Restoration (7 page)

“Goodnight, Drew,” Grace whispered as she walked him to the front door and stood up on her toes to place a light kiss against his lips. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight.”

God, she’s perfect.
Drew walked through the last remnants of the storm
y night, which quickly rocketed to the top of his
best nights ever
list.

The rain was soaking him, but he didn’t care one iota. All he could think about was Grace. He could still smell her hair, the scent of oranges lingered in his nostrils. He needed more of her. Every encounter brought on a fresh wave of desire, stronger than the last. She seemed so mysterious; skittish and fragile, yet completely self-sufficient. He needed to find a way to see her again, and soon. The storm refused to putter out completely and he fell asleep to the sound of the wind whipping at the trees outside his window.

The next morning he woke early. The light was just peeking over the hills and he jumped out of bed planning an early run. He told himself it wasn’t in hopes of bumping into her again. He was lying. He laced up his running shoes and took a moment to brush his teeth and check his reflection. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, stubble covered his jaw, and his hair was sticking up every which way.

“Gah,” he said to his own reflection.

He finished brushing his teeth and attempted to wet his hair to get it to behave. After a few go-rounds with the comb, he finally just ran his fingers through it and popped in his earbuds.

It was cold. The clearing of the storm left the sky void of clouds. This made for a beautiful morning, but a chilly one as well. He shivered as he warmed his muscles up. His head was foggy, lack of sleep and a persistent state of arousal causing serious issues with his cognitive abilities.

As he stretched and walked along the footpath, he craned his neck in search of Grace. He passed by her cottage and saw no lights on. Disappointment filled him as he realized she must be sleeping, tired from staying up so late. He set his playlist and began his run, hoping to distract himself from thoughts of the night before.

If he was going to get anything done, he needed to stop thinking of her.

C
hapter 8

“Is it safe? Are you decent?” Valerie asked, her eyes scrunched tightly shut as she popped open Grace’s bedroom door the next morning.

The smell of coffee filled her room and the sound of birds chirping outside her window signaled fair weather. The night seemed like a dream. She reached out her arms and stretched all the way to her toes as she took a deep breath and smiled to herself.

The door creaked as Valerie poked her head inside, one hand holding a steaming cup of coffee.

“I’m alone.”

Valerie opened her eyes, clearly surprised. “But, I thought, Drew?”

Grace shook her head and took the offered cup. “He left around two.”

Valerie waggled her eyebrows suggestively, leaning against the door frame. “Really? I pictured him as more of an overnighter, breakfast in the morning, maybe even lunch.”

“No, it wasn’t like that. Nothing happened.”

“That’s not what it looked like when I got home.”

“Well, yeah. It sort of killed the mood knowing you were in the next room.”

Valerie had the good sense to look abashed. “Sorry.”

Grace shrugged and brought the coffee to her lips. She felt like she owed Valerie some kind of explanation. After all, she’d become more than just an assistant over the last year. After John died Valerie was the one who’d kept her focused and together. Things were different in Braley. They’d become much less like co-workers and more like good friends.

She remembered fondly the day she’d spent packing her house, readying everything for their move across the ocean. Valerie had changed, morphing into a friend almost instantly.

The doorbell had rung promptly at eight-fifteen. Impeccably punctual, she’d thought as she opened the door to see a harried-looking Valerie balancing a carrier with two coffees on top of a box of fresh bagels. In her other hand, she held a tape gun and at least five sharpies of various colors.

“What is all this?” she asked with an amused smile.

Valerie blew a stray piece of hair from her face as she handed the coffee and bagels over. “Sustenance and supplies!”

“Yeah, but why so many sharpies?”

“Color coding.” Valerie rolled her eyes as if this was normal for everyone.

“Can’t I just label the boxes in the same color?”

Valerie looked at her with her mouth agape. “Oh, sure. Go ahead, if you want to be searching all over the place for kitchen boxes because they got put in the bathroom.”

Grace snickered under her breath and set off to the already sparse kitchen.

