Written in the Stars (16 page)

“Seriously? On the main road out there?”

“I know a shortcut.”

“Are you suggesting through the woods?”

“Are you afraid, my little city slicker?”

“Yeah, but probably not after I toss back this giant shot of pineapple-­flavored deliciousness.”

Mason laughed and tapped his glass to hers again. “Let's do it.”

Grace tried but could only get through half of the pineapple-­upside-­down-­cake shot before making a face and coughing. “Holy moly,” she said, but when Mason showed her his empty glass, she polished hers off.

“How do you feel?”

“Like maybe I can two-­step,” she said, and of course he immediately held his hands out in invitation. Laughing, Grace gave the quick-­quick, slow-­slow her best effort and actually got the hang of it by the end of the song.

“Want to try for a spin?” Mason asked close her ear.

“Let's not tempt fate,” she said and, holding his hand, followed him off the dance floor.

Friends of Mason's stopped by their table, friendly, but Grace could feel their curiosity, and she was rather amused by it. Her accent seemed to fascinate them, and she found herself nudging Mason beneath the table while trying to keep a straight face. At one point he reached over and held her hand, and although she didn't skip a beat, the gesture went straight to her heart. How could such a simple gesture feel so wonderful?

“Did you know my sister is over there playing pool with Avery Dean?” Grace asked in a casual tone, but when Mason rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand, she thought she might slither right off the barstool.

“No, I didn't realize Sophia was here.”

Grace leaned closer to him. “Yeah, they're going to join us when they're finished. Sophia says she's just friends with him, but I think she might be sweet on him. Do you know Avery?”

“Not real well. He's Danny's age, but from what I know of him, he seems like a pretty nice guy.” Mason nibbled on the inside of his cheek. “Does Sophia know that Avery was engaged not too long ago?”

“Yes.” When Grace nodded, he squeezed her hand.

“Good, as long as she is aware of that fact. I wouldn't want her to get hurt.”

“Me neither,” Grace said, but she was touched by the fact that Mason was looking out for her sister. She remembered that Garret had said that Mattie's brothers were super protective of her, and it only reiterated what she already knew. The Mayfields were good people. Grace smiled, but fear sneaked back inside her brain.

“Don't,” Mason said.

“What?” Grace asked innocently, but she knew he was seeing right though her.

“Don't think. Don't worry. Just feel, Gracie. The rest will take care of itself.”

Grace nodded, but felt emotion well up in her throat. What was up with the whole tearing-­up thing anyway? She cleared her throat and took the last tiny sip of her giant shot.

“Want another one?”

“Yeah, but you will have to give me a piggyback ride home. And I don't think I will manage to walk the dock without incident. I have a hard enough time sober.”

“I don't mind,” Mason said, and the lovely thing was that Grace knew he meant it. “Or I could get Danny to come and give us a lift. He owes me quite a few.”

“Okay, let's throw caution to the wind and do one more.” She held up her index finger. “One. I am quite annoying when I get pissed.”

“Angry?”

“Oh, British slang for
drunk
. My voice gets an octave higher. Sophia calls it my drunken voice and it's really super annoying. I can't control it either. You might toss me into the river.”

Mason laughed. “Never.”

“You say that now...”

He laughed again, and Grace loved the sound of it. “You keep thinking that I'm going to change my mind about a lot of things, but I'm not.”

“We'll see about that.”

“Yeah, we'll see,” he said confidently. When she'd first met Mason, he seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. And right now he seemed so at ease. She liked to think she was partly responsible for his good mood. Of course, his good humor might change just a bit when he saw the witch-­themed decorations she'd ordered for the taproom. Cauldrons used as beer pitchers were going to be so brilliant, but she somehow didn't think Mason would agree. But maybe he'd finally concentrate on the brewing end and leave the rest up to her. “Another one, then?”

“Oh, why the hell not?” She'd worry about business tomorrow. Tonight was all about cutting loose and having fun.

“I'll be right back with your drink. Look at the menu and pick out something to eat. The wings are good here, just so you know.”

“Oh, I love buffalo wings,” she said. “The hotter the better.”

“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” he said, and then turned away.

Grace watched him weave his way through the crowd, thinking that she wasn't after his heart. She hadn't come here to find love at all, but wasn't that the way life worked? Love when you least expected it?

With a sigh, she opened the menu and was trying to decide between wings sauces when her phone pinged. Grace swiped her finger across the screen and looked down to see a selfie of her mum holding Lily. Her mother looked radiant and happy. While Grace knew that the big smile stemmed from the joy of holding her granddaughter, there was something relaxed in her mother's expression that Grace hadn't seen in a while. Maybe never. Grace laughed at the next picture, with Garret photobombing behind the rocking chair.

