THE MOMENT MICA laid eyes on Jules and Grace, all thoughts of winter storms and drifting snow vanished. He felt a wave of warmth rush over him.
He unbuttoned his jacket.
“Mica, please come in. There’s barely any heat in that stairwell,” Grace said. “Let me take your coat.”
“Jules...” Mica smiled at his baby son as he took off his scarf. He looked at Grace and paused. He didn’t know how she could look more beautiful than she had last night, but she did. Her blond hair was pulled up in a knot at the back of her head, revealing her long, slender neck. She wore a pale pink sweater embellished with a satin ribbon that revealed a glimpse of shoulder. Oh, he wished things could be as simple with her as they had been a year ago...
Jules kept squirming out of Grace’s embrace, reaching for Mica.
Mica blinked. Things could never be simple with him and Grace again.
“I think he wants you to hold him,” Grace said as she took Mica’s things.
Before Mica could reach for Jules, the baby leaped out of Grace’s arms, threw his hands around Mica’s neck and hung on like a monkey hugging a palm tree.
“Did you see that?” Grace asked.
“I did! I swear he’s knows I’m his dad.”
Grace’s expression softened. “Jules, this is your daddy. Can you say ‘Daddy’?” She placed her hand on Mica’s cheek.
If he wasn’t holding Jules, he would have pressed his hand over hers. It felt warm and soft and caring. He shivered.
“Da,” Jules said.
Mica held his breath. “Did you hear that?”
“Uh-huh.” She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling.
“Come on in,” Grace said, and he followed her to the kitchen. She hung Mica’s jacket on the back of a chair. “It’s a bit wet from the snow. Maybe it will dry off here.”
Mica chucked Jules under the chin. “Is it possible he’s grown since last night?”
“Oh, he’s been eating a lot since we got here. And as we saw with the carrier, he’s in a bit of a growth spurt right now. He’s been moving around a lot more, too.”
Mica chuckled. “He’s a sporty little guy. Maybe I should buy him a football.”
“I think he’s a bit young.” Grace smiled up at him. “But knowing how smart Jules is, he’d probably memorize the entire playbook before he’s a year old.”
“Gabe would be ecstatic.”
“And God forbid we don’t please Gabe,” she joked.
Mica noticed she was wearing some pointy-toed flats that were decorated with plastic jewels. The heels were clear plastic. He’d never seen anything like them.
“Nice shoes.”
She peered down at her feet, then turned her left foot. “You like my shoes?”
“I do.”
“Come on!”
“Seriously. They’re cute. It’s like you have your teen crown on your toes.”
“Mica...” She narrowed her eyes.
He could tell she was ready for a fight, but he didn’t want to fight with her. In fact, it was the last thing on his mind.
“Where did you get them? The shoes?” he asked.
“They’re mine. I mean, I designed them.”
His mouth fell open. “I knew you designed dresses, but those...involve leather and—”
“A very good cobbler,” she added. “I have the best guy ever. He’s young and looking to make his mark. His father was a cobbler for Louboutin.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know...”
“Christian Louboutin. Famous shoes, purses. His signature is the shiny red soles on his spike heel shoes.”
“Ah!”
“You know them?”
“Uh, no.” But he was darned sure going to look this guy up.
“I’ve got three new designs I came up with during my sleepless nights. I was inspired by Sarah and Maddie, actually. See?” She showed him a drawing of a putty-colored winter coat. “The shawl collar stands up and can protect against the cold. Sarah says the winter wind hurts her neck and chin. And this sweater has a scarf running through the boatneck. The jade green reminds me of Maddie’s eyes.”
“Those are really good,” Mica said, inspecting the sketches.
Just then, Jules pressed his mouth to Mica’s jaw and licked.
“What is he doing? Does he think I’m lunch?”
Grace walked up to Mica and put her hand on his numb arm in such a way that he could feel the pressure of her hand, if not the touch itself. He liked it.
“He’s been doing that for about a month,” she said. “It’s a teething thing, I think.”
“It really tickles. Feels funny.”
“Yes, well, enjoy it. In a few months, he’ll have all his teeth and never do it again. It’s the little things you have to relish while they last,” she said, her tone wistful.
Mica walked over to the Victorian sofa and sat with Jules.
“So...what are you working on this afternoon?”
She raised her eyebrows, seeming surprised at his interest. “It’s this Skype conference. Etienne is getting it set up in Paris.” She looked at her watch. “It’s three o’clock here, which means it’s ten there. It was the earliest Etienne could get the team together—but they’re used to working late nights. They’re going to show me some mock-ups.”
