Page 140 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

“Are you mad at my dad?”

Gracie stopped counting the money in her cash drawer and peered across the counter at Izzie. There she stood, the epitome of tomboy, scuffed knees peeking out from beneath cut-off denims, lop-sided ponytail sticking out from a crookedly placed ball cap, dirt-smudged cheeks, and floppy high-tops with the laces untied. On her left hand was a ball glove; in her right, a softball.

Taking a moment to assess the child, Gracie had to smile. When she was Izzie’s age, she’d been exactly the opposite of this child. Nothing but frilly dresses, ribbons and bows, and dancing shoes. No ball gloves for her.

Still, she was captivated with Izzie. Even though she didn’t want to admit it, she adored the child.

It was late Thursday afternoon and June had turned hot and humid, but it was relatively cool in the shop, with the air conditioner running solid. Izzie insisted on skipping in and out of the back door of the shop all afternoon and Gracie had made only one rule about that—no Bandit was to skip in and out with her. She’d finally recovered from the incident earlier in the week.

But she was certain the fanning back door was causing another problem, elevating the shop’s temperature several degrees.

Gracie wiped a trickle of perspiration from her temple.

She liked the child. Had grown quite fond of her over the last two weeks. Izzie had made her presence well known inside and out of the shop. Surprisingly, Gracie didn’t mind. Not one bit. Not even after what had happened with the animals.

She wasn’t mad at the child at all.

She was still upset with the father.

“Or are you mad at me?”

Surprised, Gracie glanced down at the scamp.

“No, honey,”

she replied.

“I’m not mad at you! And I’m not mad at your father, either,”

she told Izzie.

“it’s just that we’re having a bit of a… Um, misunderstanding. That’s all.”

Izzie cocked her head to one side and stared at Gracie.

“Yeah, right.”

The child always threw her a curve ball.

“You don’t believe me?”

Izzie shook her head. “Nope.”

“And why not?”

Gracie finished counting the bills, banded them, and slid them into her money pouch with the checks. Now she was going after the change.

Izzie leaned her elbows on counter. Her little chin practically rested on the smooth oak surface. The girl’s was barely tall enough to see over the thing.

“Well,”

Izzie began.

“My dad has been grumpy all week, and you didn’t stay long at the party last Friday, and he yells and tells me to stay away and not bother you, and he still says we’re going to pay for the broken stuff, and you won’t talk to him—I saw you 'noring him when you were watering the flowers last night. And he won’t talk to you—I saw him 'noring you at Amie’s Place the other morning at breakfast, and—”

Gracie put up a hand.

“Stop. I get the picture, Izzie. Perceptive little bugger, aren’t you?”

She grinned from ear to ear and nodded.

“What does per-cep-a-tive mean?”

Gracie smiled back at the scamp.

“It means that you notice things.”

The child nodded furiously this time.

“I notice lots of things.”

“Oh, you do?”

“Yep.”

“Is that why you think your father and I are mad at each other?”

Izzie pretended to think about that a minute. She cocked her head to one side, laid a forefinger beside her chin, and chewed on her lip. After a moment, she snapped her finger and said.

“I got it! I know why you’re mad at each other!”

Gracie cleared her throat.

“Now, Izzie. I told you. I’m not mad at your father. It’s just a misunderstanding between the two of us and—”

“It has something to do with the eye thing, doesn’t it?”

Now Gracie was puzzled.

“The eye thing?”

“Uh-huh. The eye thing.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

Izzie thought another moment.

“Well, it’s something my dad does when—”

The bell over the front door tinkled and both Gracie and Izzie turned toward the sound. In strode Rick. Every long-legged, spit-shined and polished, inch of him. Gracie gulped. A nice-looking specimen of male anatomy. She guessed he was getting ready to open for so-calle.

“dinner” at five.

Too bad that she was angry with the man. Funny how she had to keep reminding herself of that fact.

She couldn’t help but notice that Rick’s Cafe had sported a small and growing crowd every evening this week. Not that she wished the man bad luck in his business, she was just hoping that if business was bad, it might solve her dilemma.

She could use an easy solution to a dilemma for once in her lifetime.

In a couple of steps, Rick was beside his daughter.

“Izzie, I told you not to bother Ms. Hart.”

Grace noticed he didn’t look her in the eyes. She didn’t even flinch at the reference to Ms. Hart. That was the way it had been all week. Their conversations were stiff and to the point with little elaboration. Rick appeared sorely uncomfortable around her and she...well, she just flat out wasn’t sure she could trust him. So, she’d decided to stay out of his way and entertain sparse conversation with the man until she decided what could be done about the entire situation.

