Page 142 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

Rick took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. Very slowly. He didn’t want Gracie to hear the frustration in his sigh.

How in the hell had this happened?

This was supposed to Izzie’s day. Well, he supposed it still was. He had allowed his daughter to invite someone along. He just hadn’t expected that that someone would be Gracie.

Not that he minded but it was going to be damned hard concentrating on anything other than the woman beside him all afternoon. Especially when he’d wanted to devote the afternoon to his daughter.

Ever since last night, when he’d carried Gracie’s lithe body upstairs, removed the shoes from her dainty feet, and brushed the silky strands of hair away from her face, he’d been more than captivated by his neighbor-slash-landlord. That something that had caught in his gut last night and had yet to let go.

Of course, the pictures on her nightstand kept creeping back into his head, too. Especially the one with the man. She obviously loved the guy. But where was he? He and Gracie had been neighbors for several weeks now and he’d never seen the guy hanging around.

Come to think of it, there hadn’t been any men around.

Hell, if he was Gracie’s boyfriend, he’d be...

Enough. Don’t go there, Price.

He stared at the screen.

Just as the dancing hot dogs and singing soft drinks jigged across the screen, Rick sidled a careful glance Gracie’s way. With her right elbow resting on the chair arm, she was leaning into her hand, her fingers massaging her forehead and temples.

Without thinking, he leaned to his right and whispered.

“Headache?”

Jerking upright, she dropped her hand and looked at him. A small wince crossed her face. “Yes.”

“Aspirin?”

She shook her head.

“Already consumed the limit,”

she whispered back.

Last night and this morning, he thought and inwardly chuckled. It wasn’t funny, but he had the notion that Gracie Hart wasn’t a regular boozer, so this was likely very uncharacteristic of her.

“I see. Soft drink? Caffeine can help a hangover.”

He pushed his toward her.

Her eyes grew wide and she shook her head.

“No, thanks.”

“I’ll go get you one then.”

“No, really. I don’t want a soft drink.”

“But—”

“Please, no.”

Her voice rose and her hand went to his arm. All Rick could do was stare at it. Her fingers and nails were just as graceful as the rest of her. Finally, he looked up into her face. Her eyes were pleading with him. Big, soft, doe-like eyes that twisted the wrench in his gut. Just a reminder, he guessed.

As if he needed a reminder that he found the woman extremely attractive.

But from her expression, he could tell that Gracie didn’t want him to direct any more attention to the fact that she was severely hung over.

So, he didn’t.

And as the hot dogs and soft drinks pirouetted off the screen, the lights went down, and he couldn’t see her face any longer.

He sat still for a moment, looking into the dark toward her. He discovered then that he didn’t like not looking into her eyes.

****

“Dad, can we get ice cream?”

Gracie blinked painfully as they exited the theater, her eyes attempting to adjust to the unusually bright afternoon. Of course, her eyes were extremely sensitive today anyway, so perhaps it was only her.

She glanced at Rick. He was squinting, too. Good. Maybe she was getting somewhat back to normal.

He looked back at her, appearing to assess something in her face. Then he turned his attention to Izzie.

“Honey, I’m tired. How about if we do that later this evening?”

“But Da-ad,”

Izzie whined.

“We always get ice cream after a movie.

“Not today, Iz. Okay?”

“But Gracie wants to. Right, Gracie?”

“Well, uh...”

she stammered.

He caught Gracie’s eye again. She was tired, but she should let Rick handle this. She had the distinct feeling that he really didn’t want to spend any more of his afternoon with her.

He’d been very quiet throughout the movie and once, when she’d accidentally crossed her legs and brushed her foot up against his calf, he’d jumped like he was scared to death. Another time, his elbow has slipped off the armrest and his arm had fallen into her lap, startling both. Not to mention how he’d stared at her hand when she’d absentmindedly reached out and touched his arm.

She’d just make it easy on him.

“You two go,”

she interrupted.

“I have some work to do back at the shop.”

Izzie moved in front of Gracie, grasped her hand, and looked up at her with those huge Disney eyes.

“Please, Gracie? Please? Don’t go yet.”

Heaving out a deep sigh, she searched the child’s eyes. Such an angelic little face trapped in a mischievous little body. Reaching out, Gracie smoothed back a few wayward curls that had escaped her ponytail and smiled. Yet, she could be such a monkey. Starved for female attention, she’d deduced lately, this child was getting to her. And bad.

Glancing up, Gracie searched Rick’s face. But Izzie wasn’t the only one getting to her. She’d known it for a while but had refused to acknowledge it. Rick was getting to her, too. She couldn’t let that happen. Thing was, dad and kid were the whole kit-and-caboodle.

It was something she was just going to have to learn to deal with.

Stalling, she wracked her brain, wondering how she might manage to get an afternoon nap and appease Izzie at the same time.