That got Mica thinking. If Grace could conduct business over the internet, then maybe she wouldn’t have to race back to Paris quite so soon. He’d have more time to convince her that marrying him was best for their baby.
Best for us.
Grace was chattering on about a jacket she’d designed, and Mica had to struggle to pay attention.
How could he believe marrying him would be good for her? Just look at her. She was animated, her eyes alight as she talked about her work. She rushed out of the room and came back with another pair of shoes. These were platform shoes with spiky heels that only an acrobat should be able to balance in, but Grace put them on with ease. Standing in her black, silky pants and that pink sweater, she looked like a million bucks. No—a gazillion bucks.
He was glad he was sitting down. Jules was climbing up and down his chest, nearly straddling his shoulders, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t take his eyes off Grace.
“It’s so hard to come up with something innovative, but I think—no, I know—my forte is in the fabric. I remember when I was a little girl, my mother would take me to the fabric room in the basement of Marshall Field’s in Chicago. She would make me touch all the wools, silks and knits. She taught me the difference between cotton and batiste. Handkerchief linen and damask. She’d tell me to lift the cloth to my cheek and feel its life. The weave. She told me to imagine the face of the weaver who made the linen from flax.”
“Really? Your cheek?”
“Yes,” she said, pointing to Jules, who was trying to kiss Mica on the cheek again. “Just like he’s trying to find out about you through touch. Fabric is all about tactile sensations.”
He was fascinated.
Mica had spent his life figuring out what made machines tick. Grace had spent her years not only learning about fashion, but also about people. Suddenly, he wanted to know all about her and find out all the things she knew. He wondered if one lifetime would be enough.
He was struck with the clear fact that marriage between them was the right thing. Even if it wasn’t the best thing for Grace and him, they had to make this decision for Jules. Their son deserved the best they could give, and he deserved to have both of them in his life. Mica’s parents had chosen the right path. They’d created a life for their sons filled with honor, respect and the knowledge that responsibility toward others were the true joys of life. Mica knew what it was like to be proud of his parents’ achievements. The swell in his chest and the tingles of admiration every time he looked out over their plowed and growing fields filled him with awe and humility. Jules should have that. Jules should experience that kind of pride.
And love? He believed that his mother had loved his father in her way and that he had loved her back. Maybe theirs had not been a romantic love, but it had been something. Couldn’t he have that something...with Grace?
He couldn’t deny the attraction between them, and every time he was with Grace, he looked forward to being with her again. Was it Jules? Or was it more to do with her?
If he was honest, there already was something between them. Mica just didn’t know what to call it.
The trouble was, he had less than a week left to figure it out.
Just then the laptop on the kitchen table pinged.
Grace jumped and her arms flew out to her sides like someone had just put ice cubes down her shirt. “That’s them!”
“What do you want me to do? Take Jules to the other room?” The baby was now dozing on Mica’s chest.
“No, this is the first time he’s settled all day. Stay right there. Earlier, he wouldn’t stop crying. If he does start fussing there’s a bottle in the fridge and you can warm it in the microwave. Then you should take him into the bedroom. There are some diapers in there, too. But no Gorilla Tape.” She chuckled lightly.
“Thanks.” He smiled.
She smiled back at him. It was a friendly smile, laced with enough encouragement that Mica felt his heart swell. They were getting closer. That was more than a good thing.
She raced over to a kitchen chair and grabbed the diaper bag. “There are some toys in here. He’s got a stuffed dinosaur he loves. He named it.”
“Let me guess. Da?”
“No. Ba.”
Mica looked at Jules. “Quite a linguist, aren’t ya?”
The computer pinged again.
“Here we go!” Grace said. “Wish me luck.”
Mica’s good spirits plummeted. She wanted him to wish her luck. It seemed like such a simple request, but his engineer’s brain mapped out all possible outcomes. If she succeeded, she’d go to Paris and never come back. If she failed, she might still go to Paris and never come back, and never have time for Jules because she’d be working twice as hard. Would she leave him here for good, or take him back with her? Either way, Jules would lose out. And really, did Grace need any luck at all? Mica could already see she was amazing. Didn’t she see that?
True, he was no expert on haute couture. He didn’t know this Louboutin guy at all. In her world, Mica was uneducated. But he thought he could recognize a shining talent when he saw it.
“Good luck.” He smiled.
“Thanks,” she said with a smile, then whirled around to the kitchen table.
Mica could see the laptop screen, and Grace apparently intended to do the meeting without headphones. He didn’t want to pry, but with a snoozing Jules still pinning him in place, Mica found himself paying attention.
