His Baby Dilemma
Author
Catherine Lanigan
Reads
17.1K
Chapters
27
Must they always be continents apart? Nobody expects Paris fashion designer Grace Railton to settle down in her Indiana town, least of all Mica Barzonni. Fifteen months ago, he turned to her for comfort and compassion following a farming accident that left him permanently injured. Then she returned to France and went silent on him. Until, suddenly, Grace shows up on his doorstep with life-altering news. Mica, a father? He's barely learned to navigate his postaccident life. But this could be his chance to become the man he's always wanted to be — the husband and father Grace and their baby son need. Now Mica just has to convince her to stay.
Prologue
Fifteen months ago
GRUMBLING AT HER travel-weary reflection in her palm-sized mirror, Grace Railton used a cotton swab to clean away the mascara smudges under her eyes. Jet lag. No sleep and a seven-hour time difference between Paris and Indian Lake are not your friends, Grace. She peered into the mirror. Nope. Not by a long shot.
“Next stop—Indian Lake. Indian Lake!” the conductor announced as he trundled down the crowded aisle.
Grace inhaled—for courage or stamina, she didn’t know. Almost there.
“Indian Lake!” the conductor shouted again as he passed Grace’s seat.
Grace reached out to touch his sleeve. “Excuse me, would it be possible to get some help with my bags when we stop? I’ve been traveling for nearly fourteen hours and—”
“Not my job,” he barked back and started to move away.
Grace gripped his sleeve. “Sir. I’m most happy to pay for the service and I—”
“We don’t take tips.” He peered at her, taking in her clothing. “You’re not from around here.”
“I just flew in from Paris.”
“Let me guess. You’re the one with the huge bags blocking the exit?” He glared at her.
Grace wasn’t about to be shut down. “I only need help off the train.”
He continued to glower at her. Hard.
“Thirty dollars?”
“I’ll meet you by the door.” He looked down at her high-heeled boots. “Think you can manage the steps in those things?”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him with a bright smile.
Grace wasn’t sure if the man was angling for more money or if he was criticizing her apparel. Either way, she’d gotten what she wanted out of the bargain. Her bags were overloaded and overweight—and for good reason. She would be staying in Indian Lake for over a month, helping her Aunt Louise at The Louise House ice-cream shop while she recovered from back surgery.
Aunt Louise’s request was one that Grace wouldn’t have dreamed of declining. Louise was the only family Grace had left. Grace’s father, Jim Railton, had died when she was very young and her mother, Amanda, had died the day after Grace’s high-school graduation.
However, Aunt Louise was always a prominent part of Grace’s life and all of Grace’s happy childhood memories featured Aunt Louise’s quirky presence.
Louise had always treated Grace as the daughter she never had, and because Grace had dreamed of a career in fashion design, Louise had insisted that only Parsons, one of the best design schools in the country, was good enough for her talented niece. Grace had already saved nearly half the tuition from her Junior Miss Illinois and Miss Teen Illinois pageant winnings. Since Grace had grown up in fashionable, urban Chicago, the competition for the crown was stiff, but her determination and talents had bloomed early. Louise had generously offered to cover the rest. Once she graduated, Grace had diligently sent Louise a check every month, though she’d never asked to be repaid. Grace was no longer in financial debt to her aunt, but she wasn’t sure she could ever repay the kindness and support Louise had given her over the years. Helping her at the ice-cream shop was merely a drop in the bucket.
The train rumbled past a riot of autumn-bronzed trees and rolling farmland, golden now with harvested corn shocks and soybeans. The land was serene and lush with abundance, and Grace realized she’d never quite felt the same about any other place. Not even the South of France, with its vineyards, cobblestone streets and outdoor cafés, held the allure for her that Indian Lake did.
Odd, it’s taken so long for me to return here.