Being near her family felt wonderful in ways that Grace had forgotten and had dearly missed. She knew that Sophia had gotten the pictures as well and looked across the room to see her sister tipping her head back with laughter. Leaning on his pool stick, Avery leaned close and gazed down at Sophia's phone. Smiling, Avery looped his arm over Sophia's shoulder and squeezed. The gesture was brief, and Sophia gave him a shy smile, but her sister's gaze lingered on Avery when he bent over and took his shot. Grace felt a flash of worry for Sophia. Falling for someone on the rebound was never a good idea. She was glad that they were getting together to shop so they could talk.

When Mason returned to the table with the drinks, Grace showed him the pictures.

“Oh, that's so awesome. Your mother must be over the moon, just like mine.”

“She's having a ball,” Grace said. She almost added that she didn't know how her mother was ever going to leave Cricket Creek, but she pointed to the menu instead. “Hot wings and extra ranch and celery sticks. Sound good?”

“Perfect, and I'm not talking about the wings.”

“Oh, it's the extra ranch that put you over the top,” Grace said calmly, even though her heart kicked it up a notch.

Mason tapped his glass to hers. “How'd you know?”

“Good guess, I suppose.”

“Good, I plan on keeping you guessing.”

Grace wasn't quite sure what to make of that, but before she could ask, he pulled her up from her seat. “What are you doing?”

“Claiming my slow dance.”

“But what about the wings?”

“The wings can wait.”

“You're quite the bossy pants tonight,” Grace said, but was secretly glad to be back in his arms. They swayed to a country song and Mason sang the love song in her ear. “You have a nice voice,” she said.

“Hey, I can sing, I can dance, and I brew kick-­ass beer. What more could you ask for?”

“Knitting. I love a man who knits,” Grace said in the most serious tone she could muster.

“I'll have to work on that one,” Mason said without skipping a beat. “But I will learn how.”

Grace had to laugh, but in truth she somehow believed him.

Against All Odds

B
ECCA READ THROUGH
THE
SHEPHERD
'
S
PIE
RECIPE
SHE
'
D
pulled up on her tablet again and let out a long sigh. “Oh, there are so many steps and so many ways for it to go all wrong.” She shook her head. “Why did I say I'd cook dinner when I haven't prepared a meal in a hundred years?” Of course she knew why. Cooking was the last thing Jimmy Topmiller had expected her to offer to do. She'd experienced instant regret after the invitation, but now she was stuck with the task, and he was due to arrive in less than two hours. Maybe she should do the classic thing and head up to Wine and Diner for takeaway. She'd put the meal in her own dish and he would be none the wiser, right?

With a groan she eyed the red wine she'd purchased to put in the gravy and decided that she needed a glass before tackling the task. There was a time when she enjoyed preparing a meal. Her mum had been a great cook, nothing fancy, but good stick-­to-­your-­ribs classic English recipes like bangers and mash, toad in the hole, and steak-­and-­ale pies. Oh, and her mum's sponge cakes were to die for but something Becca had never mastered. She'd tried, but always ended up with a sheet cake as dry as cardboard that ended up in the bin.

“Brown the ground beef. Easy enough.” When she'd first married Rick, she'd been a decent cook, full of newlywed trial and error. But Jimmy wasn't her husband and she just knew he was banking on her failure. Ha, well, she'd show him, all right. She got out the cutting board and eyed the onion. She hoped so, anyway.

Becca took a healthy sip of the wine and smacked her lips together. “Well, Jimmy, odds are in your favor, but I've beaten the odds quite a few times in my life.” With a quick nod, she dusted her hands together. “Let's give this thing a go.” After putting Pandora on the British Invasion station, she went to work.

Two hours later the kitchen was a complete disaster and she had a bit of a wine buzz going, but the shepherd's pie was in the oven. “Ha, success, Jimmy Topmiller,” she said, humming along with “Hard Day's Night.” Well, she hoped so anyway. The true test would be when it came out of the oven all nice and bubbly around the edges. “And I've been workin' like a dog,” she sang, and then tilted her head to the side. “Oh, hey, was that a knock at the door?” She tucked a lock of hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear and sang, “I hear you knocking...,” but then trailed off. “Wait a minute.”

Frowning, Becca looked over at the digital clock on the microwave and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh no!” she squeaked, knowing that it must be Jimmy knocking on her door. She glanced down at her ancient
Abbey Road
T-­shirt, slouchy boyfriend jeans, and bare feet and put her hand to her chest. Her hair, which had the nerve to get rather curly after menopause for some defiant reason, was escaping the messy bun piled on top of her head. At least she had on some basic makeup, but only because she'd had to run out to the grocery store earlier for the ingredients for dinner. “Bollocks!” she grumbled, but there wasn't time to rush into the bedroom and change into the much sexier slacks and silk blouse that after intense deliberation she had laid out to wear. “Dammit!”

