204 Rosewood Lane - Debbie Macomber [70]
He was interested, all right, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to pretend otherwise. “When?”
“I…I don’t know. What’s a good time for you?”
“Let me check my calendar.” He ruffled through the pages of his book, as though he had to consult a full social calendar. “How about tomorrow night? Seven?”
She sighed, clearly relieved. “That would be perfect.”
All day Saturday, Cliff was in a state of nervous anticipaton. Saturday night, Cliff had shaved, showered and dressed by six. He could leave now, but in evening traffic it only took about fifteen minutes to get from his ranch to her house. He’d rather arrive early, though, than hang around at home.
As it was, even after taking his time, he got there a whole half hour ahead of schedule, which he was afraid might give Grace the wrong message. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that she seemed equally nervous.
“I thought we’d drive into Tacoma,” he said. He wanted Grace to feel comfortable, and he wasn’t sure that would be possible if she was constantly worried about who might see the two of them together. “There’s a nice Italian place I’m fond of on the other side of the bridge.” The Narrows separated the Kitsap Peninsula from Tacoma and the bridge linked the two communities.
“I love Italian food.”
Cliff had called ahead and reserved a corner table. The drive was relaxed, conversation alternating with companionable silence. Their meal took nearly two hours as they lingered first over dinner and wine and then coffee and dessert. Cliff wasn’t eager to leave, but the restaurant was filling up and it didn’t seem right to hold on to the table all night.
Returning to Cedar Cove, they approached the Narrows Bridge. As traffic slowed, Cliff glanced at Grace and saw she’d leaned her head against the back of the seat, her eyes closed.
“You look very peaceful,” he said.
“I feel wonderful.” She paused. “It was a lovely evening.”
The food was excellent, the merlot some of the best he could remember, but he sincerely hoped Grace was referring to the company and not the meal.
“I feel…free,” she said, eyes still closed. “I assumed that if I agreed to have dinner with you, I’d spend the entire night feeling guilty.”
“You don’t have anything to feel guilty about—yet.”
“Yet?” She lifted her head and stared at him.
“I’m going to kiss you, Grace,” he said firmly, keeping his eyes on the road. “And when I do, you’re going to feel that kiss all the way down to your toes.”
“Ah…”
“It’s going to be a kiss that’ll knock you for a loop…and then some.”
“Cliff, I—”
“Do you have any objections?” he asked, his voice gruff, fearing rejection.
“Only one,” Grace whispered placing her hand on his knee.
“What’s that?”
“Stop this damn car and just do it.”
Cliff was more than happy to oblige.
Rosie and Zach were tense with each other over the Christmas holidays, and things didn’t seem to be getting any better in the New Year. Rosie tried, she honestly did, but Zach was increasingly demanding and unreasonable.
They were constantly bickering, constantly at odds. Some days she was convinced her marriage had been a mistake. Zach didn’t want a wife, he wanted a maid. Rosie had tried to live up to his expectations, but when she did manage to juggle her schedule to do these wifely chores, it always backfired. Breakfast was a good example. He apparently wanted her tied to the stove, yet no one was interested in her cooking.
Shortly before Christmas, in a conciliatory mood, she’d made meat loaf and mashed potatoes and even gravy. Eddie hated the meat loaf, and Allison complained about the potatoes. Rosie could have put up with their dissatisfaction if Zach had shown one bit of appreciation for her efforts. Instead, he’d pointed out that real potatoes didn’t come out of a box and that his mother had never used canned gravy. Well, she wasn’t his mother, as she’d told him. Zach had muttered, “You can say that again.” Rosie found his remark insulting and hurtful.
Today, though, everything was beginning to add up. That morning