Frosted (9 page)

“Fine. But in the dining room. And please don’t…I mean…,” she blew out a breath of exasperation. “Don’t expect too much, Stew. We’re very old friends.”

“And very, very good friends, which, I feel, makes us perfect for each other,” he said, then quickly followed up with. “No more, no more. I’ll save the rest of my speech for tonight. See you at six?”

“Six,” she answered weakly, and replaced the phone to its cradle.

That was a couple of hours ago, and Grace was still sitting in the same spot. Her pot of tea—sent up courtesy of the hotel in a proper silver service—had cooled, and her brain was throbbing as badly as her ankle.

On one hand, she heard Tray’s words in her head:

The woman from last night? She was incredible. I’m positive I met the real you last night, and I’m certain she was the woman who fell asleep in my arms. She was someone I wanted to know, someone I would’ve tried to hold to…
I wouldn’t have just let her walk away, because I’m not a man who watches someone he wants turn her back and walk away without a fight.

On the other, she heard Stew’s:

And very, very good friends, which, I feel, makes us perfect for each other.

Tray’s words felt exciting, fierce and passionate, but dangerous and costly.

Stewart’s felt sensible, logical and prudent, but too safe, too boring, too much of what she’d already known, and not enough of what she wanted.

What she…wanted.

Who do you want to be, Grace?

Was it possible, she wondered, that the answer she was seeking had nothing to do with Harold, Tray or Stewart, but solely and completely with her?

Pushing herself upright, she stood up on her right leg and hobbled to the sliding glass door, cracking it open and taking a long, deep breath of cold mountain air.

Perhaps there had been a fault in her logic.

Instead of thinking about who she was and what she wanted, she’d only thought of her life in terms of the men in it. And what she realized, standing with her foot dangling and the blank white slate of a pristine snow-covered mountain lake staring back at her, was that she hadn’t actually thought of her life in terms of…well,
her
.

“Harold’s dead,” she said softly. “You’re not Mrs. Harold Edwin Luff III anymore.”

Whether it was the January cold stinging her eyes, or the fact that in that moment, she finally accepted her husband’s death, she wasn’t sure, but her eyes watered and burned. After three years, and various stages of grieving, she finally felt it—like glitter being blown away and frosting the landscape before her. Harold would always be with her, but he was also gone.

“You’re a grown woman,” she continued. “You’re not little Grace Holden anymore either.”

The coltish, awkward, angular girl she’d been as a bride at twenty-two was long gone, no matter how poignantly she’d always live on in Grace’s psyche. Somewhere along the way, she’d accepted who she was—her athletic body and small breasts. She wasn’t scared or ashamed to sleep beside Tray last night. She wasn’t an innocent eighteen-year-old who couldn’t ask for a kiss. She was a woman who’d shared a man’s bed and borne his children. And last night, she’d finally discovered the fierce hunger of passion and known the promise of its requitement.

“Grace Luff,” she whispered to the winter wind, marveling at the simplicity of it. “That’s who you are. Grace Luff. Luff means love. You deserve grace, and you deserve love.”

She was no longer the woman who Stewart had known for over twenty years. She didn’t want to chair any more hospital fundraisers or wear pantyhose and wrap dresses to Singles Mixers. She wanted to do more snow shoeing and cross country skiing. She wanted to canoe and swim all summer long, far away from the starched stuffiness of her life in New York. She wanted reading by the fire accompanied by lively discussion, not the polite silence of her needlepoint group. She didn’t want lavish parties with unidentifiable hors deouvres, she wanted honest, simple food and a grateful mouth to eat it. She wanted someone she could talk to and laugh with for hours, someone who ordered her around a little and wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her money.

“Oh, my,” she murmured, bringing her hands to her heart and resting them over her thick, warm wool sweater, one over the over, against her chest.

She didn’t want to change for
Tray
. She wanted to change for
herself
. But she knew, beyond any shadow of doubt, the person she wanted to
be
, was someone who would take a chance on
him
.

Grace Holden wouldn’t have dreamed a man like Tray Bradshaw could ever look at her with hunger, and Mrs. Harold Edwin Luff III wouldn’t have allowed it.

But Grace Luff? The woman she
wanted
to be? The woman she would
become
?

That woman would be grateful for every moment with him. That woman would recognize Tracy’s passion for Hepburn in every one of his heated glances. That woman would realize that true chemistry, true heat, true love might only arrive once in a person’s life, and yes, it might arrive in the autumn, not the spring. That woman would find the courage to be herself, and not to let something potentially wonderful slip through her fingers.

She wiped away her tears and sniffled, an easy smile spreading across her face as she felt like she was meeting herself for the first time in decades. And in that sparkling white, blank slate, bright, shiny, new, frosted moment, Grace Luff knew that she was finally—
finally
—coming into focus.

