Welcome Back to Apple Grove (23 page)

“Hey how about cobbler?” Patrick suggested. “My sister’s got a great recipe.”

Mary smiled. “Wait, we need to start writing these suggestions down.”

By the time Grace returned, the men—with Mary’s help—had a list of ten ideas for her. “Not bad,” she said, going over their list. “But do you really want me to come up with a relish recipe? That’s technically not baking; it’s cooking.”

“I ran out of ideas,” her father grumbled. “So sue me.”

“The rest look interesting enough to give them a try.” She hugged Mary first and then her father, promising, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the shop.”

“Drive safely,” they both reminded the couple as they left.

“I think it’s working,” Mary said, leaning against Joe as they waved good-bye.

“Honey B. and Meg were right about those two—and the sparks.”

“Why don’t we give them a call now and tell them their plan is working splendidly?”

Joe had his arms around Mary’s waist and was pulling her close when their eyes met. As his lips lowered toward hers, he rasped, “Later.”

***

Patrick felt a bone-deep satisfaction having the woman he loved riding beside him, knowing that they’d be together for the next two days—well, except for when Grace would be at work tomorrow during the day. Maybe after he dropped Grace off for work, he’d stop by and see what Dan was up to; there was always something going on at their house, especially with his three kids. That way, he and Grace could have lunch together tomorrow.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

“Hmmm?” His thoughts changed direction as they drove closer to Newark. He’d straightened his apartment, done the laundry, changed his sheets—everything was ready for alone time with his curvaceous cutie.

“Are you having second thoughts about me staying over again?”

He snickered. “Just wishing there was a way to keep you here—naked—for forty-eight hours straight.”

She turned toward him but didn’t say anything.

“What?”

“You sound like you really mean that.”

He shrugged. “I usually say what I mean.”

“Unlike your mom?”

She hit that one on the nose. “Yeah. I’m more like my dad was—well, at least that’s what my uncles tell me.”

“On your mother’s side?”

“Both sides. Two and two.”

“Do they live close by?”

He was pulling into the Bob Evans in Newark when he told her, “Brooklyn.”

“You must miss seeing everyone if they all live so close to one another.”

“It could get a little dicey at times, since all of our uncles decided to keep an extra set of eyes on us after our dad died.”

“So it wasn’t as easy to get away with stuff,” she said with a soft smile. “Meg was always getting into trouble until our mom died—then everything changed.”

Sensing she was about to sink into the past, he parked and held out his hand to her. “Come on. Let’s eat.”

When she smiled, he couldn’t help but smile back. Being with Grace was so easy; talking to her wasn’t a chore like it had been with previous girlfriends. He didn’t have to worry about what to talk about—and she’d agreed for the moment not to ask him about New York. They just talked like friends. Being friends was important if their relationship was going to last. His mother and father had been childhood friends.

They sat down at an open booth and ordered. He was a fan of their chicken-fried steak and would be ordering that. Grace was trying to decide between one diet plate and another. Finally, he grumbled, “The sausage gravy and biscuits here are amazing.”

Her head shot up and her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “What makes you think I want that?”

He swallowed the laughter, knowing that she might misunderstand and think he was laughing at her. He had his work cut out for him if he was going to convince the lovely Grace that he would never do that. He meant it when he complimented her. She was his ideal woman.

Searching for just the right thing to say, he blurted out, “You’ve been staring down at that side of the menu for a while now and it’s got a picture of it right there.” He tapped the photo and sat back. “So?”

She sighed. “I did have yogurt and fruit for lunch.”

“Which is why you’re hungry.”

The waitress walked over with the water pitcher and, while she filled their glasses, told them about the specials.

Once they’d ordered, they started talking about his last trip home to Brooklyn.

“Was it really a whole year ago?”

He was holding her hand, rubbing the back of it, wondering how she kept them so silky soft. “Yeah, for our mother’s birthday.”

“What about the holidays?”

“I had to work.”

Wanting to change the subject, he asked, “It sounds like it’s been a while since you spent time at home too.”

She sighed. “I’d been working longer hours up until I got the promotion—and when I did, there was so much work to do, I’ve kept to my longer hours.”

“So you spent more time working and less time recharging your batteries in Apple Grove.”

“What makes you think they needed recharging?”

He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her middle knuckle. “If you had a mirror, you wouldn’t be asking me that.”

“I don’t understand—”

The waitress delivered their orders and left with the promise of checking on them soon. When she’d gone, he leaned close and told her, “You looked exhausted when I first saw you. There were dark circles beneath your eyes and your shoulders were slumping.”

She was picking at her food with her fork when he added, “By Sunday, your eyes were brighter, the dark circles were gone, and you seemed relaxed…happy.”

She was still playing with her food when he ground out, “Eat it and forget about the calories. I plan to work them off you.”

Her mouth went slack. He reached over and tapped beneath her chin until she realized what she was doing and closed her mouth. Eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, Grace picked up her fork and dug in.

Patrick pushed her spoon toward her. “I’ve learned not to miss a drop of their gravy—I always use a spoon.”

Her green eyes distracted him and for a moment he was deaf and dumb to everything around him, save the look in her eyes. When she continued to stare at him, his brain kicked in. “Sorry. What did you just ask me?”

She laughed. “I said, Isn’t that what the biscuits are for?”