Again, she looked down into the child’s eyes. Life danced in them. She saw a child so different from the one she’d been so many years ago. She saw spirit and spunk and an innocence she, herself, had lost. She saw a child-like passion for living that radiated up inside her with a zest Gracie had longed denied herself.

She saw exactly what she’d been missing for years and had not allowed herself to feel.

Love.

It was simple as that.

“How about this,”

she whispered, crouching down to look Izzie directly in the eyes. The child smiled and continued to search her face.

“I’m a little tired and your Dad is too, I think. Why don’t we all go home for the rest of the day today, then tomorrow, I’ll get my old-fashioned ice cream freezer out and we’ll make homemade ice cream out on the back deck. Deal?”

Izzie’s face screwed up a bit.

“You can make ice cream?”

“Yep. You never had homemade ice cream before?”

The monkey shook her head.

“Well. I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

Izzie smiled and nodded furiously.

“But can’t we do it today?”

Gracie shook her head.

“I have some work to do and your father has to open up Rick’s tonight, right?”

Looking up, Gracie finally allowed herself to glance back at Rick, who was staring at her with an odd expression on his face. Something abruptly clutched in her chest and she felt like she’d done something very wrong.

“I’m sorry,”

she said softly to him.

“You may have had other plans for tomorrow. I should have—”

He put up his hand to stop her, his eyes not leaving hers. “No,”

he said.

“We have no other plans. I think...”

He paused and looked to his daughter and Gracie followed his gaze. A long sigh exited his lips. Izzie, still clutching Gracie’s hand, peered back at her dad with a most satisfied expression on her face. “I think,”

he continued, glancing back to Gracie now.

“that we both would like that very much.”

Finally, a small, hesitant grin meandered across his lips.

For just a few seconds, Gracie studied his face. She grinned back. “Good,”

she returned softly.

Her heart suddenly felt full of something she didn’t dare try to define, so she shoved it away. For now. Maybe she’d drag it back up later. But that fullness felt good.

Too good.

****

The next afternoon, Gracie stared into her bathroom mirror and groaned. Her eyes were no longer red but were still swollen as all get-out.

She’d hoped that after she’d showered and gone to the grocery to gather ice cream supplies, and had drank tons of water, the puffiness would have subsided.

No such luck. Small bags of puff still existed underneath each eye like little carpet bags of fluid.

Drat.

Tea bags. That might do it. After a few minutes, Gracie was lying in her bed with brewed and chilled tea bags on her eyes, when she started wondering why she was even concerned about puffy eye-bags in the first place.

She wasn’t trying to catch Rick’s eye. She didn’t need to look gorgeous for him. She didn’t even want him to look at her in any way other than as her neighbor and landlord.

What difference did it make if she had puffy eyes?

It didn’t matter.

Quickly, Gracie rose and tossed the tea bags into the garbage in her bathroom. She splashed water on her face, toweled off, and didn’t even look in the mirror before she left. She also acknowledged to herself that she hadn’t put on a speck of makeup all day long.

What the heck. She was just going to make ice cream on her back deck with her neighbors. She didn’t need makeup.

She didn’t need to impress anyone. Least of all Rick Price. She just wanted to spend time with Izzie—and Izzie didn’t care if she wore makeup. Or not. In fact, Izzie probably thought makeup was girlie stuff.

Sometime later that day, while standing in her kitchen and mixing up the ice cream ingredients, a knock came to her door.

“Door’s open,”

she shouted, still stirring milk, eggs, sugar, vanilla, and a few other ingredients in a large mixing bowl.

The door burst open and like a whirlwind, Izzie raced across her living room toward her small kitchen.

“Hey, Gracie!”

Gracie smiled.

“Hey ya, monkey!”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Getting ready to cook the ice cream.”

“Cook it! But we gotta get it cold, not hot!”

the imp exclaimed.

Smiling, Gracie transferred the mixture to a large saucepan.

“Well, you have to cook this kind first, and then we put it into the freezer to get cold and hard. It’s going to take a little while, so I hope your mouth’s not all set for ice cream just yet.”

“How long?”

she inquired.

“A few hours. But it will be worth the wait.”

“Then just skip the cooking part.”

Izzie jumped up on a bar stool and peered across the snack bar into the mixture on the stove.”

“Can’t,”

Gracie explained.

“This kind has eggs in it, and you have to cook the eggs so we don’t get salmonella.”

“Simonhoola?”

Glancing up from her stirring, Gracie laughed.

“Salmonella. It’s a kind of food poisoning. In other words, if you get it you throw up a lot.”

“Samon-ellie?”

“Salmon...like the fish.”

Izzie screwed up her face then.

“Cook it good, then, okay? I don’t wanna puke like a fish.”

Giggling, Gracie nodded and agreed.

“Sure will, Iz.”

As she glanced up, she noticed that her front door was still ajar and that Rick was standing there, framed by her front door. Immediately, her heart clutched. How long he’d been there, she had no clue.

“May I come in?” he asked.

She nodded and smiled.

“Of course.”

