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A mug of hot chocolate steamed beside her quilling tool as the record needle lifted off of Dock of the Bay in the parlor. Grace sat back in her chair and gazed out the window inhaling the cloud of cocoa and accompanying mystical fragrance of the peat burning in the fireplace. Outside, clouds moved across the sky on fast forward, but the sun held steady as the vapor clusters zoomed across its path. She glanced down at her sketch for the new quilling project that she wanted to donate to the auction. She’d mindlessly doodled mountains and sheep with hearts, teardrops and then a rainbow—God’s promise, Man’s hope. Perplexed, she tried to push away the desires in her heart that slow dancing with Dean had awakened. What did moving on really mean? What should the next chapter in her life look like? Grace swallowed with trepidation. She studied the sketch and decided that strength and independence could be lonely things. Could love strike twice in a lifetime? Could a second time around be a happy-ever-after? She outlined the silhouette of a man with wide shoulders and a tapered waist, knowing love had no limit in breadth or quantity, but did that apply to her? She’d loved many people before she’d married and many since. Finally, she’d learned to love herself, and that with God’s was all she needed for the rest of her life. Had she been wrong?
Grace’s eye caught the corner of the page where she’d written Dean’s name in calligraphy. She scratched it out, feeling uncomfortable. She’d had a romantic evening last night—but with a friend. The emotions it’d created startled her. He was widowed, younger, and his faith was unsure. But then again...she sighed quietly. It was just loneliness, she told herself, a strong allure. She bit her lip to stop a smile. Dean had a throaty voice when he spoke in low tones. When he’d murmured into her ear while they were dancing, the sound and warmth of his breath had soaked into her head like wine and trickled to her toes. The lights, the pub fire, the mouth-watering smells of artisan bread, and simmering stew had been hypnotic, but that meant they were illusions—mirages. She wasn’t sixteen anymore. She was almost officially over the hill, outside the market, and too busy to fall in love with someone who still grieved for someone he’d lost.
Grace shook her head and straightened in her chair. No thanks, although you’re as tempting as chocolate. Dangle a sea salt caramel bar over a cliff, and she’d jump. But Dean? It couldn’t be. She’d just have to make sure she didn’t get too close to the edge and fall over. He didn’t have to know how he made her feel.
Grace scanned the room that was beginning to feel like home to her. Should she extend her stay and help paint inside the cottage? Perhaps seeing it perfectly updated would help her wrap up all the memories she was making with a beautiful bow so they’d be easier to let go. She was getting good at that—letting go. Fighting the urge to text Laura about every little thing had become easier, and she didn’t worry constantly if she didn’t hear from Nicole. Both of them had urged her to live in the present while she was away and not worry about staying in communication every day. Grace’s cheek tugged in a smile. Her once-a-week texts letting them both know she was okay had been brief, and they’d given her space in return.
Peace washed over her, and Grace got up to stir the fire, stopping abruptly as the walls rattled around her. Her first thought was there’d been an earthquake then something scraped over the roof overheard. It thumped and clomped across the cottage ceiling. Grace felt her eyes widen as her heart dropped into her stomach. The roof creeped ominously. “Now what,” she whispered. All it’d take to bring down the rickety cottage was a family of vengeful pixies. She’d probably angered a few when she’d tramped around the hillside. A crash from overhead in the kitchen made her swing her head in the other direction. Was she under attack? Her gut cramped with uncertainty, but Grace took a deep breath and tiptoed to the door. The last thing she needed to worry about was a hobo climbing up into the thatch to get warm. If it was just Dean, she’d give him a piece of her mind for not warning her that he was around again.
Grace swung the door open, and sunshine exploded into the cottage in happy swells despite the chill. The yard was still soaked from the near-constant rain. She searched the front yard and seeing no one, skulked into the weedy garden to look up on the roof. A noise around the back of the house made her jump. Badgers? Dean had warned her. How big did badgers get? Did they climb roofs? She scanned the yard for a weapon, and seeing nothing, went for a rake leaning against the wall. Suddenly, the thatch along the front of the house shifted forward like a bad toupee. Grace jumped back and cocked the rake like a baseball bat. Badgers or banshees, she was ready. A sharp snout jutted from over the eaves, and she took another step away with fear shocking her spine. A diabolical-looking eye stared back, its pupil narrow slits. Grace sucked in a lungful of oxygen all the way to her toes and let out an ear splitting scream.