Which, according to Jim, was probably very little.

“She’s not a bother, Mr. Price. Really, she’s not.”

“Well, she shouldn’t be here. I asked her not to keep running in and out of your shop all day long. Especially after the other day...”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Gracie shook her head.

“It’s not a problem. Slow day. Actually, she’s been a lot of company.”

He grasped Izzie’s hand and started for the door. Briefly, he made eye contact with Gracie.

“Well, it’s time for her to go. C’mon, Iz.”

“But Dad,”

the child whined.

“I was just starting to tell Gracie about—”

“Oh, that’s right,”

Gracie interrupted.

“There was something she was going to tell me. Could you wait just a minute?”

Gracie suddenly got the distinct impression that Rick was in a terrible hurry to get out of there.

Did she dare toss a kink in his impatience?

He exhaled deeply, glanced from woman to child and said restlessly.

“All right. What is it?”

“The eye thing, Dad. I was going to tell her about the eye thing.”

Gracie watched as Rick flushed from neck to the top of his head in about one-quarter of a second flat. Suddenly, it was obvious that he didn’t want to talk about the eye thing.

“Yes, she was just about to tell me about the eye thing,”

Gracie goaded.

“Curious thing, the eye thing. Such a mystery, I understand.”

Gracie didn’t know why, but she felt like putting Rick Price on the spot.

Much like she felt put on the spot the other night.

She tried to smother a giggle.

Rick threw back his shoulders, grasped Izzie’s hand a little tighter, and took one backward step toward the door. He glared at his child then turned to Gracie.

“That silly eye thing?”

he laughed.

“What a joker she is. It’s a little trick she uses sometimes. She’ll have to show you when there’s more time. Something she learned from her grandpa. Right now, we have to be somewhere and—”

“But Dad, that’s not—”

“We have to go now, Iz.”

His words suddenly grew sterner. He turned to Gracie.

“Sorry to bother you, Ms. Hart. We’ll talk to you later.”

“See! There, Dad. That’s it! See Gracie? He’s doing it—”

Gracie immediately looked at Rick. His eyes had closed about halfway, one brow was arched, and a little come-hither twinkle flashed from beneath that arched brow.

Ah, that kind of eye thing. Wanting desperately to giggle, she didn’t, deciding instead just to glance way.

Instantly, Rick whisked the child out of the shop before Gracie’s brain had a chance to grasp the entire truth about the eye thing. No matter, she thought. By the look on Izzie’s face, and the little wink she’d tossed her as she left, she was sure to spill it sooner or later.

Besides, Gracie had a pretty good idea exactly what the eye thing was all about. A girl just knew things like that.

****

The latest, hottest romance novel was up for discussion at the book club on Friday night. Constance was tired of discussing bestsellers, she’d told the group the month before. She wanted to read something that was going to give her a satisfying and happy ending. She cited that the world had taken on too much negativity these days reflected in books, and she was tired of reading about middle-aged woman issues and half-baked resolutions in the name of literature. She wanted a real meaty love story with conflict and a startling black moment that gripped her heart followed by a sweet happily-ever-after ending that left her with a sigh.

And sex. She wanted to read about sex.

Gracie was sure the woman was up to something that didn’t have anything at all to do with books, but more with romance. She didn’t want to even think about why Constance wanted to read about sex.

She wished she’d give it all a break.

The once-a-month Friday night group was different group from the weekly Saturday morning group—except for Constance. The Friday night group liked to bring wine and hors d’oeuvres and their meeting happened after store hours. The Saturday morning group was more about coffee and gossip gathering under the pretense of a book club, and they rarely got around to discussing any book in-depth. Mostly, they liked the idea of the book club more than discussing books.

Constance was a staple item around Romantically Yours, so she had situated herself into both groups. Gracie never minded, of course, until lately. All Constance seemed to want to talk about was Rick’s Cafe and the man next door who owned the joint and how he might fit in with Gracie’s romantic whims.

Or the lack thereof.

The thing was Gracie knew her life was missing something. She knew she’d be happier with a man in her life. With a child in her life. With a family. That’s what that ticking clock thing was all about. Right? But it was just difficult for her to put herself out there anymore, and she really and truly didn’t want Constance and Amie butting in to her love life any longer.

She just didn’t have the heart to tell them.

She was glad, however, for one thing. It seemed Rick’s Cafe had become the newest interest in their lives. Thank goodness. Perhaps they’d let her be for a while. Even though it stung a little bit.

Like Amie, Constance was becoming a Rick’s groupie. Were all her friends insane? They used to be her groupies!

Constance glanced at her watch.

