Page 141 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

There, take that! Let them even think about calling me a prude.

With near precision aim, or as much precision aim as she could muster under the circumstances, Gracie sank another olive into the martini glass on the sink. From her seat at the bar, the glass sat approximately five feet away on the counter against the wall. With the olive carefully positioned between her thumb and forefinger, she closed one eye to a slit and tossed another green missile across the empty space between.

Plop!

Oh yes, she was good. The glass was half-full already.

And it was only her, hm, what? Her third martini?

Or was it her fourth?

Couldn’t tell from the olives piling up in the martini glass, she knew, she’d stolen most of them from behind the bar when Rick was busy with customers.

Oh, hell, she thought. Eating olives and slurping martinis—she’d puff up like a blowfish by morning.

Slowly, Gracie leaned lower into the bar and placed her cheek against the cool, wooden surface. It was late and she was tired. She was also hot. Her brain felt slightly shrink-wrapped. The surround-sound music mixed with cheers from the ball game watchers bounced around inside her head. Her eyelids felt like sandpaper was stuck to the backs of them.

She was most likely a bit tipsy.

But she wasn’t a prude.

Nope.

Not Grace Elizabeth Hart.

She was the life of the damned party. Poopoo on Constance and whomever else doubted her party-hardiness. Now, if she just knew where Constance and the others had gone...

Perhaps she should take a nap. Just a little one.

“Gracie, wake up, honey. We’re leaving.”

Gracie sat up like a shot and tried to focus on the face belonging to the voice in front of her, but all she could distinguish was a fuzzy blob of colors that must represent a human being of some sort, and a dull pain that landed with a thud across her forehead.

“Huh?”

“Time to go, Sweetie.”

“Don’t wanna.”

Gracie slunk back down and put her cheek against the bar again. Ah, that felt so good.

Someone tugged at her arm.

“Now, honey. Before you pass out totally and we have to carry you.”

Gracie didn’t look up, partially waved a leaden arm at the voice, and closed her eyes. There were more voices behind her, beyond her consciousness almost, but she really didn’t care what the voices said.

All she wanted was to sleep.

Sometime later she realized the music had stopped thrumming in her head and the lights weren’t nearly so harsh against her closed eyes and that the wooden counter against her cheek had been replaced with something warm and firm, yet much softer than the bar.

That was about the same time she realized that someone was quietly talking into her ear—although she couldn’t quite understand what that someone was saying—and even through the fuzz and haze of her brain it felt suspiciously like someone had lifted her and was carrying her somewhere....

She wasn’t quite sure where.

Oh well, it didn’t matter, did it?

****

“Okay, Sleeping Beauty, let’s get this over with.”

Rick whispered the words ever so softly because he had no desire to wake Gracie from her more-than-tipsy state as he carried her through his bar, ascended the back stairway, stepped through her apartment, and gently deposited her on her antique four-poster bed.

Constance had made sure Gracie’s apartment was unlocked before she’d left when it became obvious that the women were not going to budge her from the small nest she’d made at the bar. Luckily, it had been a slow night and Gracie hadn’t made a nuisance of herself while she chugged martinis and slam-dunked olives into glasses. She was a quiet drunk, lost in her own little world. Her friends were pretty much amazed, he knew, and when he realized that they were just letting her get drunk, he even questioned why they would do that.

“Do her some good,”

Constance had said.

“She needs to loosen up a bit,”

Suzie chimed in.

“Believe me, I know. I grew up with that girl. She’s always been a little straight-laced.”

“She’ll be old before her time if she doesn’t get out and live a little,”

Ellen added.

“Been doing nothing but running that shop for ten years,”

Nora said.

“Shame for a young woman like that to waste away.”

“Well, she did have that awful time in New York, or so I’ve been told,”

Marnie added.

“Yes.”

All five women chimed at once. Then Nora added.

“Yes, that was just the worst time for her. I’m not sure she ever fully recovered.”

They all inhaled and then let out a long collective sigh.

Rick had wondered just exactly what they were talking about. What had happened to Gracie ten years ago?

“She needs a life,”

Constance said after a minute.

“She needs a man,”

Suzie said matter-of-factly.

And when those same women just abandoned her, just left her there for him to take care of, he was at first flabbergasted, then furious, then nervous, and then finally extremely curious about the entire situation.

Of course, then it dawned on him.

The old biddies were matchmaking, pure and simple.

They wanted him to be Gracie’s man.

It was a good thing he had his head screwed on good and tight and he could see through their ploy. He just hoped Gracie did too. He sure as hell would hate for either of them to slip into their matchmaking scheme. Especially Gracie. He couldn’t have her falling in love with him, only for him to break her heart.

Because no matter what the Happy Hour Honeys were thinking, Rick Price was not the man for Gracie Hart. Right now, he was not the man for any woman.