Two weeks later

Since saying good-bye to Grace two weeks ago, Tray hadn’t been able to get her out of his head.

Half a dozen times, he’d opened her guest file on the resort computer and looked at her information: her full name (which was Luff, not Holden) and home address, her phone number and e-mail, that she wanted a room on a high floor with a good view and preferred down pillows to foam. That small detail had haunted him for days, and he’d found himself at Target, adding down pillows to his regular purchases of dish soap and softener sheets. Trying them for the first time in his life, he decided he mostly liked them, or at least, he could get used to them.

He’d thought back on their twenty-four hours together over and over again—her clipped coolness when she’d rented the skis, and the relief on her face when he’d rescued her. How light she’d felt in his arms as he carried her, and how she smelled of rose water and fresh air. He grinned as he remembered the way her eyes would flash when he bossed her around, the way she stuck her nose up when she thought he was patronizing her. He’d grimace as he remembered her distrust, the way she perceived that men were just after her for her money, but his face softened when he remembered her apology. And the memory of her lips moving beneath his made his body tighten and his hands would clench as they recalled the softness of her breasts bracketed between them.

Walking by the window of the resort dining room the night they’d returned from the warming hut, he saw her, all dressed up in a silvery white sweater and cream slacks, looking so classy and pretty, it made his heart hurt. He’d decided to try talking to her one last time—he’d ask her to stay for a few more days, and if she said yes, he’d take some vacation time he had coming. They could ski and have dinner, talk more, laugh more, make out more…figure out if there was something real between them and whether or not they wanted to give it a chance.

So his heart had lurched then fallen to see her sitting alone with another man. He couldn’t see the face of her dinner companion—though he assumed it was Stewart—but he watched as she covered the man’s hand with her own, unable to keep his own heart from clutching at the soft sweetness of her face as her lips moved in conversation. Tray had turned away then, stalked to his car with a hurting heart, and drunk too much bourbon when he got home.

By now, she’d be settled back into her life in Manhattan, he was certain. She’d be organizing those benefits again, and meeting up with her rich lady friends, like Grace Kelley in “High Society”…or Katharine Hepburn in “The Philadelphia Story,” both of which Tray had watched more than once over the last two weeks.

After losing Lena, his days had been lonely, of course, but Tray was surprised by how much lonelier they felt now, after meeting Grace. One subsequent date with Bonnie had made it clear their chemistry was almost non-existent when compared to how he’d burned for Grace, and he hadn’t asked Bonnie out again.

He’d only known her for a short time, but he missed Grace.

He wished things had turned out differently for them.

He wished she’d wanted to give them a chance, but even after his “farewell speech,” he’d never heard from her again. Two weeks later, it was time to move on, and yet he knew it was easier thought than done. It might be a little while before he forgot about Grace. What worried him was the prospect that he might not be able to forget about her at all.

Turning his attention to the broken snowshoe in his lap, he used pliers to remove a worn out cleat, and reached for a new one, screwing it into place.

“Hey Dad,” said Roger, poking his head into the little office, “lady out here looking for a cross country guide. You want it or should I go?”

Tray sighed. His first reaction was to tell Roger to go, but he’d just given himself a pep talk about moving on, hadn’t he? It was time.

“I’ll go, son. Give me a minute, huh?”

He put the snow shoe to the side, shucking off his fleece slippers under the desk and reaching for his boots. Pulling them on, he reminded himself to be professional and charming, solicitous and capable. Whoever this woman was, she deserved a first-rate trail guide, and it was up to him to deliver.

He stood up, shrugging into his parka and looking down as he pulled on his gloves and headed through the office door. When he lifted his head, his blue eyes found hers, and seeing her again so unexpectedly knocked the breath from his chest and made his knees weak. He grabbed for the edge of the scuffed countertop between them, staring at Grace Luff like she’d materialized from his longing alone. Unable to regain his composure for several minutes, he drank in the sight of her lightly grey-streaked reddish hair, sparkling blue eyes and mischievous smile.

“Grace,” he gasped, completely undone by her sudden appearance.

“Tray,” she sighed, her face soft and voice tender as she gazed back at him. “I hear a blizzard’s coming. I’d like to rent some skis and arrange for a guide. Do you know of anyone who might be available for a day or two?”

“I might. Grace,” he said again, chuckling softly, shaking his head back and forth. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes lost a little luster as he asked this, and he hurried to give context to his question. “I’m so glad to see you! When Roger told me someone needed—I just, I didn’t expect it to be…
you
.”

She placed her hands on the counter, palms up, and without thinking, he covered them, his fingers curling around hers.

“A good surprise?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“The best.”

He couldn’t help but notice the changes in her: she wore no jewelry and her hair looked stylish, but shorter and more casual. She didn’t have that pinched, self-conscious expression on her face that she’d had the first time he met her, and her smiles were easy. Her voice was warmer and more confident, and her eyes sparkled like she didn’t want to hold them back anymore.

