Page 133 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Gracie listened closely. She arched a brow and glanced toward the antique anniversary clock perched on top the oak mantel she used as a display prop. Nope. It wasn’t the clock, was it? She shook her head. It had to be. That damned, incessant ticking was coming from the clock. Right?

Wrong.

The clock didn’t work. Hadn’t since she’d placed it there six years ago. She knew that as well as she knew her name was Grace Elizabeth Hart.

Damn but that blasted ticking wasn’t in her own mind.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Shaking her head, she turned back to her work, only to end up staring at her computer screen, trying hard to dismiss the troublesome click. She tried to recall...when had it started? Last year? The year before that? She wasn’t sure. But out of the blue one day that ticking erupted in the middle of her thoughts, and she knew right then and there what it was. No one had to tell her.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Gracie slammed a hand down on the top of the old library table she used as a desk.

“Oh, all right! What in the world do you expect me to do about it?”

she said aloud.

“I mean, it’s not like I can do much about the situation all by myself, can I?”

She stood and paced the room. No one answered her query. Not even Claire, her Calico shop cat, curled up into a lethargic lump of feline flesh in the storefront window lifted an ear to her question.

No one had to tell her that the hands on her baby-making clock were swiftly sweeping the numbers.

Glancing about, she took in the shop around her. This was her second home. In fact, if she would go so far as to count the hours, she probably spent more time here than she did in the apartment upstairs she called home. But that was to be expected.

After all, she was a businessperson. And to run a successful business, one had to spend an enormous amount of time and effort in seeing that that business grew. Everyone knew that.

Especially during the first few years.

Well...ten years of working 24/7 should more than do it, she guessed.

And with the time she put into her shop, why in the world did she think she would have time for a baby?

Tick. Tick. Tick.

There would be no denying from anyone, she was certain, that Romantically Yours was a success. Her accountant was pleased with the growth of the business. Her best friend, Amie, sent business her way all the time. The members of the Chamber of Commerce liked having her on the main square because the shop was a draw. Then the Book Club… Oh yes, the Book Club loved meeting there weekly.

Why, even old Mrs. Talbot down the street complimented her every time she came into the shop to buy bath salts.

Yes, little Gracie Hart, homegrown and homespun, finally recovered from that awful experience in New York, was a success. Everyone in the small mountain town of Harbor Falls, North Carolina said so.

Then why didn’t she feel like a success? And why was that incessant ticking still tapping away at her brain?

Time. It’s running out, Gracie.

“Stop that. I know it. You don’t have to remind me.”

She turned her back on her computer and the anniversary clock then and stepped to the rear of the shop. Gracie poured herself a decadent rich cafe latte and sank into a forties style overstuffed chair in the corner. She crossed her legs and perused her surroundings. Vintage clothing from the 1920’s graced one wall. Reproduction Victorian jewelry dangled from a display rack on the counter. Aromatherapy products, from candles to bath salts to herbal sachets, were scattered about the shop.

On the back wall, her collection of classic romance novels and other vintage books waited for adoring customers to lift them off the shelf and take them home. At the right back corner of the shop, one could order custom-designed romantic gift baskets. Everything from chocolate to wine to lingerie could be included in the basket according to the tastes of the receiver or the whim of the giver. Anything from her shop might do. Cards. Romantic knick-knacks. Massage oil. Maybe even roses. Or any little trinket or one-of-a-kind antique accessory she had hand-picked to be placed in her shop for the romantically inclined.

Reaching out, Gracie fingered an ivory crocheted doily sitting beneath a reproduction Tiffany lamp on a dark cherry table. She lifted her hand to carefully turn down the light. It was late, her shop had closed hours ago, and it was time to dull the day’s events with some low lighting.

This was her favorite time of day and her favorite corner for lounging and mulling. She had arranged an eclectic collection of overstuffed chairs and side tables where one could sit and peruse a novel, settle in with a cup of tea, or linger through her collection of catalogs from which Gracie would special order. This spot was where the Book Club met on Friday evenings, the same five women, week in and week out. It was where her regular customers lounged and quietly gossiped about the town’s affairs.

