Heron's Landing Book 2: All I Ask of You
Author
Iris Morland
Reads
193K
Chapters
22
Chapter 1
When Grace Danvers saw Jaime MartĂnez for the first time since heâd rejected her advances, she almost fell out of a window.
Before her near defenestration, Grace had been having a fairly good day. It was lovely and warm for November, as two days prior it had been in the thirties, while now it was edging into the upper sixties by mid-morning. Grace had forced herself to go to the vineyard, Riverâs Bend, that morning to drop off a cell phone charger for her brother Adam, who was the vineyardâs owner. Riverâs Bend had just hosted its first wedding and was currently working to expand into events after it was hit with three bad years of harvest.
That wedding had also been the place Grace had thrown caution to the wind and had told Jaime about her feelings for him.
She winced thinking about it, standing in the open waiting room at Riverâs Bend. After telling Kerry, the front desk woman and Adamâs assistant, that she was here, Grace waited for her brother to come see her, as she also needed to talk to him about attending family dinner that evening. She could go back to his office to see if he were in, but Adamâs fiancĂŠe Joy McGuire tended to lurk there, and Grace had no intention of barging in on them doingâŚthings. Just recently engaged, the two of them had a tendency to exhibit more PDA than any sister wanted to see.
So Grace waited. She stared out one of the windows. The screens were currently gone, as Adam wanted to replace a number of them after summer had ended. She was glad of his timing, otherwise sheâd be standing in a swarm of mosquitoes. Grace inhaled the fresh air, trying not to dwell on who else was here at Riverâs Bend right this secondâlike Jaime.
Jaime MartĂnez: Riverâs Bend executive chef and the most beautifully striking man in the history of the universe. Well, at least to Grace. When sheâd been eighteen years old, newly arrived Jaime had let her share his umbrella when a summer storm had suddenly moved in, walking with her to her house. It was only after theyâd arrived that sheâd realized heâd gotten soaking wet while sheâd stayed dry under his umbrella. But heâd just grinned and had said goodbye on her front porch, his dark hair plastered to his head as he had gone back out into the storm.
Sheâd loved him ever since.
For five years, sheâd loved him from afar. Until the wedding, when sheâd ruined all of it by asking him to kiss her. Heâd told her that he wasnât the man for her and had walked off. After that, Grace had avoided Jaime as best as she could.
âGrace.â
She froze. She was turned away from the source of the voice, and she wonderedârather wildlyâif she could act like she hadnât heard. But then she heard the person step toward her, and she knew the reckoning had come.
Turning, she looked at Jaime for the first time in a week, and her heart almost burst from her chest. He wore his usual jeans and t-shirt with an apron tied around his waist, although unlike his sous chefs, few stains marred the bright white. His hair had grown overlong, and the ends curled slightly. His eyes, dark and usually full of mischief, were now looking at her with an expression of discomfort that filled her with guilt.
âYour brother wanted me to tell you he was out giving a tour but will be here soon. Or you can give me whatever it is you brought for him.â Jaime sounded normal, except for when heâd said âyour brother.â His voice had grated on the phrase, like it was painful to pronounce.
Grace stepped backward. She couldnât speak; her throat closed. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Jaime stepped toward her, and she stepped back. She didnât even realize she was doing it.
âAre you okay?â he asked, his voice quiet.
She almost laughed. No, my heartâs broken and Iâm an idiot, but whatâs new? She wanted to tell him that seeing him made her want to crawl into a hole and die. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to go back in time and tell that Grace to keep her mouth shut.
She stepped back. Then back again. And then she realized too late that her heel had hit the wall, and she was pitching backward, falling through the open window into some shrubbery below.
But she didnât fall into the shrubbery. Jaime moved with more speed than she thought possible, and then his arm was around her waist, keeping her from tumbling headlong out the window.
He hadnât let her go yetâthat was the first thing she noticed. The second thing she noticed was how warm his arm was around her waist. And the third thing was that he gazed at her with such naked longing that her skin prickled.
Her voice finally returned. She whispered, âIâve wanted to tell you. I just, IâmâŚâ
His gaze roved over her face. She could feel his fist clenching against her back. He opened his mouth to speakâ
âJaime,â Adam asked as he approached them, âwhy exactly are you holding my sister out a window?â
Grace squeaked. Jaime yanked her upward and then let go, so quickly that Grace felt dizzy. Had he almost kissed her? But now he wouldnât even look at her, so was that just some kind of fluke?
Then she realized they hadnât responded to Adamâs question. Her brother stood, his arms crossed, looking at them suspiciously.
âI almost fell out of the window,â Grace blurted. At Adamâs eyebrow raise, she explained, âI wasnât paying attention and tripped. Jaime kept me from falling, thatâs all.â
Jaime stuffed his hands into his pockets. âYep, I didnât want her falling into some prickle bush.â
âUh huh,â Adam said. He kept glancing back and forth between the pair, and Grace could feel a blush climbing up her cheeks. Did he know that sheâd thrown herself at Jaime? Her blush grew brighter. She couldnât look at Jaime. She was sure her guilt was written all over her face.