Cautiously, he stepped across the threshold and toward the kitchen. After sidling up next to Izzie and depositing himself on another bar stool, he peered over to look at the mixture on the stove.

“You have to cook it?”

Gracie’s smile broadened. “Yes,”

she told him, her attention still on the mixture. She turned the heat up a little bit.

“But we’re going to freeze it, right?”

“It’s ‘cause you’ll puke like a fish if she doesn’t cook it,”

Izzie offered.

Gracie looked at Rick who was looking at his daughter with eyebrows arched.

“You’ll what?”

“You’ll puke.”

“Why?”

“Some fish thing.”

Gracie chuckled and went back to her stirring.

“What fish thing?”

Rick queried.

“The Simon fish thing.”

“You mean, salmon, like salmon patties?”

“Yeah, like that.”

“You’re confusing me, Izzie. What does salmon have to do with ice cream?”

Izzie heaved out a sigh and tossed out her hands as she looked her dad square in the eyes.

“It has to do with fish eggs. You must kill them all. That’s what makes you puke.”

“Fish eggs,”

he echoed. Gracie felt his gaze on her, so she looked up.

“Fish eggs,”

she repeated.

“It’s named after some girl named Simon Ellen,”

Izzie said then.

Rick guffawed and looked from Gracie to his daughter and back to Gracie again.

“Salmonella,”

she finally offered.

“This recipe has eggs in it so therefore you have to cook it, so you won’t get salmonella.”

“That’s what makes you puke,”

Izzie explained.

Gracie laughed, still looking at Rick.

“Yes, that’s what makes you puke.”

“Like a fish.”

Again, Rick belted out a laugh. Leaning over, he bear-hugged Izzie and held her close.

“You silly Munchkin,”

he told her.

“I love your mind.”

“I love your mind, too, Dad,”

Izzie chimed back.

Gracie suddenly realized she was smiling at the whole scene and had stopped stirring when a big kerplop! bubbled up through the mixture.

“Oh, gosh!”

Embarrassed, she turned down the heat and started furiously stirring.

“Guess I need to pay attention to what I’m doing, huh?”

“Yep!”

Izzie laughed.

“Please, do,”

Rick added.

“Make sure you properly kill all those fish eggs.”

“Or we have to tell Simon Ellen,”

Izzie told her.

Gracie continued stirring, laughter boiling up inside of her.

It was a nice feeling.

****

Rick swiped at his brow and continued cranking the arm of the old ice cream freezer. The swipe didn’t help much, perspiration still dripped from his forehead onto the deck with huge plops. The July afternoon had turned into a humid evening. He wouldn’t doubt if there wasn’t a summer thunderstorm in their near future.

“How much longer?”

Izzie peered over his shoulder.

“Not too much, I think. It’s getting harder to crank.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.”

It was very good. His arm was tired. A few minutes passed and Izzie moved around to the front of him, intently watching the process.

“You’re sweating, Dad.

“That I am, Iz.”

“Is it hard?”

“You could say that.”

He glanced up. Where in the heck was Gracie? His arm was tired. No wonder she’d taken the first cranking shift. Surely this should be ready by now.

“Gracie’s slicing strawberries.”

Rick looked up at his daughter.

“Why did you say that?”

“I saw you looking for her.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

He returned to his cranking. Water sloshed out of the drain hole.

“Yes, you were.”

“Was not,”

Rick returned.

“Was too.”

Frustrated, he stopped cranking and stared at his daughter. Slowly, he sat back on his heels, reached for his right bicep, and started rubbing the muscle. Who would have thought making homemade ice cream would be so much work?

“Was not,”

he countered and then threw her a narrowed gaze that meant no more. Besides cranking the freezer, his temper was bordering on cranky.

“Done yet?”

This was from Gracie, who just that second popped out the back door and stepped out onto the deck. She carried bowls and spoons and a plastic container which he hoped held those sliced strawberries. Perhaps all this cranking wouldn’t be for naught.

“Not sure. How do you know?”

He watched as she sat the dishes on the redwood table and approached the two of them. Smiling, she crouched down beside him and reached for the handle. After giving it one hard crank backward, she said.

“Just a little longer.”

“More?”

he croaked.

“More,”

she replied.

“You’re sure it’s not done?”

“Positive.”

He searched her eyes for a moment and realized that at some point today, Gracie had added a touch of makeup. Her cheeks looked rosier, too. And she was wearing a hint of lipstick. She must be feeling better, he thought, and was glad about that.

“You’re perspiring.”

Chuckling, he reached for the hand-crank.

“This is hard work!”

“But worth it.”

He stopped mid-crank and looked at her again. “Promise?”

Slowly, she nodded.

“Promise. Now get cranking.”

She walked away then and Izzie joined her. Rick found himself lost in the way she kidded with Izzie and gracefully moved about the deck and set the bowls and spoons and strawberries out on the table.

Who was this woman who had danced into his life?

He was enjoying himself so much, he didn’t even notice his arm hurt like hell.