The last time she’d been in Indian Lake she’d been two months shy of her sixteenth birthday. Her mother had still been alive. Grace had been the first runner-up in the Miss Teen Illinois contest. After winning the crown for Junior Miss Illinois in prior years, Grace was blindsided by her near miss. She’d been certain she would win. Her piano performance was impeccable. The gowns she’d designed and that her mother had helped her make were perfection. She’d delivered answers to the judges’ questions with insight and flawless diction. She should have won. But she hadn’t.
That summer was a turning point in her life. After that summer, Grace had altered her goal of becoming a model and directed her ambition toward fashion design. It had been a summer for growing up. That much was certain.
Grace ran her palm over the lapels of her jacket, making certain they lay flat.
Nervous habit, she groused to herself and dropped her hands. She’d worked hard on the design she was wearing. Her fingers traveled over the wool fabric she’d snagged at a bargain price from Johnstons of Elgin. The cashmere was from Nepal, but Grace believed the Scots knew how to weave it best. As comforting as her black jacket and slim skirt were, she was anxious.
She leaned her head against the hard seat and exhaled. She had to calm down.
“You coming back home?” the man across from her asked.
Grace had been so deep in thought, she’d barely noticed anyone else on the train at all.
“Yes. No. Yes,” she replied, looking at him. Attractive was an understatement. He was tall and trim in his well-tailored black business suit, white cotton shirt and conservative tie. The clothes were not expensive, off the rack. He had a good eye for putting himself together and watching his budget. She liked that.
His blue eyes danced and a wave of thick chestnut hair fell over his forehead.
“Can’t decide, huh? Think you’ll get off when we stop?” He smiled broadly.
He was observant. She had to give him that.
Grace couldn’t hold back her own smile. She was used to men striking up conversations with her in cafés. Trains. Airplanes. She’d worn a rhinestone crown since she was ten, and didn’t give it up until she was fifteen. Sometimes she thought men could still see the glimmer, even though the glamour and floodlights had faded for her long ago.
He leaned forward. Just a bit. Not so much that the gesture cut through her personal space. “Dylan Hawks.” He extended his hand and she took it.
“Hawks? I know that name. Are you related to Isabelle Hawks?” she asked.
“My sister,” he said, lifting his chin proudly. “She’s why I’m home for the weekend. Her bridal shower.”
“How nice.” Grace swallowed hard. She limited thoughts of brides to design projects, never imagining herself in that role. “I’m Grace Railton, by the way.”
“Pleasure.” He smiled and then continued. “It’s a big couples’ thing at our friend’s house. Mrs. Beabots.”
Grace’s spirits lightened. “I know her very well. She was practically my mentor.”
“Mentor?”
“It’s a long story,” Grace replied. After high school, Grace had left for New York and entered Parsons School of Design. While her friends went to parties, she drew, created and studied. When they went to Florida for Spring Break, she wrangled appointments with fashion house assistants and design team members. Over large lattes—which she bought for them—Grace picked their brains and soaked up information. In the summers, she took part-time internships on Seventh Avenue. She hadn’t cared how menial the job; she’d only wanted to learn. Like striving for one of her pageant crowns, she had to be the best.
She’d graduated at the top of her class and landed a summer internship at Tom Ford. Grace knew that the very best designers worked in Paris, and she’d believed that until she had a chance to prove her talent in the biggest and toughest arena in the world, she’d never be happy.
Aunt Louise had told Grace of Mrs. Beabots’s former life in Paris, where she had “done something” at Chanel, though no one in town was certain what, since Mrs. Beabots was as tight-lipped, as Louise put it, as the seal on a coffin. Grace had gotten to know Mrs. Beabots during her visits to Indian Lake in high school. Grace had taken an instant liking to the older woman and they shared an admiration for beautifully made clothes. Mrs. Beabots had eventually suggested Grace sketch the dresses she envisioned and send them to her. Grace did precisely that. Throughout high school and college, Grace had corresponded with Mrs. Beabots, sending drawings and photos of her designs. Grace had pleaded with her her aunt to enlist Mrs. Beabots’s help in making connections in Paris, and by that autumn after her college graduation, Grace was on a plane headed to Paris as an assistant to an assistant at Jean Paul Gaultier. Grace’s penchant for perfectionism had gotten her noticed within weeks and she had been challenging herself ever since. Now she was an independent designer with her own team, hoping they would be “brought on” to a top couture house. Under an iconic umbrella, they would have respect, clout and the freedom to create their own line of clothing and accessories, with Grace’s name and logo stamped on every ensemble. They would have security and respect. Fortunately, up to this point, her designs had sold enough to keep them all afloat. Barely.