Etienne was the first person on the screen. He was in his twenties, thin, his dark hair gelled into spikes. He wore a purple shirt and a pink tie and had a cross earring in one ear.
Next was Jasminda. Grace had told him she was the youngest team member, at nineteen. Her hair was thick and blunt, framing her face like a theater curtain. She wore long earrings and a tight, low-cut T-shirt.
Rene Charles entered the meeting room last. He was a dead ringer for Bradley Cooper, and upon seeing him, Mica sat up straighter on the sofa, though he did his best not to disturb Jules. Rene was tall, fit and wore a cable-knit sweater much like the one Mica was wearing. “Bonsoir, chérie!” Rene smiled. “How are you, gorgeous?”
“Exhausted,” Grace replied.
Mica ground his jaw. Was Rene flirting with her? Just who was this guy to Grace?
“Bonsoir, Grace!” Etienne said. “Can you hear us?”
“Oui. Bien.”
“Grace,” Jasminda began, “because you just sent over your sketch for the winter gown, I wanted to show you the fabric I found in that shop in Montmartre.”
Jasminda held up a shimmering white cloth. “It’s from India.”
“Are those sequins?” Grace asked.
“Yes, silver, pearl and white on white. It’s amazing. It looks like fairy dust.”
“But how will it fall? I want the skirt to kick out and scurry away from the legs as the wearer walks. It should look like drifting snow around her feet.”
“Of course. I think this will work. I’ll baste it together tomorrow and send you a video.”
“Now, Grace,” Rene began. He had what Mica would call a radio voice. “I’m going to show you some of the things we’ve come up with. It’s easier this way, so we can get your immediate input. Also, I rigged up some photographer lights. I borrowed them from Guillaume.”
“Oh, great,” Grace said. “How is he?”
“In Tunis on an outdoor shoot. He couldn’t lug all this stuff with him. That’s why he’s letting us use his equipment,” Rene said.
Grace sighed in relief. “That’s good. I wasn’t sure we could afford the rental fees.”
“Grace, ma chérie, how many times do I have to tell you not to worry. I’m here for you. Always.”
“I know, Rene. You’re so sweet.”
“Bien.” Rene approached the laptop and lifted it to pan around the room. As he did, Mica caught a close-up glimpse of Rene’s slim, wide-shouldered physique. Mica had never considered the individuals on Grace’s team. Nor had he guessed that there might be another guy who cared for her. A handsome one, he thought. And the guy lives in Paris. He’s already part of her world.
“This is the first one, Grace.” Rene turned the camera on a stop-sign-red leather jacket. It had a short waist and wide lapels with gold zippers on the bell sleeves and up the front.
While Grace and her team commented on the styles and designs, Mica took note of the work space itself.
The place was practically barren. The floor was old and from what he could see when Rene showed a row of shoes, the floorboards were warped. There were clothes racks and makeshift screens. He saw cutting tables and sewing machines that looked as old as the one his mother had used when he was a kid. Though the professional lights should have made the place look better, he noticed that the walls had cracks and some plaster was missing around the doorframe.
Mica didn’t know how he’d envisioned Grace’s life in Paris, but this wasn’t it. Somehow, he’d thought she worked in a chic place like one of those 1950s movie sets, with thick white carpet, white-and-gold paneled walls and an MGB roadster sitting outside her front door.
But this was a bit frightening.
She’d told him that she took Jules to work almost every day. Jules could move around on his own now, which meant he was all over that old and probably dirty floor. Maybe getting splinters or sewing pins in his soft skin.
City lights twinkled through two double-hung windows. There were no draperies, only old, rolled-up shades of some kind. He could only imagine how cold and drafty the place must be in winter. And Parisian winters were known to be brutal. Maybe not as icy and cold as Indian Lake, but they certainly weren’t balmy.
Rene settled the computer back on the table. The three of them gathered around the screen to say their goodbyes.
Before they signed off, they all asked about Jules and his health.
“He’s fine,” Grace said. “Jasminda, how is your mother doing? I’m so worried about you taking care of her.”
“She misses your hugs. We all do.”
Then she spoke to Etienne about his sister, whose boyfriend had dumped her right before Christmas. Apparently, the girl had been a sobbing wreck and she was only sixteen.
“I know just how she feels,” Grace said. “You tell her that I had my heart stomped on when I was the same age, and it’s a pain she will have learn to live with. I want her to be strong and I—”
Grace stopped herself, as if she’d just remembered that Mica was in the room. While he sat in mute shock, she spun around to look at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”
“It’s all right,” he said.