He’d have to set the ladies straight as soon as he saw them again.

Trying to dismiss all that from his head, Rick glanced down at Gracie snuggling into her pillow. She’d curled slightly onto her side after he’d laid her there, drawing her knees up and tucking her hands up next to her chin. Strands of silky hair had partially fallen from the clip, which held her locks in a usually neat French roll at the back of her head. The clip looked to be a little askew and uncomfortable, forcing her head into a crooked position on the pillow.

Contemplating for a second, Rick placed one knee on the bed and reached for the clip. Carefully, he removed it, trying not to tangle and pull her hair. The remainder of her silky mane fell around her shoulders. For a second or two, he just stood over her, watching the light from her bedside table lamp dance over the shining highlights of her hair. She moaned and rolled over, and Rick moved back. Twisting to the other side now, Gracie’s hair fell completely over her face.

Without thinking, he leaned forward again and brushed the locks away from her eyes and cheeks, smoothing them back over the pillow. Her hair was soft and so was her cheek where his knuckles briefly touched.

That was where he made his mistake. Touching her. He knew it immediately. That slight touch, that ever-so-gentle caress of his knuckles against her dewy skin and the feel of her silky tresses on the pads of his fingers, sent one mega-warning spiral into his gut.

A deep spiral that jack-knifed and plummeted into somewhere he’d never felt before.

He had to get out of here.

Abruptly, he pulled back, placed the clip on the bedside table, and reached for the switch on the lamp. Something stopped him and he glanced back once more.

Hell…

With a few jerky and swift movements, he moved to her feet and removed her sandals, careful not to linger over the feel of her foot in his hands, the delicate curve of her arch, or the blaze red toenails that always took him a bit by surprise. Then he covered her with an afghan lying at the foot of her bed.

There. At least she looked a bit more comfortable.

For the second time, he reached for the lamp, his hand slowing as he glanced at the pictures on her bedside table he hadn’t noticed earlier. Two antique, Victorian-style frames anchored either side of the lamp. Not sure why, he bent closer to look into one, and then the other.

The first picture was of a woman, a ballerina, her hair swept off her face and on top of her head in a tight knot. Her legs were long, her body graceful, her chin tilted high into the air striking an almost regal pose, her arms perfectly placed as she stood in some dancer’s position of which he had no clue the name.

The ballerina, he was certain, was Gracie. A younger Gracie.

That would probably explain the satin ballet slippers placed strategically before the picture.

The other picture was of Gracie and a man. Which, despite the statements he’d heard earlier this evening, required no explanation at all. The look between them told him all he needed to know. The two were obviously very much in love.

****

Saturday morning breakfast consisted of a pot of strong coffee, three headache pills, and a diuretic. The first to unshrinkwrap her brain, the second to dull the thumping inside her skull, and the third to ward off the puffy blowfish look she woke with from ingesting way too much sodium and alcohol the night before.

It was not a good look, or a good day so far. Consequently, she was not in the mood for the Saturday morning coffee-klatch. She wanted like hell to keep the “closed”

sign turned out on the door all day long.

But she wouldn’t. There had not been a day in ten years, since she first opened the shop, that she’d closed the shop for no reason at all. And the girls were expecting her.

Of course, today could always be a first.

Acting strictly on impulse, Gracie slowly walked to the back of the store and shut off the lights. She ignored the knock on the front door as she slowly made her way back up the stairs.

Gracie Hart certainly wasn’t a prude. She’d proven that last night. And she could certainly make her own decisions about whether she wanted to see her friends this morning, or not. Or open her shop this morning, or not.

Today, she chose, or not.

****

“All right, so these are our choices. What’s it going to be, Munchkin?”

It was a lazy Saturday morning and Rick scrolled through the channels on his television searching for a movie suitable for Izzie’s eyes and ears. Always careful about his selections, he knew the task before him was a difficult one. Izzie was not easily pleased when it came to movies.

What he liked, she didn’t. What she liked, or thought she liked, he would never allow.

“Still the same rules?”

He glanced back down into her freckled face.

“Yep,”

she replied. Hands on hips, she cocked her head to one side and ticked them off.

“No girlie stuff. No singing movies. No kissy junk. No dopey animals.”

Rick grinned. Those rules eliminated quite a bit. His rules were a little different. His main concerns were nothing graphic, no foul language, and no violence.

It was damned hard for them to find a happy medium at times. Surely, they could agree on something, though.

“All right, so how about 101 Dalmatians or Bambi?”

Izzie snarled her nose and shook her head.

“Dopey animals,”

she replied.

“Okay, well how about this one. Mary Poppins.”

She shook her head.

“Old school… Seen it a hundred times, Dad. Besides, it’s a singing movie.”

He picked up another.

“Here’s one.”

He chose a channel and the movie cover came up.