No question about it. If not for Mrs. Beabots, Grace would not be anywhere near where she was now.
“So are you here for the party as well? Odd we haven’t met. I would remember you...” Despite racing through his questions, Dylan spoke with a dash of charm that was so light most would miss it. Grace did not.
“What a nice thing to say. Thank you. But no, I’m not invited to the party, though I knew Isabelle years ago.” She paused, her mind floating back to that summer, when all of Sarah Jensen’s friends hung out together. Barbecues. Slumber parties. Pool parties... Grace wrenched her thoughts back to the present. “Actually, I’m helping my Aunt Louise. Perhaps you know her. Louise Railton?”
He snapped his fingers. “The Louise House! An Indian Lake institution.”
Grace flashed him a grin. “I’ll tell her you said so.”
The train slowed as it neared the town. Blazing maple, oak and walnut trees hugged the crystal blue lake like bejeweled arms. White clouds scudded across the sky, the sun dazzling Grace’s eyes.
The train jerked to a stop.
“Indian Lake! Indian Lake!”
Adrenaline raced through Grace’s body as she shot to her feet. “We’re here!”
“So we are,” Dylan replied, putting his iPad in his briefcase. “It was nice meeting you, Grace.”
“I’m sure I’ll see you around town,” she said as she gathered her oversize black fringed purse and two large totes, one of which held her laptop, iPad and sketchbook.
“I’m not here all that often. I live in Lincoln Park and work in downtown Chicago. Prosecuting attorney. In case you wanted to know.”
A blush colored Grace’s face. “I apologize for my manners. My head’s been in another world...”
“I could tell.” His mouth quirked in an impish grin.
Dylan slipped out of his seat and walked away.
Way to go, Grace. Nice guy and you blow him off. When are you going to get a life? A real one? She slung her purse and one of the totes over her shoulder, then bumped her way down the aisle toward the exit.
Carefully, Grace negotiated the narrow metal steps down to the pavement. For the first time on her trip, she questioned the importance of her fashionable, but apparently impractical, boots.
The conductor waited until she disembarked before unloading her overweight bags. One by one, he slammed them against the concrete and then sneered at her. “What’ve you got in there? Rocks?”
“Vitamins.” She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew the cash she’d agreed to pay him.
He touched his hand to the bill of his cap and hopped back up on the train. Grace yanked the long luggage handles out to their full length, hoisted one of the totes higher up on her shoulder and began pulling her load. She felt like a pack mule.
“Grace!” a woman’s voice called.
“Grace! You’re here!” a younger female voice shouted.
Raising her head, Grace saw Aunt Louise coming toward her, bent over a walker. With her was a blonde woman whose sparkling green eyes she’d know anywhere. Grace stood upright and let go of the suitcase handles. “Aunt Louise! And...Maddie? Maddie Strong?”
“Barzonni now.” Maddie beamed.
“Grace! Thank heaven!” Louise’s smile was nearly as bright as the sun. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Grace.” She held out her arms.
Grace couldn’t remember a more wonderful sight. For an instant, she regretted every minute she’d spent apart from her Aunt Louise. Her life in Paris seemed to melt away and all she felt was a rush of affection for her aunt, and nostalgia for this town and the summer long ago with the barbecues, the swimming pool...and Mica.
* * *
“I’VE MADE A lot of changes since you were here, Grace,” Louise said as Grace helped her into the shop.