Another knock, impatient this time, had her trying to smooth her hair, without any luck. Inhaling deeply, she reached into her purse and did manage to find her tube of lipstick and apply a hasty swipe to her lips before heading through the great room to the front door. She swung it open and was rewarded with a look of surprise on Jimmy Topmiller's face, making her embarrassment about her casual attire almost worth it.

“Did...did I get the day wrong?” Jimmy asked, and had the nerve to look handsome in pressed navy slacks and a light blue button-­down oxford shirt that made his Paul Newman eyes appear even bluer. His salt-­and-­pepper hair looked freshly trimmed, and he sported just a hint of sexy stubble that had Becca wondering what it would feel like to run her hand over his cheek. He had something in a white bakery box balanced in one hand and a bottle of wine clutched in the other.

“Yes, but I, um, do believe you're early,” she fibbed, but with a lift of her chin, she stepped back for him to enter.

“I thought you said six thirty in your text message.”

“Sevenish, if I remember correctly.” She did remember correctly and she'd said six thirty.

“Do you want me to come back later?”

Becca waved a hand as if being disheveled while he looked so amazing didn't bother her in the least. “Oh, don't be silly,” she said, and took the wine from him.

“I'm never silly,” he said, and followed her through the great room and into the kitchen. “Dear God, it looks like a bomb went off in here.”

“The sign of a good cook,” Becca boasted, while searching for the corkscrew.

“If you say so,” he said, with a touch of humor in his tone. He moved a mound of potato peelings out of the way and placed the bakery box on the kitchen counter. “So, what's on the menu?”

“Shepherd's pie. Do you like it?”

“I've never had it, but I have to admit that it smells good.”

“You sound surprised.” Becca gave him an arch of her eyebrow as she uncorked the wine.

“Maybe because I am surprised.”

“And why is that?” she asked, even though she already suspected the answer.

“I wouldn't have pegged you for a woman who cooked her own meals.”

Becca turned around and leaned against the counter. “To be perfectly honest, I haven't prepared dinner in a long time. I thought about cheating and getting takeaway from Wine and Diner.”

“Takeaway? Oh, you mean carryout.” He grinned as if he found her choice of words funny. “So why didn't you?”

Becca shrugged. “Cheating isn't in my nature.” She nibbled on the inside of her lip, and then added, “And I wanted to throw you off balance. Impress you, maybe? Try to figure out why you dislike me so much.”

His face registered surprise. “I don't dislike you.”

“But you want to.” When Jimmy didn't answer, but looked at her with those baby blues, Becca felt a pull of attraction that she wanted to shake but couldn't. “So how's that working out for you?”

“Not all that well.” He gave her a crooked grin, and damn if she wasn't the one feeling off balance. “Let's just say you're full of surprises.”

“And do you like surprises?”

“Not usually,” Jimmy said, and his gaze seemed to linger on her mouth. “For a former fashion model, you seem to be either overdressed or underdressed. But I have to say that finding you dressed in jeans and a T-­shirt is a surprise that I like.”

“So you can poke fun? You have to know that this wasn't what I intended to wear.”

“No, and I find what you're wearing sexy as hell.” He looked down at her bare feet with painted red toes. “Better than those impossible high heels.”

“Are you flirting with me, Jimmy?” Becca asked lightly, but her heart beat a little faster.

“Just speaking the truth. Of course, I'm sure you know that you would look good wearing a paper sack.”

“Why does your flattery sound more like an insult?”

“Surely you know how beautiful you are, Becca. You were a model and had a poster that sold millions of copies.”

Becca shrugged. “My looks have opened some doors and closed others. The poster was a blessing at the time when I needed the money, but somewhat of a curse too.”

“I guess I can understand why.”

“Yes, no one takes a pinup model seriously.”

“That's not fair,” he said hotly, surprising her.

“Really? You have your own assumptions about me, though, don't you?” A look crossed his face that she couldn't quite read, but she knew she was right. “Dumb blonde? Spoiled? Vain? Shall I go on?”

“No.”

But she did carry on, like a steamroller out of control. “I came from humble beginnings, I'll have you know. Working-­class London. And my success was hard-­earned. So whatever you think you know about me, you probably don't,” she said tightly. “If you think I'm some rich, spoiled bitch living a pampered life, you are all kinds of wrong.” She lifted her chin. “Now, can I offer you a glass of merlot, or would you prefer something else?” God, she was blazing with anger and wanted to give him a hard shove. She wasn't one to lose her cool, but Jimmy seemed to be able to rile her up in no time. Oddly, she kind of liked it. “Well?”