“You look wonderful,” he said.

She grinned even wider. “The mountains agree with me.”

“The mountains?” he asked. “But you checked out of the hotel two weeks ago. You went home.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, her smile fading just a little. “Not exactly. Come sit with me? I’ll buy you a hot cocoa.”

He looked at Roger who winked at his father. “I’ve got things covered, Dad. You go on.”

Still holding one of Grace’s hands, Tray lifted the counter and joined Grace on the other side, letting her pull him over to the little café in the rec center. There, she ordered two hot cocoas, but when she was asked for her room number, she said, “I’m not a guest.” and slid two dollars across the counter.

A minute later they sat across from each other at a table in the corner of the quiet café, drinking each other in with the same greediness that they sipped their cocoa.

“You’re not a guest,” Tray said.

She shook her head. “Nope. I’m a temporary resident.”

“What do you mean? You’ve been
living
here?”

“Sort of,” she grinned at him, her cheeks coloring. “I’m renting a house.”

“Where?” he asked, feeling so excited, he had to work to keep himself from reaching across the table and grabbing her.

“Bolton Landing,” she said, holding his eyes over the top of her cocoa cup as she took a sip.

“That’s only twenty minutes from here.”

She nodded, her sweet face still smiling at him merrily.

“You mean for two weeks, while I was pining over you like a lovesick fifteen-year-old, you were sleeping up the road?”

Her lips parted in pleasure and her eyes widened in surprise. “Uh-huh.”

“Damn, Red.” He laughed softly, shaking his head, but then something terrible occurred to him. Last he’d seen her, she was tete-a-tete with Stewart…was it possible they’d decided to buy a house here
together
?

“Tray?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“What, um, what made you decide to come back?”

“I never really left. I went home to pack up some things and arrange for my mail to—”

“And um, Stewart?”

“Oh,” she said softly, her smile returning, but gentler and more knowing this time. “Are you worried about him?”

“I wouldn’t like it if he was here too.”

“He’s not. He’s back in New York. We didn’t—I mean, he wasn’t who I wanted. He’s not the right match for me.”

Tray moistened his lips, pressing them together as he stared back at her. “Have any idea who might be?”

“Mm-hm,” she said, reaching across the table for his hand. “I have an idea.”

He stroked the back of her hand with his fingers, his heart swelling in his chest, beating out a strident rhythm of hope. “Last I heard, you weren’t interested in someone who worked at a ski shop.”

She nodded, looking down at the table, and he tightened his grip on her hand. Threading her fingers through his, she swallowed once before looking back up at him.

“Can you forgive me for that?” she asked softly. “I was scared. I needed to figure out who I was…what I wanted. That’s what I’ve been doing—reading by the fire and snow shoeing, letting my friends in New York know I was on an extended holiday and wouldn’t be available to chair benefits or host book club. I’ve been spending time up here doing what
I
like to do, and it’s like meeting myself all over again. And I know…I
know
it’s probably too soon to come looking for you, but I couldn’t wait anymore. I needed to see you. I needed to see if there was a chance that you’d—”

Squeezing her fingers, he reached across the small table to cup her cheek with his other hand. His fingers threaded in her hair, he pulled her toward him and captured her lips with his. She palmed his cheek, her fingers brushing against his ear and making him groan softly into her mouth.

He nuzzled her nose, resting his forehead against hers with his eyes closed, relief and surrender almost making him weak. All he wanted—for the foreseeable future—was to spend time getting to know this remarkable, confounding, delectable woman. Did he know exactly what the future held? Of course not. But he’d lay bets that Tracy Bradshaw and Grace Luff were a match made in heaven, and he looked forward to every moment finding out if he was right.

“Yes,” he murmured, opening his eyes and watching her tempting lips curve into a smile as his breath kissed her lips. “Whatever you want, the answer is yes.”

“Yes,” she sighed, drawing back from him finally to fan her pink cheeks.

“Hey, Red,” he asked, raising his eyebrows as his glance swept down to her waist and back up. “You know how to use skis?”

He could tell she flashbacked to their first conversation by the way she grinned, nodding her head.

“Yes. But my ankle’s just back to normal,” she said, then paused. When she continued, her face was just a little more serious, “so we’ll need to take it slow.”

Pressing his lips to the back of her hand, he understood her meaning. She wasn’t just talking about skiing. She was talking about her, and him, and life, and loving. She was giving him a chance at forever, but he was old enough to know that forever was a marathon, not a sprint.

When he caught her blue eyes with his, he smiled at her tenderly and his heart filled when she smiled back.

“Slow sounds fine to me,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers, and pulling her to her feet so they could go find some skis and get started on their journey together. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

THE END