He shook his head. “Nope. That’s for sopping up what you didn’t get with the spoon. Trust me on this one. I’ve got cousins down South and out West—they’ve educated their poor Yankee cousins in the ways of biscuits and gravy.”

When she sat back, declaring herself to be full, he sighed. “I was going to order pie.”

Grace held up one hand. “None for me, thanks. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I plan to eat mine later,” he told her. “After.”

The way her eyes showed whatever she was thinking was a plus in his mind. He wouldn’t ever have to wonder what was going on. One look at Grace and he’d know whether he was about to catch hell—or head straight to paradise.

They ended up ordering pie to go and picked it up when they paid the cashier. “Thank you, Patrick,” Grace said. “I didn’t realize I was that hungry.”

“You know,” he told her, “for someone who doesn’t like to use power tools, you sure do your fair share of lifting, hauling, and moving boxes, crates, and stuff around Mulcahys.”

He opened the passenger door and waited for her to get in. When he was sitting next to her, she said, “I’ve never really thought about it before, but now that I have another job to compare it to, I think that’s why I’ve gained weight.”

Patrick frowned at her. “I don’t follow you.”

“I sit behind a desk all day long at my real job,” she explained. “I hadn’t realized how much moving around and physical work I used to do working for my family.”

“It’s like being what my ma would call a Gal Friday.”

She nodded. “Only with a lot more box moving, lifting, and unpacking.”

They arrived at his apartment complex a few minutes later. It was encouraging that she’d been willing to continue as if their conversation from the night before—about New York—never happened. He wished he didn’t know that she expected him to tell her what happened, but he did. With that one tiny wrinkle, their relationship was everything he’d envisioned.

“What if my dad thinks he’ll be doing me a favor by not letting me come back?”

He closed the door behind her, took her hand, and led her to the living room. Easing her onto the sofa, he sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her. “Decisions and choices that we make are just that. Did you burn any bridges when you made the choice to move to Columbus?”

She seemed to be mulling that over for a moment before she answered. “I don’t think so.”

“Then it was a choice. Your dad’s a smart guy and good judge of character. People are allowed to make changes in their lives. Sometimes they work out and sometimes they don’t.”

He fell silent, amazed that the words were true for him as well. Although he had said he didn’t want to talk about it, he said, “I made the decision to move out here.” He wasn’t ready to tell her why—wasn’t sure if he ever would be. Burying that line of thinking deep, he asked, “So why not just ask your dad for his advice? He might surprise you.” He rubbed his hand up and down her arm. “When something isn’t working, it’s time to do something about it. Change can be good for the soul.”

***

Grace knew by the way Patrick said those last words, softly and almost to himself, that the reason he moved to Ohio, far from his family and those he loved, still troubled him. He appeared gruff and, because of his size, was intimidating at first. Deep down he was a caring man once you got to know him and talked to him.

“Change isn’t easy,” she offered, wondering if he would accept the statement as it had been meant—as an opening for him to share more of his burden with her.

He shrugged and rose to his feet, leaving Grace to understand that the moment was lost and further discussion of the subject had been carefully avoided. Maybe in time, he would open up and share what was troubling him. She had a feeling that it was either because of his job or something to do with his family—he did have a large one.

“So,” he said, drawing her to stand beside him, “about getting you naked…”

She laughed. “God, I’m so stuffed, I’d probably lose dinner if we, uh, did anything physical right now.”

He frowned. “OK, so if you were home and this happened, what would you do?”

“Take a long walk. I love the smell of the woods in the summertime, the rambling roses growing along peoples’ fences, and the honeysuckle vine by our back door.”

“I don’t know if I can find any of that here,” he said. “But we can take a walk around the neighborhood.”

There were a surprising number of people out and about in the warm summer night. “Is it always this busy?”

He chuckled. “You’re such a country girl. There are usually more people out—but the guys at the firehouse were talking about a Triple-A game in your neck of the woods.”

“Apple Grove?”

He stared at her for a moment before answering, “Columbus—the Clippers.”

“My sisters and I used to play baseball, but nothing serious. Just a bunch of us getting together, and we never watched it on TV like Pop does.”

“Thought you were soccer fans.”

“Well”—she smiled up at him, loving the way he listened to her as if she mattered; she’d missed that with her last boyfriend—“we sort of became interested in soccer once Dan and Meg got married.”

After they’d been walking for a while, Patrick turned a corner so that they were working their way back to his apartment. After a few blocks, he said, “So, are you still full?”

She grinned and started walking faster.

He laughed as they power walked the last couple of blocks. When they reached his building, he scooped her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

“You’ve got to stop doing that!” she protested, hanging upside down.

“Sorry,” he said.

He opened the door and closed it, just missing her backside as he did.

“Where are you going?”

He pressed his hand to the backs of her knees to keep her from kicking him as he walked. “My bedroom.”

“OK.” If she’d been hoping for a prelude to their lovemaking, it obviously wasn’t going to happen. “Brace yourself, Bridget,” she mumbled, surprised that she was disappointed before they’d even begun.

He set her on her feet and held her at arm’s length, staring down at her. “Did you just say ‘brace yourself ’?”

She lifted her chin and stepped out of his arms, putting her hands on her hips—ready to do verbal battle with him. “So what if I did?”

“Bridget?” he asked.

“Yeah, so?”

“Let’s just forget for the moment that it’s my mother’s name,” he told her, taking one step closer, “and focus on the fact that I wasn’t planning to toss you on the bed and have my way with you.”