“Girlie stuff,”

she replied.

“This?”

She shook her head and sighed.

“Kissy junk.”

Frustrated, Rick put down the remote.

“Well, there is nothing else, Iz.”

“Yes, there is. Wait.”

She ran off to her room and he watched her go, wondering what in the world that girl had up her sleeve. In no time, she came back carrying a DVD box.

“What about this? Hockey Players from Hell.”

Rick snatched the box from her hand. A snarling hockey player with blood dripping from his stick stared back at him. What in the world?

“Where did this come from?”

“Let’s watch it Dad. It’s really bloody…”

“No!”

“But—?”

“Too much violence.”

“But I watched it at Joey Brockman’s house, and he let me borrow it and—”

“You what?”

Dumbfounded, Rick looked at his daughter. Wait until he saw Joey Brockman’s dad.

“Well, you’re not going to watch it here. Let’s look again.”

He grabbed up the remote and tried to steer in another direction. The nerve of some parents.

Thank God, he had gotten her out of the city.

“How about this one?”

He pointed the remote, brought up the movie on the screen, and glanced over the description.

“A Cinderella story of the future,”

he said to Izzie.

“Looks like lovie-dovie stuff.”

She scrunched her nose again.

“I think it looks interesting.”

Cinderella had to be safe, right?

“No, Dad. I don’t wanna.”

“It says it’s a kind of Cinderella story. That means it’s a little different. You like Cinderella don’t you?”

Izzie made a rude noise.

Rick tucked it under his arm.

“Let’s watch it.”

“But Dad...”

Izzie whined.

“No. This is it. Come over here and snuggle with me on the couch. I have a quilt.”

“Da-ad!”

Both jerked when a sharp knock came to their apartment door. Izzie was up in a flash. She and Bandit made it to the door simultaneously, the dog barking and the girl jumping up and down in excitement as she opened the door.

“Gracie!”

Rick watched his daughter leap into the woman’s arms.

“Izzie! Don’t jump on Ms. Hart like that!”

He was up by now too and tugged on Izzie’s arm to gather her next to his side.

Gracie looked both startled and befuddled, if not a little fatigued. In fact, upon closer inspection, he wasn’t quite sure he would have recognized her if Izzie hadn’t called out her name.

For the first time since they had met, she wasn’t wearing business clothing. This morning, she wore jeans, tennis shoes, and a t-shirt. Her hair was pulled through a baseball cap—much like Izzie liked to wear hers—which in turn was pulled down low over her forehead. Underneath the bill of that cap, he could tell her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen.

Probably best to ignore that.

“Shop closed today?”

Saturday was usually her biggest day of the week.

She nodded slowly.

“Feeling a bit under the weather,”

she told him.

Rick tried like hell not to grin. “Oh.”

She glanced away. He decided embarrassed looked cute on her.

“Hope you’re feeling better soon.”

She nodded again.

“I should.”

He waited. Why in the hell had she come up here.

“Well, I’ve heard a little hair of the dog…”

She jerked her gaze back to meet his.

“Um, no. I’ve had enough…dog for a while.”

Izzie bustled through in-between them.

“You ate dog!”

Gracie shook herself.

“Oh, my Lord no. It’s just a saying, Izzie.”

Bandit yipped beside the girl.

“Well that’s good. Bandit and me don’t like people who eat dogs, and we wanna like you.”

Gracie sighed.

“Well, I like you too and no, I don’t like people who eat dogs either.”

She looked at Rick and straightened her body.

“I think it’s time to change the subject. I, um, need to ask you a question.”

Rick squared his shoulders.

“Okay, shoot.”

“Okay. I’ll just say this really quick. I don’t remember much about last night, least of which is how I got to my apartment and I’m not sure I really want to know, but the one thing that I really do need to know is if you have any idea where my purse might be. It’s black more like a wallet. You see I think I…”

Rick held up a hand.

“No worries, Gracie. It’s over here.”

He took several steps away from door toward an end table by the sofa. He picked up the small black purse and turned.

“I found it after I… After you left. It was downstairs behind the bar. Must have dropped over there after you were…”

It was Gracie this time who put up a hand.

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

“Olives.”

“I remember.”

“Yeah.”

She moved into the apartment and took the purse.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. And now I’ll be…”

She turned and looked at the television, then glanced to Izzie who was by the store playing with Bandit.

“Um, are you watching this?”

Rick glanced at the TV.

“We just started. Looks good.”

Gracie shook her head and glanced again to Izzie.

“Um, Mr. Price. I’m appalled. Your child is in the room! Time for me to go.”

She headed for the door.

“Wait. Why? It’s just Cinderella.”

She stopped and stared, picked up the remote, and flipped to the channel guide.

“Look. Cinderella is rated R. And Cinderella has no clothes”

Rick stared at the screen. “Shit.”

