Restoration

RESTORATION

A Golden Beach Novel

KIM LORAINE

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

RESTORATION

Copyright©2015

KIM LORAINE

Cover Design by Ramona Lockwood

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher.  The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-61935-
801-0

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

To my love

Acknowledgements

There are so many people who offered invaluable help and support to me as I wrote Restoration. First and foremost I thank my family. My wonderful husband who kept the kids alive while I went to write every weekend. I am so lucky that you are mine. LERMS.

I can honestly say that I am beyond blessed to have so many friends and family members who were willing to take time out of their lives to read draft after draft. Kathie, Jenni, Momma Kim, Mom, Dad, Tosha, Rachel, and Sam. Thank you for reading, offering your opinions, and support! Special thanks to Brian Paone and Kristi Rose, without your critiques the book wouldn’t be where it is now.

My publisher, Soul Mate Publishing, thank you for taking a chance on me. I will forever be grateful. Cynthia Brannam, my awesome editor, thanks for EVERYTHING. My cover artist and my fellow Soulies. And lastly, thank you, my readers, I hope you fall in love with Grace and Drew like I have.

Chapter 1

“Attention ladies and gentlemen, we’re preparing for our descent into London/Heathrow International Airport. The captain has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign. Please ensure your seatbacks and tray tables are in their locked and upright positions. We should be arriving at our destination within the half-hour.”

The flight attendant’s overly cheerful voice roused Grace McConnell from her paperback novel. Her neck ached, and her legs itched to move from the confines of her seat on the plane. She nudged the woman next to her. Drool trickled from her mouth and she rubbed at her face.

“Are we there?” Valerie beamed, elation in her eyes. “I’m so excited. London. Grace, we’re actually moving to London.”

“We’re about to land.” Grace’s stomach dropped and her hand went to the antique locket hanging around her neck. She worried at it with her fingers until her friend shot her a look.

“Grace, you’ve got to move on.”

“I know. I’m trying.”

“A year in London, restoring a historic town, meeting new people, and breaking out of your comfort bubble. This is exactly what you need.”

Grace nodded, feeling the burn of unshed tears in her throat.

“John would be proud of you. He wouldn’t want to see you waste your life.”

Her chest ached at the mere mention of his name. When he’d died last year, she’d thought the grief would kill her. The move to London was giving her the chance to start over and carve out her own place in the world. An opportunity to get away from their small town.

She lifted the chain from her neck and opened the locket. His warm chocolate eyes stared back at her with an intensity that stole her breath.

The pressure in the cabin changed, causing her ears to pop and crackle as she yawned. “I hate this part,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Landing?”

“Not so much the landing. It’s the idea that we’re in a metal tube, falling slowly to the earth.”

Valerie scoffed. “Control freak.”

“Yep.” Grace closed her eyes and worked to control her breathing as the ground approached. She tried to distract herself with thoughts of her new future, this amazing job opportunity, and the life she wanted for herself. When that didn’t work, she resorted to an old classic.

Dear God, please don’t let us crash.

She knew it sounded elementary, but it always worked. She repeated the mantra until the wheels touched down.

At the sound of squealing tires and the roar of the air ripping as the wing flaps were raised, she finally began to relax, her focus brought back to the present and future. The plane rolled to a stop at the terminal and she peeled her fingers from her knees.

“The worst is over.”

“I hope our bags made it from our connecting flight,” Valerie whined as they disembarked the plane.

“I’m sure they did. Now, where is baggage claim?”

They searched the airport for signs leading them out of the gate area. Grace was momentarily overcome with anxiety by the current of people rushing by, dodging the paths of distracted travelers heading to their flights. A familiar flutter of nerves started in her stomach as she left the concourse and followed the signs to the baggage carousels.

“I’ll get us a cart. You doing all right?” Valerie’s voice was filled with concern.

“Fine.” She took a shaky breath. “You know I don’t like big crowds.”

“Yeah. Guess I forgot. Haven’t seen you outside of the office much lately.”

“I’ll be fine. Go get the cart.” Grace checked the time. “It’ll be a few more minutes until our luggage starts coming out anyway.”