Grace flipped the cardboard door sign to Open, then stood in the entrance, her eyes stinging with tears. “It’s just an old sign,” she whispered, tracing the crumpled edges of the sign she’d turned over years ago when it had been her job to help Aunt Louise open up and close. Just a sign. A battered, old, faded sign. And suddenly, it meant the world to her because it was part of her life with Aunt Louise.
“Grace?” Louise said.
“Sorry.” Grace sniffed. “I was making sure the lock was open.” She wiped away her tear.
“Sarah and the kids will be here anytime now. It’s Annie’s birthday, so they’ll want some of my newest creations.”
Louise moved her walker over to the chair she’d pulled up to the counter, where the old cash register still sat. It was a monster antique with tabs that would make a muscle-builder’s biceps flex, yet her aunt had refused to give up the old thing.
“I see you’re not computerized yet.” Grace chuckled.
Louise swatted the air with her palm and slapped her thigh as she eased into the chair. “Good heavens, of course I am. In the office. But out here, everyone likes reminders of a bygone era. They come here for this old register. That and the pumpkin-spice and gingerbread-nut ice cream I make every autumn.”
Grace’s heels clacked against the century-old walnut floorboards. She took off her jacket and hung it on a peg next to the wide window with the gold lettering announcing the seasonal offerings.
“I hate to have to thrust you right into work, Grace,” Louise said. “But it couldn’t be helped. Sarah and the kids...”
“Please, don’t apologize, Aunt Louise. I’ll be fine.” She shoved the sleeves of her black sweater to her elbows, revealing at least nine bracelets on each arm. She went to the sink and washed her hands. Under the counter glass was a group of photographs of the sundaes. “Let me study these for a sec.”
“It’s the Monster Mash they love. I serve it in those big round dishes. Six scoops of ice cream slathered in hot fudge with whipped cream piled eight inches high. It feeds four.”
“Thank goodness!” Grace laughed as the front door opened and nearly a dozen children rushed in. Maddie held the door as Sarah Jensen Bosworth walked in behind them. The kids raced to their favorite tables and picked up the menus, challenging each other as to who could eat the most ice cream.
Grace hugged Sarah and as much as she wanted to catch up, the kids were shouting out their orders and Maddie said she had to rush to get Louise to her rehab appointment.
“I’d better get to work,” Grace said.
“You haven’t had a chance to take a breath,” Maddie said. “Not even change or freshen up.” Maddie’s eyes traveled from Grace’s seven strings of pearls, crystals and gold ropes around the banded neckline of the black knit sweater, to her houndstooth wool pencil skirt and fringed black boots. “I wish I knew how to put something together like that.”
“Thanks,” Grace replied, basking in the twinkle of appreciation. “That means a lot to me. A lot.”
Maddie hugged her, then tilted her head toward Annie and Timmy Bosworth and Danny Sullivan, who were waving huge spoons up in the air. “They look like they’re about to revolt.”
“I’m on it.” Grace smiled and went straight to work scooping six kinds of ice cream into Monster Mash dishes.
After serving up over half a dozen massive concoctions, her hands sticky and nearly frozen, she lost track of time. She was halfway into the refrigerated bin, trying to dig out the last of the pumpkin-spice ice cream when she felt the counter reverberate.
“Where’s Louise?” a raw, deep male voice asked.
“She’s at the doctor.” Grace lifted her head and looked into the Mediterranean-blue eyes she’d never forgotten. Mica. Her heart stopped. She was staring, but she couldn’t help it. “Rehab. Her back...”
“I heard,” he said sharply. He peered at her, taking inventory. “You’re new here.”
He didn’t recognize her. She should have figured that one. Why would he remember her? She had changed a lot in twelve years. A whole lot.
With the force of a tsunami, the memory of the pool party at the Barzonni villa hit her. The “gang” had all been there...Sarah Jensen, Maddie Strong and all the Barzonni brothers—football star Gabe, horse-lover Rafe and Nate, who only had eyes for Maddie.
And then there was Mica. The most handsome of all the blue-eyed, black-haired, sun-bronzed boys.