“I see. You know most of this is going into storage, right?”

The day had passed slowly while they packed and occasionally emailed the office. Her replacement was a competent architect in his own right and she wasn’t concerned about his ability to take care of things. It was just about lunchtime when Valerie poked her head up from a box she was working on.

“What do you want to do with this?” she said, holding up a box labeled,
John’s Stuff
.

Grace’s heart caught in her throat as she walked toward the still sealed box. She ran her hand lightly over the tape. The box was one the fire department had brought to her after his funeral. They’d cleaned out his locker and all of the little items he collected over the years were in this box. John was always picking things up and putting them in his coat pockets or making her save things that might need remembering later.

“Let’s open it and see what’s inside,” Grace said after a moment.

The box was medium-sized with no considerable weight to it. She wondered how much stuff might be in there. She brushed away the film of dust on top and carefully sliced the tape. There was a thick envelope at the top of the box with her name written in his simple handwriting. She carefully set it aside and continued to discover the last things connected to him.

There were the odd knickknacks, such as paperclips he’d destroyed by bending them into random shapes, one of his fire helmets which she could barely look at, a manila folder full of pictures of them together, and his uniform.

She set aside everything except for the uniform shirt. She took the deep blue fabric in her hands and brought it to her face. She inhaled deeply and could still smell him; clean and a little spicy. Her eyes were brimming with tears, but this time she was smiling.

“Grace.” Valerie’s voice was soft. “Do you want me to go? I can get some lunch while you look through his things.”

“No, I think I’m good. I’m going to save this for later.” She ran her fingers over the envelope with her name on it.

Valerie nodded and sniffed, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

“I think I’ll keep the pictures and the shirt. The rest can go to Marianne. Would you mind boxing it back up for me?”

Valerie set to work on getting the box packed and placed it by the front door. Grace stood, brushed her hands off, and took the few precious mementos of John back to her bedroom. When she returned to her living room, Valerie took her in a tight hug. Grace let out the breath she’d been holding and pulled away to give Valerie a watery smile.

“All right, let’s get to work.” She pulled herself together. “This house isn’t going to pack itself.”

Months later, here she was, sitting in her new bedroom, an expectant Valerie waiting for details of her major make-out session with another man. She took a deep breath and stood.

“Come on, let’s get something to eat and I’ll tell you about it.”

“So, how are things with D
rew? Any new developments you haven’t shared?” Valerie asked Grace two weeks later as they walked back from appraising the work site.

“It’s really . . . different.”

“Different good?”

“I think so. I mean, it’s been fifteen days since we started really seeing each other, but we’ve both been so busy we’ve had most of our conversations by text. He may look like John, but I forget that most of the time. He’s just, different.”

“Well, when are you seeing him again?”

“Maybe this weekend. He’s been spending a lot of time going back and forth to London. I guess they’re working on an expansion deal for Ten’s.”

Valerie’s eyebrows rose. “Really?” She eyed Grace carefully. “So you two haven’t, you know?”

“Had sex?” She laughed. “No. Not yet.”

“Really? You’ve got more self-control than I do. He’s hot. He’s got that whole mild-mannered, Clark Kent thing going for him.”

A grin spread over her lips and she chuckled as she opened the door to their house and headed inside, ready to attack her barrage of emails. Valerie sighed as she opened her laptop.

They’d been putting in long days as they tried to solve all the problems that came along with restoring historic buildings. They had to decide what was appropriate, safe, and fit the time period. Since the building served as connected homes, or apartments, it also had to be up to code to be considered safe for living. The building had once served as a home to one of the many lords given title by Henry VIII. It was large, grand, and had been altered many times. Maintaining the original structure and design was presenting numerous challenges. They spent countless hours scouring blueprints, any original documents they could find, and consulting with local historians, making sure all their work was authentic.

The sun was dipping below the horizon as the two of them put out the latest in a long line of fires for the project. Valerie stretched and yawned fiercely while Grace brought them both a glass of Pinot Noir she’d bought for the weekend.