âWell, Iâm going back to my office. Jaime, could you give me the next weekâs menu whenever you get a chance?â Adam uncrossed his arms, but he still kept watching them.
âSure, Iâll get it to you within the hour.â
If Grace didnât know any better, sheâd say that Jaimeâs voice was forced. If she strained her own eyes, she could make out how stiff his shoulders were and how he looked like heâd rather be anywhere else than in front of his boss and friend, Adam Danvers.
âOkayâŚIâll see you two later. Be careful, Grace.â
As Adam left them alone, Grace let out a soft sigh of relief. She really, really, really didnât want her older brother to know sheâd confessed her feelings to his executive chef.
âI need to get to work.â Jaime didnât even give her a chance to respond before stalking off to the kitchen. Grace watched him, his shoulders still stiff, his hands in his pockets, and all she could think about was how dark his eyes had gotten when sheâd told him how she felt.
Guilt coiled in her gut, along with the desire and the emotions and the love that made Grace Danversâs inner life more interesting than her outward life. Jaime obviously wasnât happy about what had happened between them, and sheâd instigated it.
Grace hated when people were upset with her; her family called her the queen of apologies, even when an apology wasnât necessarily warranted. But she had a feeling she needed to apologize this time because she made things uncomfortable between them. Jaime wouldnât be feeling so awkward if sheâd kept silent.
She followed Jaime into the kitchen, where his sous chef, Eric OâNeill, worked alongside him. A few other younger chefs, including some interns, bustled about the kitchen, chopping carrots and cracking eggs and trying to avoid Jaimeâs wrath if they dared to cut the carrots julienne instead of diced.
Jaime had created a reputation for himself as exacting and rather ruthless, but no one could say that he hadnât also created a restaurant that happened to be a jewel in the middle of nowhere Missouri. When heâd first come on, the restaurant had been little more than a cafĂŠ. Now it was a four-star restaurant with reviews being published in international magazines and blogs, with government officials, celebrities, and other notable figures coming to sample the food.
âEric!â Jaime picked up a plate of chicken with asparagus spears and polenta. âDid you look at this chicken? This is definitely not cooked through.â
Eric, a rather short, bland kind of man in his mid-twenties, made a mulish expression and continued chopping onions. âYeah, I checked it. Itâs done.â
Jaime just stared at him. Then he set the plate on top of Ericâs cutting board with a thump and snatched his knife. He cut into the chicken, revealing a pink center.
Grace winced.
âDoes that look done to you? No? Then do it again, and do it right. Youâre my sous chef, not some kid still in school. I expect you to do better.â Jaime waited for Eric to respond, but his sous chef just made another face and then nodded tightly.
Everyone else in the kitchen was staring, but when Jaime looked up, they all scurried to finish their tasks. Grace almost wanted to pick up a knife and begin chopping, just to avoid Jaimeâs wrath.
Sheâd been around Riverâs Bend and Jaime long enough to know that although he was a perfectionist, he was also fair. Heâd been patient with Eric in the beginning, but that patience was running thin with the constant mistakes and, she had a feeling, pure laziness. But Adam had told Jaime he couldnât fire another sous chef, so heâd stuck it out.
Grace wasnât sure if Eric would make it to the New Year.
Jaime still hadnât noticed Grace, and she watched as he walked back into the pantry. No one else paid attention to herâshe blended in fairly easily and was just known as the bossâs little sisterâso she followed him into the back.
The pantry, brimming with cans and bags of ingredients, was organized and spotlessly clean. Grace had to admire how everything was stacked according to type of ingredient, with nothing in the wrong place. When Jaime had first come to Riverâs Bend, the previous executive chef hadnât cared what the pantry had looked like, and more than once an infestation of cockroaches had resulted.
As Jaime looked for a can of something, Grace cleared her throat. He glanced up, his dark eyes widening.
âGrace.â
Her throat closed up, and her heart was pounding so fast she saw stars. It wasnât helpful that Jaime was so handsome. That dark hair and those dark eyes and the way he picked up a knife and could chop anything within seconds and how he brushed sweat from his brow and how he rolled his râs ever so slightlyânot enough that most people noticed. But Grace noticed.
She noticed everything about him.
She cleared her throat. âI wanted to tell you that Iâm sorry.â Her voice was rather high, like a squeaky mouse, and she blushed at the sound of it. âIâm sorry if I put you in an awkward position.â When he didnât reply, she added, rambling somewhat, âLike if I made you feel uncomfortable, or if I did something you didnât want, because Iâd hate to think I did that at all. I wasnât necessarily thinking as clearly that night as I shouldâve been, although thatâs no excuse, I know that. I justâŚwanted you to know.â
Jaime stared at her, and Grace began fiddling with her braid. It was a compulsive gesture, and if she could pull the elastic out of her braid and redo it, she would, just to give herself something to do. Instead, she pulled on the ends until she knew she was making them more ragged as a result.
Jaime glanced upward, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. âYou donât need to apologize,â he said gruffly. âYou were honest, and thatâs to be commended.â
That wasnât particularly comforting, but at least he wasnât mad, Grace thought.