Grace groaned as she plopped down onto one of the seats ringing the baggage claim area. She was tired and hated this part of traveling. Airports seemed to bring out the worst in people. Valerie returned, accompanied by a rolling cart, and stood at the back of the crowd, trying in vain to peek through the spaces between the taller heads in the front of the mass. As the crowd thinned and people snatched their bags from the revolving belt, Grace finally stood, ready to join them and claim her own belongings.

That’s when she saw him.

He was standing at the carousel opposite her own.

“Holy hell,” she whispered, her heart clenching at a mirror image of the man she’d loved so deeply.

His unruly hair was longer than usual, sticking up every which way. He looked different and yet completely the same. She watched as he leaned in and pulled a suitcase off the belt. His eyes met hers for a moment from across the room and she dropped her gaze, flustered and hurting.

“It’s not him. Get it together,” she muttered to herself, as her eyes filled with hot tears.

“Come on! Our bags are circling.” Valerie weaved the cart through the crowd.

Grace looked back at the spot where the man had been standing, only to find an empty space.
John is dead. Stop it, Grace.

Fear boiled inside her.
I think I’m losing my mind.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Valerie asked, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

She shook her head and laughed it off, boxing her fears away. “Yeah.” She bit her lip and fought to control the quaver in her voice. “I thought I saw, well . . . I thought I saw John.” She waved her hand, trying to dismiss her own words. “I’m just tired.”

Her friend’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure. He looked just like him. But then he was gone when I looked back.”

Her bag turned the corner on the carousel and she jumped at the chance to change the subject. “Oh, God, why did I pack so much?” Grace grunted as she hefted the large suitcase and set it on their cart.

“Probably because we’re
moving
here. Anyway, my bag is heavier than yours. I had to pay that ridiculous fee for the extra weight. I don’t know why they wouldn’t take into consideration that this is my entire wardrobe and I’m not vacationing.”

“Right.” Grace smiled as she pushed the cart toward the taxi terminal. “Here we go.”

The cool air hit them as the doors whooshed open. Grace took a deep breath, smelling motor oil, jet fuel, and tarmac. She wrinkled her nose and coughed. “Well, it’s better than recirculated airplane air.”

Valerie laughed. “True.”

“Come on, let’s get going. I’m dying to get to our house and sleep in an actual bed.”

Grace waved down a taxi and sighed with relief when they finally started toward their new town and her new life.

Grace woke with the feeling of her he
art breaking, her temples pounding from the pressure of her clenched teeth, and most of all, her mind clinging desperately to the images her subconscious couldn’t let go of.

John
. . .

She’d dreamt of him every night for eleven months. The dream was always the same—rich brown eyes stared into her own, while simple sweet words were whispered against her lips. She could almost feel the pressure of his mouth on hers after waking. There seemed to be no way to move forward when he visited her night after night.

As the alarm on her phone began to buzz, she sat up and threw the unfamiliar covers off her legs, ready to begin the day. She hoped this would be the first morning of her new beginning; a step toward a new life.

Her limbs moved heavily, weighed down by jetlag, and her eyes hurt. The bedroom she’d chosen in their new cottage wasn’t the bigger of the two, but it was comfy and quaint.

“Morning.”

Grace heard a sleepy voice from a corner of the sitting room area. She looked past the stacks of boxes and saw Valerie sleepily stirring her coffee, while curled up in the cozy armchair by the fireplace. “Morning. Did you sleep at all?”

“Some. It’s so different here, isn’t it?”

Grace nodded and padded over to the kitchen to get a cup of the delicious smelling coffee. As she poured it into a mug she’d pulled from a box marked in red sharpie, she went through her mental list of things to take care of today. She thought back to the voice mail from John’s mother she’d forgotten to check before the flight. She pulled her phone out of her purse and played the message, international charges be damned.

“Hi, Grace, dear, this is Marianne. I wanted to check up on you, honey. Brian and I have been missing you. We want you to know that you’re always welcome with us and we would love to hear how you’re travels are going. Please call me. Love you, sweetie.”