Or if one preferred, which Gracie did quite often in the evenings, one could simply curl up in a chair and silently reflect on the day, or perhaps life, while a nice selection of classical music emanated from the surround sound speakers she had recently installed in the shop. Sometimes she liked to burn a little incense and waft a light, floral aroma about, while candles flickered a soft glow about the room. A glass of wine added to that scenario was simply the crème-de-la-crème. Only thing that came close to topping that was an hour-long soak in her claw foot tub upstairs.

Romance surrounded her all day long. Her shop was her life. And it damned well had better be. It was the only romance she was getting. Hard pill to swallow for someone who was known as the local Diva of Romance.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Oh, shut up, won’t you!”

“Who the heck are you talking to?”

Jumping to her feet and grabbing her heart, Gracie whirled toward the voice.

“Amie! You scared the bejeebers out of me!”

Stepping into the shop, Amie Clarke gave a quick twist of the key on the fake Tiffany lamp, turning up the light and breaking the ambiance. She glanced about.

“It’s like a tomb in here, Gracie. Don’t you want some light? And who were you talking to? Yourself again? And shouldn’t you be getting upstairs? It’s way past ten. Oh, and you have to lock that back door, one of these days the boogieman is going to get you.”

Sighing, Gracie stood, still trying to quell her rapidly beating heart. She stepped toward her computer and muttered.

“Perhaps I should let the boogieman in. He would be the first man to grace my back doorstep in quite some time.”

“What? You were expecting a man to grace your doorstep?”

Gracie put the computer to sleep then eyed her friend and snorted.

“Oh yeah, Amie. I was waiting for a clandestine liaison with the boogieman. He’s hiding in the back room waiting for you to leave.”

She gestured toward the rear of the shop.

“And do you ever not talk in circles?

Amie smiled. “Never.”

Gracie shook her head.

“I know that already. You’re like a bull in a china shop and a whirlwind all in one. You never shut up. You never make any sense.”

Gracie looked up at her friend then and smiled.

“And you’re about the best friend a girl could have.”

Amie stepped up to the counter and fingered through some chocolate samples sitting in a crystal candy dish.

“Mind if I eat these? I’m starving.”

Gracie shrugged. Again, the subject was changed.

“Help yourself. I’ll put out fresh candy in the morning.”

Amie smiled and munched for a few minutes and Gracie set about to close for the night. Going through the same motions she did every evening, she glanced about to make sure nothing was out of place and then stepped to the front door to recheck the lock.

Main Street Harbor Falls was relatively quiet this Thursday evening, which was not uncommon. Soft, flickering streetlights lent a warm glow to the late spring evening. A few vehicles passed by on occasion but for the most part, the town was shut up tighter than a drum.

She glanced at the closed library across the street and up and down toward the other Victorian shopfronts lining the up-scale, traditional little town sitting smack in the middle of the North Carolina, Blue Ridge Mountains. The cafes. The antique and craft stores. The bakery next door—which happened to be owned by her very own sister, Sydney—were all important assets to the Harbor Falls downtown economy.

“So, when do you think you’ll find a renter for the other side?”

Amie called out, breaking the silence.

And oh yes, Amie’s diner, too.

After a moment, Gracie turned and faced her friend, trying not to frown. She swallowed down the momentary upsurge of panic she always got when she thought about just that question. She didn’t want Amie or anyone else to know just how crucial it was that she rent out the other half of her building. Financially, she relied on that rental income, and six months was too long for it to go empty without her pocketbook feeling the effects.

“Hopefully tomorrow. Someone is coming to see the shop and the apartment in the morning.”

Amie munched another caramel-nut candy and nodded. “Cool.”

****

“Isabella, do you remember everything I’ve told you?”

“My name is Izzie.”

Rick Price frowned.