“I wish Suzie would get here,”

she said for the third time.

“I’d like to get this discussion started and on its way.”

The others nodded in agreement.

Suzie was the local chef extraordinaire and owner of the Sweet Hart Inn, a local bed and breakfast that was making some acclaim in the region. She was also Gracie’s cousin. Gracie was certain that Suzie had been invited to the Friday night book club because of her legendary crockpot meatballs, cheese straws, and chocolate oatmeal cookies.

In no hurry, Gracie sat back and watched Ellen Harper, the Methodist church pianist, and Marnie Malone, the high school football coach’s wife, and Nora Patterson, who owned the book store, Nora’s Novel Niche, glance from one to the other and then back to flip through the book-marked pages of their books.

“I’m sure Suzie will be here soon.”

“Well, I’m hungry. Can we eat?”

“Aren’t you going to wait for the meatballs?”

“We have a cheese and fruit tray. Can we crack open the wine?”

“I would like to get started.”

Nora glanced at her watch.

Their voices chattered with similar talk. Gracie noticed that Constance sat back and observed without a word.

Something was amiss. Gracie wasn’t quite sure what.

She glanced at her watch.

“You ladies gonna turn into pumpkins or something at the stroke of seven?”

Nora glanced up.

“Happy hour ends at eight,”

she stated, then returned to her book.

Gracie dipped her head in a slow nod. Hm...

“Drinks are half-price until then,”

Marnie added.

Ah-ha!

“Thought we’d finish early and take in a little Friday night activity at Rick’s,”

Constance concluded.

“Of course, with Suzie being late, we might have to make it another time.”

Gracie smiled. They were her groupies after all! The book club was important to them, she knew, and they wouldn’t give it up for something as silly as—

“Happy hour only comes once a week, you know, so we wouldn’t want to miss it,”

Ellen chimed in.

Ellen? Gracie widened her eyes and took in the expression on the woman’s face. This same woman, who had to be pushing sixty, who taught her piano lessons when she was a child, and who drilled Bible verses into her head in Sunday school for years, was a Rick’s groupie, too?

“Ellen?”

Gracie was aghast.

Ellen cocked her head and stared back.

“Now Gracie Hart! Don’t look at me like that! I’m a grown woman and can do whatever I wish.”

Shaking herself, Gracie nodded in agreement.

“Well, yes, of course. I didn’t mean anything by that. I just didn’t think you—”

Outside the shop door, a woman’s shriek interrupted her comment. All eyes turned toward the sound. Through the glass of the shop window, Gracie could see Suzie, standing very still, holding the crockpot of meatballs, her eyes wide, her face turned skyward.

And dripping. Water-soaked. To the skin. Hair and clothing to boot.

Oh my.

Simultaneously, Gracie and the others jumped up and raced toward Suzie only to hear a splash! as the door opened. Suzie yelled and lowered her gaze. Gracie exited the door and glanced up in time to see the tip of a ponytail fly back into the window of Rick’s apartment.

What in the world?

Gracie looked at Suzie, whose mouth still hung agape, droplets of water dripping from her nose.

Balloon bits.

Water balloon bits.

Everywhere.

“Good gracious, Suzie! Get in here. Quickly!”

Gracie ushered her cousin inside and through the shop where she planted her in a chair in her office.

“I’ll run upstairs and get some towels.”

That child! What had gotten into her? No time to ponder that now.

Quickly, she snatched some towels from her linen closet and headed back down the stairs. She was almost certain she caught sight of Izzie peeking out through a crack in Rick’s door. Later. For now, she had to take care of things.

“Here we go,”

she said breathlessly as she entered her office again.

Suzie looked up at her, hair still stringing down her face.

“Well hells bells. Now what am I going to do? I had my hair all fixed and everything!”

Gracie knelt beside her and started daubing a towel around her face.

“I’m so sorry, Suzie. I’m sure your hair was beautiful. For the life of me I can’t imagine...”

But that was a lie. She could easily imagine. She just didn’t know why.

Suzie’s shoulders dropped.

“Well there goes my date night with Brad. I’ll just have to go back home.”

Brad was Suzie’s new husband. They had married nearly a year ago.

“It’s the first night we really had together since Petey was born. I even had a sitter!”

The women all gathered around in consolation. Constance rubbed her back, Nora murmured comforting words. Ellen patted her hand.

“And I was so looking forward to Happy Hour.”

Gracie stood, not believing what she was hearing. Had they all gone mad?

“Happy Hour?”

All five women looked up and nodded. Gracie thought they were a pitiful sight.

“What in the world is this sudden captivation with Happy Hour?”

she asked.

