50 Harbor Street - Debbie Macomber [70]
Grace planted one hand on her hip. “I’m not going to be cajoled into forgetting this.”
“Come on, Grace,” he argued. “It’s just a dinner. I blew it, but I’m genuinely sorry.”
“Wrong!” she cried. “This wasn’t just a dinner. It was far more than that.” Her throat was clogged with tears, and she paused in an effort to regain control. “Perhaps you should sit down for a minute so I can explain.”
He did as she suggested and chose the sofa. Grace sat in her favorite chair. Buttercup trailed them into the room, but seeming to sense their mood, she paused, then returned to her bed in the kitchen.
Grace knew what had to be said; inhaling, she tried to work out how to begin. Her index cards were no use now.
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” Cliff said again.
She waved aside his apology. “I know. I don’t mean to be flippant but, Cliff, I’m past that. This—forgetting dinner with me, and not for the first time, either—is very indicative of your true feelings.”
He shook his head. “I should’ve written it down on my calendar. I don’t know why I didn’t. I could kick myself.”
“Stop.” She didn’t want to hear it. “I had a lot of expectations for this dinner. But I guess that’s my problem, not yours.”
He frowned. “What kind of expectations?”
“You might find this laughable…. I probably shouldn’t tell you, but I planned to set the stage by serving you the dinner of your life. I was hoping to soften your heart toward me so I could—propose.”
His eyes widened. “Propose…marriage?”
“It’s rather comical, isn’t it? Me cooking for two days, a nervous wreck, seeing to every detail, practicing how to tell the man I love that I’d like to spend the rest of my life with him. I’d hoped you’d feel the same way, and we could set a date for the wedding.” Her voice did crack then, and she struggled for composure.
“Grace,” Cliff whispered, his eyes warm, “I love you, too.”
Afraid of embarrassing herself further, she swiped at the tears that were running down her cheeks. “Don’t worry. I’m—I’m not going to propose.” She pulled the index cards from her apron pocket. “Look, I even made notes in case I got too nervous to speak. Funny, huh?” She didn’t give him time to respond. “There was no need for any of this. No need whatsoever.”
Cliff’s shoulders slumped forward. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” She took a deep breath. “Something occurred to me recently. You and Dan are actually more alike than I thought. He did this, too, you see.”
“Forgot dates?”
“No.” She attempted a smile. “He had a way of letting me know how he felt without saying a word. A counselor once explained that it’s passive-aggressive behavior.”
“I’m not like that,” Cliff insisted, stiffening at the implication.
“You’ve forgotten dinner dates. When we do manage to go out, you fall asleep during movies, and whenever I visit the ranch—generally at your invitation—you’ve got more important things to do than talk to me. Okay, there was a real emergency that one night, but what about the other times? Except for Thanksgiving, you seemed completely indifferent to my being there. Well, I got your message, Cliff, loud and clear. You haven’t forgiven me. And maybe you never will.” She stood then, her heart heavy. “You don’t have the courage to do this, so I’m going to. I didn’t lie when I said I love you, but for your sake as well as mine, it’s over.”
He looked stunned and remained speechless.
“This isn’t a ploy. It isn’t a game. I’m sincere when I say it would be best if we didn’t see each other again.”
He sat where he was for another few minutes. “Will anything I say change your mind?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head.
“I see.” He reached for his hat.
“I wish you nothing but good things, Cliff.”
He nodded.
“Goodbye.” She opened the door for him. He walked past, then stopped, bringing his finger to her cheek. She didn’t close the door until he was off the porch and down the steps. A shudder went through her as she sagged against the wall and waited for the pain to pass.
Twenty-Eight
Roy