“Today it’s Isabella. Now, do you remember?”

“Yes, Daddy. Of course, I remember. You’ve told me a hundred times already. But do I have to wear this dress?”

“Yes, darling, you have to. Now buck up and be a good girl. Daddy is counting on this meeting today. Hear me?”

“But, Dad-dy...”

“Isabella!”

“Oh, all right,”

the child muttered.

Rick tried to ignore the grumbling under his daughter’s breath as he eased off the interstate and onto the state route that led him toward Harbor Falls. The trip from Asheville was only a couple of hours, which was more than enough time for Izzie to get fidgety and start resenting the fact that she was made to wear a dress today. And, he probably had to admit that he’d drilled the scenario for the morning’s appointment in her head for way too long.

He wasn’t quite sure where his head was earlier in the week when he’d made the appointment with Grace Hart. He’d forgotten that school was out today. He had not planned to drag Izzie along on this business venture, not today at any rate, but it seemed that she was destined to be here anyway.

Kate, his babysitter, was out of town and Rick was at a loss to find anyone else. It was his own fault, he knew. He’d totally forgotten to look at the school calendar and didn’t realize the private school Izzie attended had scheduled a professional development day for the teachers.

Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Izzie was here and he just had to hope for the best.

Mentally he crossed his fingers and sent up a silent prayer. How much harm could one little girl do? Well, Izzie was known not to fare too well in social situations….

“Are we gonna move to this town?” she said.

Rick glanced to his right and took in his daughter’s questioning face.

“It’s possible, Iz. I don’t know yet.”

They had talked about the prospect of moving, but not in detail.

“I don’t wanna. I like my school.”

Obviously. She ruled the roost there. Rick had to chuckle to himself. Izzie did have quite a following for a six-year-old tomboy.

“I’m sure you’ll adjust, Iz.”

“Maybe I could just stay with Kate.”

Rick frowned.

“Kate is your babysitter, honey, not your parent. You’ll go where I go.”

“But it’s not fair!”

The whining started.

“Of course, it is. I feed you and cloth you and buy you toys. We are a team, remember sport?”

He reached over to chuck her arm and made a funny face, trying to get her to laugh. Izzie sat silent for a moment and stared straight ahead. She didn’t return the funny face or laugh with him. Rick just let the subject drop and kept heading toward Harbor Falls.

“Can I at least wear my ball cap?”

she said after a few minutes.

“It keeps the hair out of my face.”

“No!”

Rick glanced at this daughter and immediately wished he could retract that stern no. He reached out and touched the child’s freckled face, then threaded his fingers through a thin tendril of curls.

“Izzie, your hair is so beautiful, I want you to keep it down. Okay?”

She thought about that for a minute.

“Is my hair like my Mom’s?”

Funny, Rick didn’t prickle at those questions much anymore.

“Honey, your hair is lighter, remember? But long like your Mom’s.”

“Did you like her hair?”

“I loved her hair.”

“Did you love my Mom?”

Rick looked ahead and sighed.

“Yes, Izzie, I loved your Mom very much.”

“Then why did she leave us?”

Why, of all days, this conversation? He thought a moment, glanced at his watch, and then pulled over to the side of the road. He looked Izzie straight in the eyes, touched her cheek again, and spoke softly.

“Isabella, your mother didn’t leave because I didn’t love her enough or because you didn’t love her enough. And she didn’t leave because she didn’t love you. In fact, she loved you so much that she had to leave, for you and me to be happy. She wasn’t happy and she needed to go...”

“I know, I know,”

Izzie singsonged.

“I’ve heard it before. My Mom had to go off and find herself and become an actor and be happy. Well, is she happy, Daddy? How do we know? She never talks to us anymore.”

Rick bit his lip and tried not to damn his ex-wife to hell and back.

“I know that, honey. But you got a present from her at Christmas, right?”

Izzie huffed.

“A stupid doll. Doesn’t she know I don’t like dolls? I wanted a football. And a card and present is not talking.”