“What about the book club? What about our discussion of the hottest, sexiest romance novel to come down the pike in quite some time?”

She picked the book up off her desk and turned to Constance.

“Huh? What about this? You couldn’t wait to discuss this last month and now the lot of you can’t wait to get out of here and go get happy next door.”

All four women stared at her, blank looks on their faces.

“You just don’t understand, do you Gracie?”

“That’s right, I don’t. We’ve been doing the Friday night book club for years. Now that this...this bar thing is next door, you have all but forgotten about the book club and me.”

Constance cleared her throat and stepped forward.

“That’s not true, Gracie. We had every intention of bringing you with us.”

That statement, which certainly intended to make Gracie feel better, didn’t.

“But I don’t want to go over there!”

The women sat stunned before her. Gracie hadn’t meant to shout, but she had. It took several seconds, and then Suzie stood and turned to Nora.

“You think you could fix this hair of mine? Your house is closer than the inn and I think all I need is a hairdryer.”

Gracie felt totally and absurdly, dismissed.

Nora nodded furiously and smiled.

“Let me try.”

“All right.”

She turned to Gracie.

“I bet Gracie has a blow dryer. Can we use yours?”

Dumbfounded, Gracie nodded and pointed upstairs. Nora retrieved the thing in a flash and in a matter of minutes, had coifed and dried and fluffed to Suzie’s satisfaction.

“There,”

she proclaimed.

Suzie looked in the mirror from all angles.

“I love it,”

declared Constance.

“Gorgeous,”

exclaimed Ellen.

“You’re a whiz with a blow dryer, girl,”

Marnie added.

“Not too shabby,”

Nora remarked, surveying her work from several angles.

“You really like it?”

asked Suzie.

“Uh-huh,”

the other women chimed in unison.

“Then let’s go.”

“Wait! Blow dry my shirt!”

she told Nora.

Suzie had no longer flung the words from her mouth than Nora had dried her clothes as well and each of them scrambled for the door. To Gracie, it was like something out of some insane Lucy and Ethyl spoof.

They’d all gone mad. She was convinced.

Before she realized it, Gracie put two fingers between her lips and whistled the most unladylike whistle she’d whistled in her life. She owed that to her cousin, Eric, who taught her how to do it when she was twelve.

The crew stopped dead in their tracks and turned. Nora held the blow dryer in mid air.

“Just where in the hell do you think you are going?”

Constance squared her shoulders and looked Gracie straight in the eyes.

“To Ricks,”

she challenged.

Gracie gulped and stared Constance right back.

She was losing her groupies.

She didn’t quite know what to do about it.

“Well?”

Constance prompted.

Gracie glanced from one woman to another, took a deep breath, squared her shoulders just like Constance and drew herself up into her full five-foot-ten-inches height. It was now or never.

“Without me?”

she squeaked.

A small grin curled at one corner of Constance’s mouth and snaked around to the other side producing a full grin. Gracie hated herself at that precise second in time.

Constance had won. Damn it.

****

Rick glanced up just as the entourage entered the bar. His gaze trailed the crew as the older woman named Constance, followed by her Friday night cohorts, picked their way through the sparse crowd toward the bar. He had to stifle a smile. Two Friday nights in a row. Wonder what Gracie would think.

But just as those words turned over in his brain, Gracie stepped through the door behind them.

“Damn,”

he whispered.

“What does she want?”

He found it odd that since she’d chosen to avoid him most of the week, she would venture in for happy hour.

There had to be a reason.

Probably wanted to blast him because the music was too loud or that hi.

“undesirable”

crowd was causing too muc.

“undesirable”

traffic in front of her shop or that he was stealing her customers or something.

But he was completely taken by surprise when she didn’t even toss a glance his way and simply made a beeline straight toward Constance and her cronies. She looked neither right nor left but kept her gaze on her friends. He was even more puzzled when she sidled up to the bar and slipped her delicate behind onto a bar stool, her back stiff and her heels daintily hooked on a stretcher.

She looked about as comfortable as a gobbler on Thanksgiving eve.

He’d waited all week for some indication that she wanted him to leave. Particularly after the Bandit thing. He’d spoken briefly and succinctly to her a few times later in the week. A quic.

“good morning”

in the stairwell, or a cordial “hello”

at Amie’s. He’d sensed she was edgy, contemplating and choosing her words carefully, as though she had a whole lot she wanted to say to him but was waiting for the precise moment or exactly the right words to enter her head before she commenced.

It was driving him crazy. He needed to know what her intentions were about his lease.

Of course, the lease was airtight. He knew that for certain. He didn’t want to, nor would he, push the issue—but he had an airtight case for keeping the lease at least a year.