She smiled as she poured her coffee, but it was a bittersweet moment. John’s mother was kind-hearted and loved her like a daughter. But after months of constant calls, coffee dates, family dinners, and random drop-ins, Grace needed a break.

It was nice of her to give me a call, though.
She mentally chastised herself as she took a cautious sip from her steaming mug.

Valerie stood and stretched, yawning loudly. “Marianne?” she asked, shooting a knowing glance at the phone.

Grace nodded as she swallowed her coffee. “We should try to get our phone set up today, don’t you think? And the internet. We need to contact the office as soon as we can.”

She let out another yawn. “Yes, I already made an appointment. They should be here within the hour. You might want to get dressed. We’ll have to go out to get food.”

Grace grabbed her cup and headed to her
en suite
. As she rifled through her toiletries bag, searching for her shampoo, soap, and toothbrush, she thanked God for the change in scenery. She stepped under the spray of the shower and let the hot water cascade over her, washing the grime of travel from her skin. Her shoulders relaxed and her eyes closed. She focused on clearing her mind of all-things-John. Her central focus needed to be work. That’s what she was in Braley for.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in dark jeans, converse tennis shoes, and a simple black shirt and cardigan, she emerged from her bedroom refreshed and ready to start the day.
First thing’s first. Get to the site and see what kind of building I’ve got to work with.

Apparently, an old manor house which had been converted into attached homes had been purchased with the intent of renovation prior to leasing. The buyer had hired Bidwell to supervise the accurate restoration of the homes and maintain their status as historic structures. Mr. Bidwell had personally confided in her that if the firm did a good job, he was reasonably sure their contract would be extended to the restoration of the church and possibly the town hall. All of which would look fantastic in her portfolio.

When she rounded the corner into the kitchen, she found two workmen—obviously the cable and internet installers—enjoying a cup of coffee, while Valerie chatted animatedly about adjusting to the time change. She was all smiles and they gave her appreciative looks. Grace chuckled to herself. She was thirty-two years old and hadn’t been noticed like that in a long time. She felt a pang of jealousy.

Get over it. You’re not in your twenties anymore.

“Afternoon, miss. We’ll be out of your hair in no time. Just give us a minute and we’ll get you squared away,” the taller man said. Neither one of them were particularly good looking, but she noticed how much their accents did to enhance their appeal.

“You lot Americans, then?” the second man asked.

“Yes. We just arrived two days ago,” Valerie answered shyly.

“Found yourselves a posh spot. Blimey, this place is top notch.”

“Thank you. We really haven’t had a chance to look too closely yet.”

After a few minutes of tinkering with the laptop, the men had everything up and running. They gave turn-by-turn directions to a nice place for lunch and were gone.

“Relatively painless,” Grace said.

Valerie snickered. “So, they really do say
blimey
and
posh
.”

Grace laughed and looked around the cozy cottage, draped with lace doilies and
grandma
furniture. “I’m pretty sure they laid it on thick for our benefit.”

After sending a brief message, checking in at the office, they headed out to explore.

As they walked around Braley, they saw an authentic English town right out of the pages of a history book. They found Tudor-style homes, long since converted to shops, as well as terraced houses in some areas.

“Are those buildings slightly crooked or is it just me?” Valerie asked as they stopped in front of a row of homes.

“It’s not you. A lot of structures still standing from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries begin to lean as a result of the beams warping.” She cast a teasing glance at her friend. “You should know this stuff. Has the truth finally come out? Are you actually
not
as capable as you seem?”

Valerie’s lips quirked into a grin as she nodded. “I knew it. I’ve just never seen buildings like these in real life.”

Cafés and pubs lined the narrow streets and a road led to a church at the edge of town. People were out and about walking from shop to shop. Some were openly friendly, smiling and waving. She was enamored with the architecture and as they stood in front of the manor house they’d been hired to restore, her heart leapt with anticipation. She hoped Bidwell was right; she would love to get her hands on the church.

If all goes well, I could eventually get to work on the whole town.