Rick closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the headrest. No, Marci wouldn’t know that Izzie didn’t like dolls because Marci didn’t know her daughter. And Marci wouldn’t understand that Izzie needed to talk to her mother because Marci was too obsessed with herself. But how could he tell his beautiful daughter that?

He couldn’t.

Glancing at his watch again, he told her.

“Honey, we need to get to Harbor Falls, can we talk about this later?”

He was avoiding the obvious and knew it. Thing was, he just didn’t know how to respond.

Izzie turned toward the window and curled up into the corner. She was shutting him out. Oh God, he hated when she did that. There would be hell to pay later. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

Dammit, Marci! How could you do this to her?

Enough. Damning Marci and her acting career was not a priority. His daughter and her future—their future—was. Izzie was the reason he wanted to move to the small town of Harbor Falls and Izzie was the reason he was quitting his law practice—well, partially the reason, anyway. Burned out beyond any hope of getting back the thrill of practicing law again, he just wanted out. He was gone too much of the time and Izzie was, to put it mildly, a handful. He’d been thinking for months about changing careers, changing lifestyles, and then his brother Joe had suggested an out that he damn near couldn’t refuse.

His younger brother regularly traveled through Harbor Falls on his daily commute to work and had kept telling Rick about the shop for rent downtown. Joe had even stopped and looked in the windows one evening. Ever since they were kids, Rick had wanted to own his own business, and his brother knew that.

The idea had possibilities.

Rick knew he had enough of a nest egg stashed away to get started and sustain them for a while. Money wasn’t a problem. For years he’d thought he had to continue in the profession he’d worked so hard to attain. It was damn hard to let the legal profession go.

Then he realized he had to do it for Izzie. Besides, he had skills and his daughter needed him. Too often, he wasn’t there for her. At times, Kate was more of a parent to her than he was.

Joe’s suggestion kept nagging at him, day after day. Then he decided, at the very least, he could check it out. Right? No commitment. Just look into it.

Hence, the meeting today with Grace Hart—and it was imperative that Izzie be on her best behavior because he had already made up his mind.

They were getting a new life in Harbor Falls. Come hell or high water.

“Things are going to be all right, Izzie. I promise you.”

“Yeah, right,”

she muttered backed.

****

Gracie scowled and glanced from her watch to the front door then back to her watch again. Ten minutes after nine and Richard Price was late.

Punctuality. It was important to her. She had made it perfectly clear to Mr. Price that they needed to meet at nine o’clock, or even before, so they could take care of business before her shop opened at ten.

He had agreed. She was certain of it.

One strike against Mr. Richard Price.

Turning, she stepped to the counter and counted the money in her cash drawer, her foot tapping at the polished hardwood floor.

“It doesn’t matter, Gracie,”

she told herself.

“What’s a few minutes? Relax.”

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled. Long.

“And besides, he could be money in the bank.”

She really had to get out of this perfectionist thing. It was going to drive her nuts.

Her head jerked up at the sound of tapping on the shop front door.

“Thank goodness.”

A figure stood behind the mottled, stained-glass window of the door; she could only assume it Richard Price. As she crossed the shop, she smoothed a hand over her skirt and straightened the sweater on her shoulders, then tipped her chin up and straightened her back to achieve her power posture.

Actually, it was her dancer’s posture but since she hadn’t danced in years, she now called it her power posture.

“Please let this work out,”

she whispered and sent up a small prayer.

“I need this to work out.”

Stopping briefly at the door, Gracie inhaled deep then exhaled long, twisted the dead bolt, and opened the door fully.

She extended her hand without really looking.

“Mr. Price, I assume?”

Then she did look. Up. And up some more. My, he was a tall man. She gulped. He had to be tall for her to look up to him. She was nearly five foot ten, herself. Her mouth went incredibly dry.

Her gaze met with the most unbelievable sea-blue eyes she’d ever seen. Finally, she felt something touch her palm.