She lowered her head and turned around.
“Who’s with you?” Rene asked.
“Mica. Jules’s father.”
“Is he?” Rene’s face filled the screen. “I’d like to talk to him.”
“Not now, Rene. Some other time,” Grace replied firmly.
Rene tried to shove Etienne aside, but Etienne was having none of it.
“Grace, chérie,” Etienne said. “I need you to concentrate on those sketches I emailed you this morning. I want to match the first one with that faux fur I found from the distributor in Singapore. Bien?”
“Oui,” she replied. “I’m signing off now. I’ll be back soon and we’ll get this all together.”
“We have to, Grace,” Rene said. “We have so much riding—”
“I know, Rene. I know. Bonne nuit.”
“Bonne nuit,” they said simultaneously, and the computer screen went black.
Grace sat in the chair for a moment and then got up. She was smiling. “It went better than I’d thought. They’re all so marvelous.”
Mica inhaled deeply, suddenly aware he’d barely taken a breath in the past few minutes. He was guilty of assuming all kinds of things about Grace and none of them had been accurate.
He’d misjudged her, underappreciated her talent as a designer, her management skills, even her openheartedness toward others.
This view into Grace’s Paris life had opened his eyes. She was passionate about her work in a way that he was only beginning to feel with his inventions. No wonder she refused to marry him. He was asking too much of her. She could no more leave her life in Paris than he could wish his left arm alive. If he demanded she move to Indian Lake, Grace would slowly become diminished. Her passion would die and she would blame him for it. In the beginning of his parents’ life together, before their children were born, their commitment for each other was underscored by their passion to build the farm. They had a love for the land so deep in their souls that they were willing to sacrifice for it and for the family they wanted.
Mica’s life was already much different because of Jules. He had a family. It would be easy for Mica to sacrifice for Jules, but Grace would have to abandon everything else that made her own life worth living.
Guilt and insecurity enveloped him. Did he have the right to ask so much of her? Grace had told him she wouldn’t marry him. She’d told him she wanted to be with a man who loved her. But even if they did fall in love, he saw now, it wouldn’t last. He could never give her what she wanted or needed. His life was here. Hers was in Paris. For a long time, Mica had thought Grace had an easy life. Now he realized she had worked incredibly hard for the successes she’d gained.
Yes, he’d been the one who’d broken her heart when she was a teenager. She’d told Etienne that she’d never gotten over the pain. Maybe that was why she refused to marry him. She knew better than to put her heart in harm’s way again.
His list of apologies was getting longer by the minute. He only had one choice. And he should take it.
He rose slowly, setting Jules carefully on the sofa.
“Grace. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asked, walking toward him.
“For hurting you back then—when we were kids. I didn’t know and I should have.” He touched her cheek, wondering if this was the same cheek she’d used to feel the fabrics all those years ago. Her first step toward her dream. “I never meant to hurt you last autumn, either. I was in so much pain. So much distress. And very confused. You were like oxygen to me. When I was with you, I thought maybe I just might live again. You gave me that, and I thank you.”
Her eyes fell and when she lifted them back to him, they were filled with tears. She put her hand over his.
“And now, Mica?”
“And now...”
Not a word came to his head as he lowered his mouth to hers.
The feel of Grace’s lips on his was almost more than he could stand. And when she put her arms around his neck, he thought he’d taken his last breath. His heart slammed against his chest and she’d have to be numb not to feel it. He slid his hand from her cheek and down to her waist. Then he pulled her closer. He pressed his hand against the small of her back and the force of her heart beating against his chest, nearly in rhythm with his, brought back every memory of those October nights over a year ago.
“Grace,” he breathed.
She kissed him back with that same sweet surrender he’d found dear and oh, so necessary. He could go on forever.
But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
She was leaving. Going back to Paris. Back to another life. Maybe even another man.
It was Mica who broke the kiss. He knew he had to for self-preservation. Kissing Grace would get him into more trouble than he’d bargained for and he didn’t need distractions. Not now.
“Grace. Marry me,” he said in a rush, hoping he hadn’t sounded too pleading.
Her eyes held hope, longing. He knew his kiss had softened her. But was it enough?
“No.”
“Grace. You know it’s the right thing to do.”
“For us?”
“For Jules,” he replied honestly.
“That’s what I thought you meant,” she said and pushed away from him. “I already told you I can’t.” He didn’t miss the bitter disappointment in her voice.
Mica didn’t press. In too many ways, she was right. He needed to stay focused on his invention and on making himself into the kind of man she would never want to leave.
He had a lot of work ahead of him.