“I was saving this for Saturday night, but I think we need it now,” she said as she pushed a stemless glass to her friend.

Valerie took the offered drink and leaned back in her chair as she downed half its contents. Grace eyed her suspiciously.

“Thirsty?”

“Yes.” Valerie’s answer was curt and out of character.

“What’s up with you? You’ve been distracted all day.”

As if on cue, Valerie’s phone chirruped again. She checked it briefly and rolled her eyes as she tossed it onto the table.

“Mick?” Grace asked.

“Yes. He won’t leave me alone. After the way he treated me while we were in London, I thought I was clear that I didn’t want to see him again.” Valerie’s eyes were fixed on the table, avoiding Grace’s concerned gaze.

Grace glanced at the clock over the fireplace and then downed her own glass. “Come on. Get your purse, we’re going out.”

Valerie’s eyes widened. “Grace, it’s a Thursday night. We have to work tomorrow.”

Grace smiled and shook her head. “Nope, I’m giving us a day off. Now get your purse and finish that wine. In the name of immersion, we need to experience the traditional English pub-crawl.”

“I guess, but you’re freaking me out a little. This is so not like you. I think I must be a bad influence.”

“Just get your purse, will you?”

The old clock tower was chiming eight when they rounded the corner and entered the town center. While the town was small, it wasn’t short on pubs. There was one on every block, each with a different specialty. Some served traditional English pub food, others opted for a more American style, some with western flair, and others with Karaoke. There was even one dance club at the far end of town.

People were beginning to mill around town, the regular crowd of pub-goers making their way for a drink after dinner. The first pub they chose was traditional English, with a solid wooden bar, complete with columns on each side and carved wood panels along the walls. A group of burly men stood at a tall table in the corner, drinking large glasses of dark beer and talking loudly about a rugby match they must have just played. They were visibly battered and bruised, their clothes stained with smudges of dirt and grass. She could practically smell the sweat and turf on them.

“Well, hello there, ladies. What’ll it be?” the bartender asked as they took a seat at the bar.

Grace turned to face Valerie. “Um, well . . . a pint of bitter?”

Valerie nodded and shrugged at the same time. “When in Rome?”

The bartender laughed and brought them each a full pint. As Grace brought the beer to her lips, she steeled herself for her usual reaction. “Bottoms up.”

They took long pulls on their pints and set their glasses down with a grimace, shudder, and a burp each.

“Ugh, I hate beer.” She turned to face Valerie. “Now tell me, what’s going on with Mick?”

“Nothing, really. He’s just acting like a possessive jerk. I mean, we were out at a club in London, I was dancing, and he was hanging out with some of his buddies. Some guy came up and started dancing close to me. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, not even touching me, but Mick came over and started yelling at him and pushing him around.” Valerie paused to take another large drink of her beer. “After that, we left and Mick started telling me I was acting like a whore by the way I was dancing and what I was wearing. He told me I was
his
and I needed to start acting like it.”

Grace finished her beer while Valerie talked and felt herself getting angrier with each sentence.

“So, I kicked him to the curb and he’s been calling and texting me non-stop ever since,” she finished and took a deep breath, polishing off the rest of her own drink.

“Wow, that’s kind of scary. Has he threatened you in any way?”

“No. He sticks to the constant calls and texts. I ignore it. He’s harmless, but annoying.” She looked around the pub, a pout on her sweet face. “This place is dead, let’s go somewhere we can sing karaoke.”

Valerie hopped off the barstool and headed out before Grace could finish paying for their round. She followed as they made a beeline for the nearest karaoke bar.

When they walked in the door, they were assaulted by someone finishing a terrible Whitney Houston impression on the tiny stage, followed by the crowd’s enthusiastic applause. The bar was dark, humid, and filled with weeknight drinkers. The smell of cigarette smoke tickled her nose and made her sneeze as Valerie found them a table toward the center of the audience. Grace sat gingerly at the slightly sticky table, while Valerie headed toward the bar to bring them each a drink.