Mica had exuded the kind of perfection Grace had been trying her whole life to achieve. He was strong, quiet and arrestingly handsome.
And after a game of swimming-pool volleyball, Mica had kissed her. She remembered the chlorine smell mixed with suntan lotion, the warmth of his lips on hers. It was a quick kiss. One without passion or longing, and yet, to this day, she’d never forgotten it.
Nor had she forgotten his disdain of her pageant life and his dismissal of her interest in fashion. He hadn’t been cruel, but he’d made it clear he thought her pursuits were worthless.
She hadn’t known how to stand up to him back then. He was three years older and as much as she had wanted to rebuke him, she’d felt there was truth to his arguments. He and his brothers worked from dawn to dusk on the farm. There was always back-breaking work to do and they did it gladly. Mica considered it a privilege to be a part of his father’s legacy.
At Parsons and later in Paris, Grace had learned that Mica was right about one thing: determination and perseverance were everything.
Mica Barzonni had changed her life back then, though he didn’t know that. Several times over the years, she’d thought about writing to thank him. But now she saw how truly inconsequential she’d been in his life. Obviously, he didn’t remember her in the least. He was a Barzonni, after all. He already had everything.
Even now, her heart hammered in her chest. Suddenly she was that teenage girl again, crushing on the boy in the pool. She hadn’t been in love; she’d been too young for love, hadn’t she? Mica had given her no indication that she was anything to him other than a pest. Except for that one kiss. She was only a girl he’d met one summer...a long time ago.
She stared back at him. He wore dusty jeans, a faded plaid shirt, an old wool vest that she would have trashed and scuffed boots with dirt clods clinging to the heels. There was an oil smudge on his forehead. He looked like he’d walked right out of the fields. His hand rested on the counter, where he’d dumped a big canvas sack.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Pie pumpkins for Louise. My mother said she called and needed them ASAP.”
“She didn’t tell me.” Grace added a final scoop to the sundae she’d been working on, but the dish was overloaded and another scoop fell out. She shoveled it back in and patted it down.
“You need some help there?” He smirked.
Grace stared at him. “I’m fine.” She plunged the dipper into the hot fudge and drizzled it over the ice cream. Glancing at the photo of the Monster Mash, she took a can of whipped cream from the under-the-counter refrigerator and pulled off the cap.
“You’re supposed to shake it up first,” Mica said.
“I know what I’m doing,” she snapped. Grace pressed the top and sprayed whipped cream all over the ice cream, the counter and onto Mica’s plaid shirt.
He groaned. “Yeah, right.”
“Sorry,” Grace said sheepishly, handing him a dish towel.
“You should’ve shaken the can,” he growled. “I would have thought Louise would hire someone with skills.”
Under Mica’s judgmental gaze, Grace felt as if she was fifteen again. Back when she’d just lost the crown and had felt terribly insecure. She’d given her heart away to Mica and he hadn’t known the first thing about her feelings. She’d kept silent. Well, not this time.
“If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Now, excuse me, please. I have to deliver this.” Grace carried her vastly imperfect Monster Mash to a table of four boys, who looked askance at the sundae. “I did my best,” she whispered to the kids. She handed them four spoons. “It’ll taste better than it looks.”
“Yeah,” Timmy said and gave her a thumbs-up. The kids dug in with audible glee.
When Grace turned around she noticed that Mica was now leaning against the counter, his hand on his hip as he watched every move she made. No beauty contest judge had ever scrutinized her so intently. She felt as if she still had whipped cream on her face or mascara smudges under her eyes. She should have checked her makeup before the kids arrived, but there hadn’t been time. Self-consciously, she touched her earrings. No. They were still in place.
All she could do was retaliate in kind. She let her gaze fall to his boots. She lifted the edge of her lips in a lopsided effort at a sneer. “You make deliveries here often?”
“I do now.”
“Then the next time you come, wipe your boots before you enter the shop. Saves me from scrubbing the floor.”
He straightened. “I remember you.”
