other than CFO, but she would be. It was all he could do to keep from beating his chest, growling, and shouting at Warren to step off. But the formidable man was his boss, and he liked his job.

“Sounds great. We’ll see you around six.” Chord thought he’d pulled off polite if not genuine.

“I’ll be there.” Daniver gave a quick nod and walked down the hall.

Not only was Grace feeding the players, but now she was feeding the owner? Who was next…the grounds keeper and his staff? He gritted his teeth.

Every single day there were more men hanging around his Grace. He shook his head. Tonight was going to suck…big time.

He could swear Grace wanted him too—she’d said as much. Surely that counted in his favor. Just because she didn’t see how they could make it work, didn’t mean they couldn’t. There had to be a way. They would figure it out together.

An hour and a half later, Chord sat in his dining room and contemplated killing his boss with a butter knife. Because they had company, Grace had set out his wedding china, and they were eating in the dining room. In his memory, he’d never eaten in the dining room…until now.

He glanced at Daniver who was smiling charmingly across the table at Grace. Chord’s blood pressure shot to stroke levels. Again, he weighed the pros and cons of stabbing his boss in the eye with his butter knife. It would feel pretty damn good, but that whole jail thing would suck. He’d only get to see his kids on visiting days, and Grace would probably leave him. He’d blow through all of his money trying to prove temporary insanity, and his kids would have to move into a low-rent crack-house apartment where the landlord constantly hit on CoCo. She’d probably turn to drugs to escape having a murderer for a father and end up working the streets. His boys would take up stealing cars to pay the rent, and then end up as his cellmates. With the boys in prison, Grace gone, and CoCo out working a corner in East Austin, Clementine would be homeless.

It all came down to the dog.

He glanced at Clementine who alternately begged for food from Grace and glared daggers at Daniver. God help him, he loved that crazy-assed dog.

Instead of plunging his knife in his boss’s eyeball, he hacked off a chunk of butter and slathered it on his dinner roll. Grace had made baked chicken, homemade rolls, green beans, and mashed potatoes for dinner. But it was the dessert that really chapped his hide. She’d make red velvet cake—Chord’s favorite.

He hoped Daniver choked on his red velvet cake. Wishful thinking couldn’t be construed as murder, or at least he didn’t think it could.

Chord shoved in another forkful of chicken and chewed. It smelled delicious but tasted like jealousy. He should be the one flirting with Grace. He looked around. Why wasn’t he? He could flirt…he was a champion at flirting. He opened his mouth to say something flirtatious, but nothing came out. He closed his mouth before macerated chicken fell out. No flirting with his mouth full.

Thirty minutes later, Chord had developed an eye tick and burning desire to see how flammable silk was by lighting Daniver’s suit on fire. The man’s thin tie did resemble a wick. As they were now sitting in the blue living room, as Grace called it, the fireplace matches weren’t far away. He concentrated really hard on the gold box of fireplace matches, but they didn’t fly through the air and land in his hand. Clearly telekinesis wasn’t one of his many gifts.

“What do you think?” Grace and Daniver looked at Chord. What did he think about what? Lighting his boss on fire? Well, he thought it was a fantastic idea.

“Sorry. My mind drifted.” He glanced at the matches again, but they still wouldn’t come to him. He blamed the other ninety-percent of his brain that was lazy. If that other ninety-percent pulled its weight like the ten-percent, he wouldn’t need matches because Daniver would explode. He’d have to hire someone to clean chunks of Daniver out of his couch cushions. He glanced down at the light blue sofa. Hell, he wasn’t that attached to it, he’d just buy a new one.

“What do you think about music therapy?” Grace gazed at him like it was the most important question in the world.

He had no idea what music therapy was, but it sounded good. “I’m in favor of it.”

“Good, then you’ll help us.” Grace nodded and turned back to Daniver.

He’d help them…help them with what?

“I’ll put in the first two million, but I was hoping to donate more than just a music room. I’d like to have music therapists there to work with patients whenever possible.” Daniver gestured with his hands. “Something more—you know interactive. Patients can receive therapy but also have fun too. Maybe even record some songs?”

“Like a music studio—less clinical and more about the music. I like it.” She made notes on a legal pad she’d brought from the kitchen. “Off to the side, we could even do something where they could record a music video. Something nice for them to take home.”

Daniver nodded. “I didn’t think of that. It sounds wonderful. I would have loved to have a fun video of my little sister. She loved music and a music lab would have made her stay in the hospital a little less scary.” His voice faltered and Grace took his hand.

“When did she pass away?” Grace’s voice was more than just kind, Chord could hear the sympathy in it. She knew what it felt like to lose siblings.

“Leah died two days after her ninth birthday. I was fifteen.” Daniver’s eyes misted over, and unashamed he wiped at the tears brimming over. “She had a smile that could light up a room. She always said music gave her hope.”

Grace’s eyebrows went up. “We should call it Project Hope.”

Daniver wiped at his eyes again and nodded. “That’s perfect.”

Grace made more notes. “I bet we could get local musicians to donate time helping with Project Hope.”

“Since we’re making this a real, functioning, state-of-the-art recording studio, why don’t you record your first single there?” Daniver’s eyes might have been red, but they were also sly. True, he might want this music thing to honor his sister, but he also wanted to hear Grace sing.

Chord was willing to put money on the fact that Daniver was the one who’d asked Grace to sing yesterday afternoon. Chord’s brows drew together. Why hadn’t he asked Grace to sing? He liked music and when he’d heard her yesterday—he would remember her amazing voice and the faraway look on her face for the rest of his life. While music had never been his thing, he would make a point to find out more about it so they could discuss it. Now that he thought about it, their relationship has been a little one sided. She knew everything about him, but he didn’t know all that much about her. True, he knew the pertinent information, but as far as what made her tick, he had no idea.

“Record?” Grace looked honestly shocked. “I don’t know.”