âBut I did want to tell you,â he continued, âthat I meant what I said: nothing can happen between us.â His darkened gaze met hers, and he said in a voice that made her heart stop, âUs together⌠It would be a disaster. You know that, right?â
Grace almost laughed, because it would be easier than crying. The hilarious thing was that sheâd come here to say the exact same thing: sheâd been wrong to say anything, to put him in this position. But hearing Jaime say out loud that theyâd be a disaster? It pierced her clean through. Sheâd thought, sheâd hopedâŚbut no. She shouldâve known.
Donât be naĂŻve, Grace. Did you really think heâd change his mind?
Her mouth trembled. She tried to smile, but she had a feeling it came off as lopsided. The lip tremble always precipitated tears. Biting her cheek, she pulled herself together long enough to say, âOkay, then weâre on the same page. Weâll act like I didnât say anything.â Her voice caught, and she had to stop talking.
Jaime looked at her, as if he knew she was struggling not to cry. He took a hand out of his pocket. But he didnât reach for her. Instead, he shrugged and said, âI need to get back to work.â
Grace walked home, hands around herself, letting the tears fall freely and telling herself this was the last time sheâd cry over Jaime. She felt stupid, childish, and hurt, and because her mind enjoyed being cruel, she relived how handsome heâd looked in the morning light until she felt bruised inside.
As she approached her parentsâ house and her childhood home, she wiped her face with quick movements and hoped against hope she could get upstairs to her room before anyone noticed. At the very least, she could say it had been colder than she had anticipated and, in a hurry to get home, sheâd gotten rather flushed.
The Danversâ home was a two-story bungalow with a wrap-around porch that had been built in the 1930s. Although theyâd since installed central heat and air, it still tended to get drafty in the winter and sticky in the summers. Graceâs mom Julia had had the shutters painted blue to go along with the taupe paint, and a few petunias still bloomed in pots out front due to the rather warm November weather. Grace heard a few birdcalls in the nearby trees as she stepped inside the house, the hardwood floor creaking underneath her feet.
She hoped her parents were out on the porch out back, but as luck would have it, her mom stepped into the kitchen and saw Grace the second she stepped inside.
âOh good, youâre back,â Julia said, going into the bright kitchen to pour a glass of lemonade. âDid you give Adam the cell phone charger?â
Graceâs shoulders slumped, feeling the charger in her back pocket. âNo, I forgot,â she said, wincing. âSorry about that.â
âYou went all the way out to the vineyard but still forgot? Did you tell him about dinner tonight?â At Graceâs headshake, Julia sighed. âWhat a space cadet you are. Sometimes I worry about you.â She placed the pitcher of lemonade back into the fridge. Dressed in a pale pink blouse with dark trousers, Graceâs mom looked like sheâd stepped out of a J-Crew catalog, even though she didnât work and stayed at home most days. But Julia Danvers never eschewed style, and Grace couldnât remember if sheâd ever seen her mom in something as sloppy as pants with an elastic waist.
Grace sat down at the dining room table. Her head hurt. Her heart hurt. Julia sat down across from her, sipping her lemonade.
âEverything okay?â Julia asked, her voice soft.
Grace was tempted to spill everything to her mom, but how could she admit that sheâd told Jaime how she felt and now he wanted nothing to do with her? Talk about humiliating. So she got up, got a glass of lemonade, and said with a shrug, âIâm just tired. I think Iâm going to take a nap before my shift tonight.â
Julia cupped her glass in her hands, saying nothing.
Grace was about to go upstairs when her mom said, âYouâll tell me, wonât you, if anythingâs wrong?â
Grace wasnât a good liar. So she didnât look at her mom when she replied, âOf course I will.â
Upstairs, she gazed out her window, sipping the tart lemonade. She glanced at her art supplies in the corner, a blank canvas sitting on its easel. After attending the University of Missouri and graduating with a degree in studio art, Grace had returned home, unsure of how to proceed. Sheâd loved painting since she was a young girl and had even won a number of awards for her work. But after graduation, sheâd found herself burnt out and unable to paint a thing. Not to mention, there were few jobs out there for painters.
Suddenly determined to do something, she set her glass on a side table and sat down on the wooden stool in front of her easel, setting up her paints and beginning to mix some colors. She tended to paint abstract paintings, with layers of color and emotions bleeding from the pictures like tears on a page. Swirling the yellow paint, she began lightly creating strokes across the canvas, not even sure what she wanted to paint. She just wanted to see if anything resulted.
Grace layered orange and red and then blue, a blur of colors manifesting on the canvas. It seemed startlingly bright in the dim room, and after a couple of hours had passed, she stood back to examine her work.
It lookedâŚlifeless. Uninspired. It wasnât even a painting of a particular figure or scene: just colors. Smeared, pointless colors. She hated it on sight. Tossing her brush onto a table, she flipped the canvas around so she wouldnât have to look at it. She wondered if her parents would freak out if she started a fire in the fireplace to burn it.
Instead, she got ready for work and made sure to scrub the paint from her fingers until they ached.