“Oh, really?” Grace went behind the counter and took out another dish.
“You’re Louise’s niece. I didn’t recognize you without the rhinestone crown.”
Grace gripped the sundae dish to prevent herself from bouncing it off his thick skull. “And you’re Mica Barzonni.”
“Yeah. Well, tell Louise she can mail the check...for the pumpkins.”
“I will.”
He started to head for the door.
“Oh, Mica. Why don’t you stop off at the grocery store. Pick up some soap on your way out of town. Looks like you’ve run out.” She tapped her forehead.
He reached up to his forehead, rubbed it, then studied his greasy fingertips. He glared back at her.
Grace ground her jaw, picked up the ice-cream scoop and pitched it from hand to hand defiantly. One word. Try me, and I’ll really let you have it.
He spun on his heel and stomped out of the shop, leaving a clod of mud and grass on the floor.
“Ooooh!” Grace fumed, wishing she felt some relief from having had the last word.
Sarah rushed to her side. “Was that Mica? I wanted to say hi.”
“It was.” Every smug, judgmental inch of him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Grace frowned. “You look surprised. Why?”
“Mica doesn’t come to town much. Especially since the accident.”
“What accident?”
Sarah paused. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“He was in an accident a few months ago that nearly killed him. He was working on his mother’s car and it dropped on him. He’s lost the use of his left arm. He keeps his hand in his jeans pocket so people don’t notice. If he seemed—”
“Arrogant as all get out?” Grace interrupted.
Sarah smiled. “Well, yeah. He’s always had that about him.”
“I would have thought he’d have grown up by now. Learned some manners. Do you remember when he used to call me silly because I was upset about losing Miss Teen Illinois? He didn’t get it. Those pageants were important to me and a huge part of my life back then. I thought I wanted to be a model, but then I realized my real talent was in fashion design. I was heartbroken that I didn’t win for a lot of reasons. That win would have given me a substantial scholarship to college. My mother didn’t have much money but my winnings all went in a back account for my education.”
“Did you ever tell him this?” Sarah countered.
“No...” Grace’s shoulders slumped. “I guess I was pretty harsh earlier. Aunt Louise owes him money for the pumpkins. I think I’ll deliver it in person.”
* * *
AFTER LOUISE RETURNED from rehab, Grace got a signed check from her and asked to borrow her car. Then she drove south to the Barzonni farm. It was one route she didn’t need a GPS to follow.
She rang the bell when she got to the house, but no one answered. She rang it four more times, but there was still no answer.
Remembering that the family often used the kitchen door, she walked around to the back and knocked. Still no answer. She looked down at the check Louise had written.
It was a flimsy excuse for her to be here, but Grace was ashamed of her remarks about Mica’s dirty boots and the grease on his face, and she wanted to apologize. She didn’t know why he rattled her cage the way he did, but he did.
She banged on the door. “Hello? Anybody home?”
“What do you want?” Mica asked, startling her as he came out of the apartment over the garage. He stood on the balcony, his right hand on the railing as he glared at her.
“I, uh, brought the check we owe you.”
“You could have mailed it,” he said, starting down the steps.
He came toward her, and Grace was certain that no male model, no Hollywood star, no European prince, was as drop-dead handsome as Mica Barzonni. His blue eyes seemed to be taking inventory of her every eyelash.
I didn’t even check my makeup before I left Louise’s! This jet lag is going to be the end of me.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the check at him as if it would singe her fingertips.
“Thanks.”
“Mica...” She cleared her throat. “I came out here because I owe you an apology.”
He stared at her, his expression unreadable. “No, you didn’t.”
“What?”
“You came out here because you found out about my acci— My arm. Who told you?”
“Sarah.”
“Good old Sarah. Well, you would have found out sooner or later. Everybody knows.”
“And they shouldn’t? Is it a secret?”
“I guess not. Still...”
“Still...what?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Because, little miss preteen, then I see the pity in their eyes like I see in yours. You feel sorry for me.” He shot the words at her with acidic bite.