He couldn’t go back to Asheville now. He’d pulled Izzie out of school, turned over his law practice to Jack, and put his house on the market. There was no turning back. And Gracie Hart didn’t know it, but she would have a fight on her hands if she chose to back out on their agreement.

Much as he hated to lock horns with her—he liked Grace Hart—he would do it because that would be the one obstacle in his path to achieving his goal.

His goal of a new and stable life for Izzie.

Gracie Hart would not interfere.

No way. No how.

“Barkeep! How ‘bout some service over here?”

Rick groaned at Constance’s words. He liked the older woman and she was teasing him, he knew. She was a free-spirited senior citizen who spoke her mind and didn’t act her age. She always made him smile. They’d talked at length a few nights earlier about some of her Peace Corp experiences in the sixties and the years she spent working in the Carter administration in Washington. Interesting woman, to say the least. His groan had nothing to do with Constance and the fact that he was about to take an order for a round of drinks from her and her friends—friends which no doubt would hang around a while tonight—but had everything to do with the fact that he would soon have to face Gracie Hart for more than a brief encounter.

He might have to be pleasant to her.

Ah. Rick had to stifle a small grin. That just might be the ticket. Perhaps he should just use his manly charms to woo her into compliance.

Truth be known, Gracie’s avoidance had bothered him more than he cared to admit. There were moments when he recalled the scene in front of their shops several days back, right after he’d frightened her and made her drop the watering can on her toe, that sent a warm surging into his stomach. The very instance he’d reached out for her dainty foot and had attempted to slowly massage away her pain kept creeping back into his head. He’d felt a sort of connection that night, something....

Wooing Gracie Hart into compliance would not be a painful task, to say the least—but if that were his M.O., he wanted to make sure his wooing was honest.

Rick groaned inwardly and shook his head.

“Last thing you need, Price, is to romance and sweet-talk the woman,”

he murmured.

“You’ve got enough problems without sending out the wrong signals to an unsuspecting female.”

Be sure of what you want before you move in that direction.

Truth was that Rick had no intention of ever getting involved with another woman. Not after experiencing what he had when Marci left. Nope. Never again.

Raising Izzie was his top priority. His only priority. Romancing women was, well, on the back burner. Besides, he worried about Izzie getting attached to a woman and then the relationship not working out. She was too young to have to deal with that again.

“Yoohoo, Mr. Bartender?”

The woman waved. Marnie Malone, the football coach’s wife. He’d met them both on opening night.

Rick nodded their way and smiled as Marnie continued.

“Drinks over here?”

She pointed to the group of women.

Gulping, Rick plastered a smile on his face and approached.

“We’re ba-ack,”

one of them chimed.

“I see.”

Rick smiled.

“My Friday night ladies, eh?”

“He’s such a cute thing, isn’t he?”

Ellen patted his hand.

“Come Rick, be our boy-toy. Won’t you?”

teased Constance.

Rick felt his cheeks heat up.

“Such a love machine.”

Nora winked saucily and did a little disco move.

“Hubba hubba.”

That was from Suzie.

“If I wasn’t already married…”

Rick caught a glimpse of Gracie as her eyes widened in what looked to be disbelief at the sexual banter her friends were dishing out. That’s when Rick decided to get in on the game. Gracie Hart was uncomfortable.

And uncomfortable was cute on her.

He didn’t like where his thoughts were leading him.

“So, what shall we have tonight, ladies? A dip into a Fuzzy Navel? A Screaming Orgasm? A little Sex-on-the-Beach? Or something wilder?”

“Oh! Sex-on-the-Beach! That’s what I want!”

Ellen called out excitedly.

“I haven’t had sex on the beach since Henry died!”

Rick grinned, trying hard not to think about Ellen having sex anywhere.

“Ellen, he wants your drink order! Not the details of your sex life!”

This was from Nora.

“Oh, but Ellen, do tell! Do tell! I wanna know,”

Marnie insisted.

“Well,”

she began.

“it was 1986 and we were vacationing in this little place called—”

Abruptly, Gracie stood and blurted out.

“My God, I can’t believe I’m hearing this!”

For the next ten seconds or so, the entire group was quiet, all eyes on Gracie. Rick’s gaze shifted from Gracie to the five women and back again.

“Gracie, sit down and quit being a damn prude.”

That came from Constance.

“We’re just having a bit of fun here.”

Rick watched Gracie’s eyes widen, her mouth open, then close, then open and close again very quickly. Not even a whimper escaped her lips.

Then she sat right back down again.

He took drink orders from each of them.

Including Gracie.