“Oh!”

She dragged her gaze away from his and glanced downward to her hand, now in his. His handshake was warm, firm.

“Grace Hart?”

“Oh, yes.”

She looked back into his face.

“Yes, I’m Grace Hart. Mr. Price?”

He nodded and she took in more of his features. Dark brown hair, chiseled, high cheekbones, and those eyes...

“Yes,”

he answered.

“Please come in,”

she returned politely.

He stepped inside and she closed the door behind her, then felt it push open again against her rear.

“Forget something, Dad?”

Richard Price turned and so did Gracie. An imp of a child stood in the doorway, staring past her. Gracie guessed her to be about six or seven years of age. There was a frown on her face as she eyed her father, the doorway still framing her. Slowly, she crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her chin to look at Richard, a small look of defiance on her face. Her right foot tapped the floor.

Gracie was not quite sure what to make of the child. She glanced quickly to Richard, who returned a hesitant smile, then again to the child.

The little girl’s head held a mass of light brown curls, which if left loose, would most likely tumble halfway down her back. My, what she would have given as a young girl for curls like that. Oddly enough, this child’s locks were caught up in a dusty baseball cap, which contrasted sharply with the Sunday-best dress she wore.

Gracie bent slightly to look the girl more closely in the face. “Well,”

she finally said, pushing out her hand.

“I’m Grace. What’s your name?”

“I’m Iz—”

Richard Price bolted forward.

“Isabella,”

he returned, grasping the child’s hand.

Gracie stood tall again and looked Richard in the eyes. It was nice looking directly into a man’s eyes and not looking down at him for once.

“What a beautiful name.”

“Thank you. Isabella is my daughter. There was no school today. I hope you don’t mind. My babysitter is out of town.”

Gracie shook her head.

“Oh, my no. It’s not a problem.”

She dismissed the issue of the child for a moment, and then headed for the cash register.

“Just give me a second to grab the keys and I’ll take you next door.”

An awkward silence filled the shop as Grace fumbled with the cash register drawer, her thoughts taking her places she didn’t want them to go.

Richard Price was not the kind of man she expected. Not that she could really define what she expected but—

No indeedy. He was much too—

Too much. That’s what he was. Attractive. Tall. Handsome. Articulate. Well-dressed. Attractive.

Enough, Gracie.

Don’t think about it—about him—in any terms other than potential income. After all, the man had a child. Most likely there was a wife in the picture somewhere too.

Gracie sighed deeply.

With that thought, she retrieved the key from the secret drawer inside the old cash register. Gracie glanced up to see Richard crouched down eye-level with the child, faint mutterings of conversation going on between father and daughter.

“Ready?”

She stepped up behind them and Richard rose quickly to his feet, snatching the ball cap off his Isabella’s head on his ascent. Gracie registered a sharp glance of annoyance from the child and the stern, warning stare back from the parent as he quickly stuffed the ball cap into the back pocket of his khaki pants.

“We’ll take a look at the shop first, then the apartment,”

she continued.

“That’s fine,”

Richard Price replied.

“Unless, of course, you’d rather wait until your wife could come to look at the apartment.”

He shook his head.

“No wife, just us.”

Gracie nodded.

“Oh. Well, right this way then.”

She extended a hand toward the front door. Crap.

Richard Price led the way, daughter in tow, and Gracie found herself watching those nicely fitting trousers from the rear until he opened the door and held it for her to pass through.

No wife. Not a good sign.

No indeedy.

There was a brief tingle as she brushed passed him and Gracie wondered from just where that tingle sprang. She’d not felt anything like that in—oh, in quite some time. Years, if she cared to admit it.

And she didn’t want to admit it.

Now she decided that renting to Richard Price was probably a bad idea. A very bad idea.

He was much too handsome and much too charismatic for her own good. He had an adorable little child. And no wife.

Two strikes against Mr. Richard Price.

No. Strikes two, three, and four.

Tick. Tick. Tick.