Is he serious? “Actually, I don’t feel that way at all. In fact, Mica, I think you’re just as self-centered and arrogant as you were when we were kids.”
“I was never those things.”
“Fine. You are now.” She jammed her hands on her hips. “And another thing. My life has never been silly. Okay? I worked hard for everything I’ve accomplished.”
He took another step toward her, his face dangerously close to hers. “I seriously doubt that. You haven’t got the first clue what it is to work hard. This farm, this land and all it demands, is hard work. I suppose you still tromp around in a pink dress and smile and wink for some judges and you think that’s work? Get real.”
“That was a long time ago. And there was more to it than that.”
“You know what? I don’t have time for this. You live in your world. I’ll live in mine. Got that?”
“Got it,” she roared back.
“I think we’re done here. I’ll give my mother your check. She’ll be thrilled. Probably fly to Tahiti with all this money.”
“You’re a jerk, Mica Barzonni.”
The anger in his eyes died instantly, as if she’d doused the fire. His face softened and she felt he was seeing her for the first time. His eyes were imploring, seeking. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “That was rude of me.”
Surprised at his apology, she stared at him for a long moment. She’d had her shields up and had been ready to wield a sword against him if need be. She held her breath, waiting for the next attack.
“I’m sorry, Grace,” he murmured. “I like your Aunt Louise a lot. She’s a nice lady. And I don’t know anything about you or what you’ve done with your life. Forgive me?”
“I do,” she replied softly, sensing his disappointment in himself.
He moved a step closer. “I don’t want to fight with you. Or anyone.” He touched his left arm. “It embarrasses me that I’m not...well, who I was.”
“Don’t say that. You’re Mica and that’s a good thing. At least I always thought so.”
He massaged his arm, then let his right hand drop.
“It had to be painful. Sarah said the car dropped on you.”
“Funny. A lot of it I don’t remember. But every hour of every day, I’m left with this reminder of my carelessness. It was so stupid,” he said angrily.
She reached for his hand, but didn’t touch him. He jerked away from her.
“See why I don’t like going into the details?”
“It’s upsetting.”
“More than you can imagine,” he replied.
“Then let’s talk about something else,” she said, smiling at him.
“Like what?”
“We have a lot of years to catch up on. I don’t know what happened to you. I mean, not about your accident. I remember you talking about engines and machines and the things you wanted to invent. Did you end up going to Purdue?”
“You remember all that?”
“I remember everything about you.” Her words came out as a whisper.
“I got my engineering degree,” he said, leaning closer.
“Mica, that’s wonderful. I’m proud of you.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I always wanted the best for you. I knew you’d succeed. You were so determined and focused as a teen.”
Confusion wrinkled his brow. “You thought that?”
“I did.” She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “You see, I was paying attention.”
“I’m...I’m surprised.” He raked back a lock of hair. “You surprise me.”
“That’s a good thing, huh?” She felt a warm glow in her chest.
“Yeah,” he said, though he still didn’t smile. He glanced back toward the kitchen door. “Hey, I was just about to raid the fridge for dinner. Everybody went out to Gabe’s house—”
“And you didn’t go?” she interrupted.
“No, I don’t usually...”
“Why not?”
He placed his right hand on his left arm without looking at it. His eyes were focused on her. Grace liked the attention Mica gave her. A lot.
“I wasn’t up to it.” A dark shadow clouded his sky blue eyes.
Understanding cracked like a bolt of lightning across Grace’s mind. “Mica...are you asking me to dinner?”
He blinked as if he remembered where he was. Who he was with. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Great.” She beamed. “I’m starving. I spent the afternoon surrounded by sugar and ice cream and didn’t steal a bite for myself.”
He took two steps back. “This way.”
Inside the kitchen, he went straight to the large refrigerator and began withdrawing plastic covered bowls. “Manicotti. Salad. Mixed fruit. Ooh, and Mom’s herbed Italian bread.”
He spooned pasta onto two plates and put the first one into the microwave.