“Something else.” Without warning, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. And it wasn't some tame peck on the mouth. Oh no, Jimmy Topmiller meant business. This was a kiss full of pent-­up passion and chock-­full of heat. And as much as Becca wished she could push at his chest and give him a good slap, instead she wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers in his hair, and kissed him right back.

Becca's anger dissolved like sugar in hot tea, and she melted against him. It had been such a long time since she'd been held in a man's arms, kissed so deeply. The pilot light that had been extinguished came back to life, and damn, it felt bloody good...so good that she wanted to shove the place settings from the table and make wild and crazy love to him right then and there.

Thankfully, an alarm buzzed in the back of her brain, bringing her to her befuddled senses, and she unwrapped herself from around Jimmy.

Oh wait, the alarm was actually the oven timer.
Saved by the bell
went through her brain, and she laughed.

“So you find my kiss amusing? Am I that out of practice?”

“No, I find your kisses to be quite delicious. I thought the interruption from the buzzer was quite funny, because in another moment I was going to have my way with you on the dining room table.” She walked over and turned the timer off and then opened the oven door and checked on the shepherd's pie. “Not quite ready,” she said, and gave it a bit more time on the clock.

“So you think I'm that easy, do you?” He tilted his head at her as if trying to decide whether she was serious or not.

Good. Let him wonder,
Becca thought. “Would you like that glass of wine now?”

“What, I don't get another choice this time?”

“I'm afraid not,” she said with a slight smile.

“Then, yes, I'll have a glass of wine, unless you have some bourbon. After what you just said, I need something strong sliding down my throat.”

“I believe I saw a bottle of bourbon in the cabinet.” She brushed by him closely, hoping he might pull her against him again, but he didn't. “Knob Creek.” She turned around held up the bottle. “Will this do?”

“Perfectly. Two fingers over ice, please.”

“Coming right up.” She poured the drink and pressed it into his outstretched hand. “Would you like to have our cocktails out on the back deck? It's a lovely evening. We could dine alfresco if you like.”

“I'm not sure what that means, but I'm hoping for naked.”

Becca tossed her head back and laughed. “No, so sorry.” She picked up her wineglass and raised it in salute. “But rather tempting.”

Jimmy took a sip of his bourbon and then glanced over at the dining room table. “It's going to be a long time before I get that image out of my brain.” He gave her a look that melted her panties. “In fact, it might remain there permanently.”

“You're making it really hard to stay mad at you.”

“And you're making it really hard to dislike you.”

Becca laughed. “Well, I suppose it's a start.” She waved her hand toward the sliding glass doors. “Shall we?”

“After you.”

Becca felt his eyes upon her and hoped that her butt looked cute in the jeans. She almost laughed at her silliness, but she liked the giddy feeling of being attracted to a man. And even though she wanted to box his ears, she couldn't deny that she found Jimmy incredibly sexy. They sat down in side-­by-­side cushioned patio chairs facing the view of the lake. “It's gorgeous out tonight.”

“I have to agree.”

“Another step in the right direction, I'd say.”

He turned his attention from the lake to her. “What's that?”

“Agreeing with me. I do believe it's a first.”

Jimmy shook his glass, making the ice clink, and then took a sip. “You might find this hard to believe, but I'm actually pretty easygoing, Becca.”

“Then why have you given me such a hard time?” She tilted her head and waited for his answer.

Jimmy looked down at his bourbon for a moment, and then gazed back out over the lake. “I shouldn't have and I'm sorry.”

“Apology accepted, but you didn't answer my question.” She reached over and touched his hand, just a light touch, but she felt an instant reaction.

“I think that's a story left for another time,” he said quietly. “Let's just enjoy the evening.”

Becca squeezed his hand. She wanted to know what he meant, but didn't press. “When you're ready, then. Assuming you will want to see me again after you taste my attempt at preparing dinner.”

“Oh, trust me—­I want to see you again, and it will have nothing to do with your cooking skills.”

“You're getting better in the compliments category.”

“Again, just being honest.” He looked at her for a lingering moment.

“Honesty is a good thing, I'd say.”

“I'd say you're right.” He smiled. “Here we go agreeing again. How long do you think it will last?”

“As long as you keep looking at me like that.”

“Then a pretty long time.”

Becca wasn't sure how to respond, and so she looked out over the water. She'd had dates here and there over the last couple of years, but mostly for events, mainly to have someone with her. She hadn't had a casual yet almost intimate evening entertaining a man in her home in a very long time. And she had to admit that she was enjoying herself immensely.