“Dad!”

Panicking, he plucked the remote from Gracie’s hand, and turned off the television. Embarrassed he looked back at Gracie.

“Thanks. I really didn’t know. You came and I got distracted…”

Now he was blubbering.

“You’re welcome.”

“Now I am leaving.”

This, from Gracie. He wished she would stay.

Then Izzie wailed, realizing the movie was off.

“But Dad! You promised me a movie!”

He crossed the room and crouched down to look into his daughter’s eyes.

“I know I did but there doesn’t seem to be anything on right now that can we agree on so let’s just go downstairs and try out that new arcade game.”

“I don’t want to do that! I’m tired of arcade games. I wanted to watch a movie. You promised! You said we would do something together today. You said this was our day. You said—”

“Izzie. All right. All right. I did and we will see a movie. How about we go out to the theatre and see one on the big screen?”

He glanced up at Gracie, still embarrassed. He didn’t know why Izzie was acting this way.

“Sorry, things are a little off around here.”

“Adjustments are difficult. Izzie has been through a big transition. She’ll come around.”

He sighed.

“You’re right. Thanks for that reminder.”

Gracie shifted her weight and glanced toward the door. She looked a mite uncomfortable.

“Well, I need to go,”

she said, and waved her hand to Izzie as she started to leave.

“Thanks for taking care of my purse, Rick.”

Rick. So we were back to Rick? That was encouraging.

“Dad, I want to go to a movie. Can I invite someone?”

“Izzie, please.”

Rick watched Gracie walk through his apartment door, leaving the door open. She crossed the short landing between their apartments and took the steps down. He hated to admit that he liked the way she looked in those jeans. Not that he didn’t like the way she looked in a skirt and silk blouse either, but she just looked very nice in the jeans.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“Can I invite someone to go with us to the movies?”

“May I.”

“I may?”

He shook his head.

“Sure. Of course.”

“Great!”

“As soon as we eat breakfast and straighten up the apartment you can—”

But Izzie was off in a flash, running out the door and down the stairs. He had no choice but to follow and observe what she was up to from the top as his daughter stopped Gracie by the back door. He watched Izzie’s animated display, her excited little jig and her arms bouncing about as she spoke. He also took in the surprised look on Gracie’s face as she glanced back up at him and then to Izzie.

The girl broke away then and started running back toward Rick a huge grin on her face.

And then it dawned on him.

Oh, no.

“It’s okay,”

Izzie told him out of breath.

“She said she’d come.”

****

Why in the world she agreed to this, she would never know.

Well, she did know. She did it for Izzie, who appeared to be having a bad day. It had a lot to do with how excited the child seemed to want her to join them for the movies. It had everything to do with the sparkle in her eyes and the laughter in her voice. It most certainly had something to do with the way the child pulled at Gracie’s heartstrings every time she batted those sinfully long lashes lately.

She adored the child and she wanted to spend more time with her.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

It was simple. Gracie Hart was a sucker for the reckless charms of Isabella Price.

That’s why she’d told her she’d go to the movies with her and her father. Thing was, she really didn’t think about the consequences of that decision until just a few moments ago.

“Popcorn?”

Gracie shook her head, feeling extremely awkward. It was almost like this was a date and she didn’t want it to be a date. In fact, she hadn’t been out on a date in, oh, say three years or more and that was with some guy Amie had fixed her up with. Was that the shoe salesman or the jockey?

She couldn’t remember.

No, it wasn’t the jockey. Constance had fixed her up with the jockey. Now, if that wasn’t a sight to behold. He was all of five-foot-two compared with her five-foot-ten inches in her stocking feet.

Of course, the guy loved it. He strutted around like a Banty rooster all evening.

Gracie felt like shooting Constance that night. And if memory served her correctly, that was the day she’d sworn off dating altogether.

“Soft drink?”

She shook her head again. It bad was enough that Rick had bought her ticket. This was all just very uncomfortable....

“Let’s go get the good seats, Gracie.”

Izzie grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the guy taking tickets. It was a relief to leave Rick behind gathering drinks and popcorn and Junior Mints for Izzie and himself.

But that relief was short-lived. Izzie found seats all right, front and center. They’d all have crooks in their necks in no time. Rick found them with no problem, though, and took the seat next to her. At first, Izzie was between them, but then she finagled her way to her dad’s left, saying it was easier for her to eat popcorn with her right hand. So, that left Rick and Gracie sitting side-by-side.

It still felt like a date.

It still felt damned uncomfortable.

Thank goodness the previews were coming on. At least she could just get engrossed in the movie and wouldn’t have to communicate with him. At least they could just sit there. She didn’t even have to eat his popcorn if she didn’t want to.

That was one good thing about movies and dates.

But this wasn’t a date, she reminded herself. Not in the least.

Even if it felt like it.