Once the food was heated, they sat at the kitchen table.
The garlic and basil aroma made Grace’s mouth water. She finished her pasta long before Mica. She looked up. He held his fork midmotion as if he’d forgotten to take a bite in the process of watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“You give hungry a new meaning.” He still didn’t smile, and only gave her that enigmatic, distant look that she’d always assumed to be arrogance.
She grinned, hoping to crack the wall of ice he kept around him. “I’d like to blame the jet lag, but the truth is...I eat like this too often. Definitely not healthy.”
“Why?”
“Because I work for six, maybe eight hours nonstop. I’m so immersed in my designs that I forget to eat. Or sleep.”
“It’s that way for you, too?”
She lowered her fork and wiped her mouth. She kept her eyes on his. “Uh-huh.”
“I thought it was just me. I thought it was depression from the accident.”
“Tell me how it’s been, Mica.”
She’d barely uttered the words and he started talking without taking a breath.
“It’s not the accident—the pain or even this bothersome rehab that’s so hard. It’s like every aspect of my life is withering away. One day I was the hero on the farm, able to fix every piece of equipment. I have more tools in the mechanical shed than they have at Home Depot. Whatever Rafe could do, I could do as well and faster. Once Gabe left, Mom was sure we’d have to cut back on production. But we didn’t. We simply went on.” He snapped his fingers. “Like that. Everything changed. Rafe and Mom want to replace me—”
“You can’t mean that.”
“They do.”
“But you’re Mica. You’re...”
“As insignificant as humanly possible,” he interjected, lowering his gaze.
Grace pushed her chair back and rose slowly. She placed her hands on either side of his face. “Look at me.”
“Grace, you don’t have to say anything. I...thank you for listening.”
“Shut up.”
She kissed him. It was more electric than she’d planned. She didn’t pity Mica. She didn’t think he was looking for a savior. She just wanted to know if what she was feeling right now was more than the vestiges of a teenage crush.
And it was.
If she were smart she’d leave. Walk away from him the way she had all those years ago. Except apparently she’d kept her emotions hidden back then. Even from herself.
She had to face it. She’d always been a fool for Mica.
And she didn’t care about anything except making this moment last.
When she pulled back, Mica gazed into her eyes and gave her a soft smile. “Grace.”
He stood and put his arm around her. She kissed him again, not daring to let him take the lead, afraid he might let his melancholy overcome him.
Though she could sense his strength, she also felt his lost sense of purpose. He was floundering, searching, and she wanted to be the rock in the rushing stream that he held on to.
I’m still in love with him.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “You take my breath away,” he whispered.
“I could say that about you.”
“You mean that?”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“Grace, I think we have a lot of catching up to do. It could take...well, a long time.”
“Mica...”
He pulled her hand to his lips.
“I’m only here for a month. Just to help Aunt Louise.”
“Then what?”
“I’ll go back to Paris.” He moved closer and she could feel his breath on her cheek. His eyes were unwavering, pinning her, and in that moment she felt the power that was Mica Barzonni. His right arm slipped around her waist and he drew her to him.
“I have to go back...”
“We’ll see about that.”
His lips on hers were nirvana. She was whisked away from the earth. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest and thrummed at her temples. The only sound she heard was Mica’s intake of breath and the deep resonating strains of her name coming from his throat. He kissed her as if he would never kiss her again. She nearly believed he was in love with her. For years she’d daydreamed that one day Mica would love her. This excruciatingly lovely kiss was perfect. It was everything she’d dreamed of and more.
He deepened the kiss and breathed her name again. “Grace.”
“Don’t talk. Just kiss me.”
Her skin tingled as their bodies melded into each other.
Through her hand on his nape, she felt strength surging through his spine and the taut muscles in his shoulders. She sank her fingers into his thick hair and held him. She wanted him to know that she didn’t want him to stop. She didn’t want this dream to fade.
At this moment, Grace believed that even she might find a happily-ever-after. That for her, the fairy tale was coming true.