#
DEAN HAD THIRTY MINUTES until lunch to finish his last email and pay the electric bill online for the house in Portland. He heard Moira’s footfalls coming down the hall and wondered if her guests from Paris had checked out. She’d been cleaning all morning and left towels outside his door. He jumped anyway when she rapped on the door. “Yes?” Dean pushed the laptop away and unlocked the door. It was Desiree.
“You have a call at the bar.”
“Me?” Dean glanced toward his phone, but it wasn’t on the desk. Patting down his pockets, he exhaled in frustration.
“It’s Grace,” Desiree blurted. She gave him a knowing smile, and he felt heat rise in his cheeks. Hadn’t he spent all morning trying to concentrate on work and not think about the woman he’d danced with the evening before? He’d dreamed about her, including a long slow kiss that had awakened him with a blazing heart. Then he’d tossed and turned the rest of the night.
“Oh, um, she must have tried my phone. Sorry.” Maybe she wanted to talk, Dean thought, and his chest swelled with anticipation, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He looked forward to seeing her every day. It was like he was smitten, but that was ridiculous.
“Goats.”
“What?” Dean furrowed his brow, and Desiree giggled. “She was hyperventilating and said something about goats on the roof.”
“Oh, no.” Dean hurried past her and down the stairs.
“I already hung up,” Desiree called after him. “She screamed about goats and asked for you so I told her I’d send you up.”
Dean grabbed a sweater and darted out to the motorbike. Halfway to the cottage feeling a bit like a superhero, the bike sputtered out. He looked down, realized it was out of gas and rolled it into the ditch in frustration. Grace must be terrified. She’d never been around goats, and these animals would be wild with the rutting season around the corner. Concern whipped through him, cutting deeper than the wind, so he set off at a brisk jog, although it soon became apparent he was out of shape. He soldiered on, knees complaining and a stitch in his side. By the time he could see the cottage, his body felt like jelly.
Dean stopped to catch his breath and spotted some of Dennys’ herd. Two of them were balanced on the roof and eating the thatch, three more were prancing around the overgrown garden. Alone on the garden wall, hunched in a sweater with her beanie capping her head, Grace sat holding her phone like she was snapping pictures. Dean broke into a jog again, not slowing until he reached her side. Grace raised a hand in a bemused wave, and his mouth twitched. To his surprise, she threw back her head and erupted into ripples of laughter.
“Did you run all the way?” she chortled.
“Are you okay?” he gasped.
“Yes,” said Grace, swinging her legs around so she could face him. “Are you?”
“Yes,” Dean panted. “I ran out of gas.” He heard her fight another giggle and bent over to get some air. “I thought—I panicked—so I ran.”
“You ran up here for me?” Grace beamed.
Dean suddenly felt ridiculous. “They said you were screaming.”
Grace laughed. “I was caught off guard at first, but after none of them came after me I came back here to watch them and figure out what to do.”
“They can be pretty ill-tempered.”
Grace nodded. “I remembered that so I kept my distance although I almost knocked heads with Harry there when I checked the roof.
“Harry?” Dean scrunched his forehead.
“Yes, the one with the long beard.” Grace pointed. “He made a rather threatening sound so I backed off. I’m afraid your new thatch is getting destroyed.”
Dean nearly growled under his throat. He threw up his hand in exasperation, and she broke into gales of laughter again.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Dean climbed up onto the rock wall beside her. “You hurried into the cottage so fast when I dropped you off last night I didn’t get a chance to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For dinner and dancing. I haven’t done that in a long time,” Dean admitted.
Grace quieted. The goats munched loudly, pawing at the ground. “At least your garden is getting weeded,” she joked.
“And tilled.” Dean pulled his thoughts away from the night before. She didn’t seem comfortable talking about it. Not in the sunshine.
“What are you going to plant there?” Grace motioned to what should have been a lawn.
“Where?”
“In the garden, silly. You have that wonderful book on the secretary with all of the local wildflowers,” she reminded him.
“I imagine that it belonged to my great aunt or grandfather when they were alive.” Dean looked up to watch the goats. “They wouldn’t be happy about this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“So...” Grace eyed him carefully.
For a moment, Dean thought she wanted to talk about last night after all, and his pulse cartwheeled. “So?”
“How do you get rid of wild goats?” she asked.
“Hm? Oh.” Dean frowned to himself, grasping for ideas. “Can I see your phone?”
“Okay. Why?”
“I’m going to have to research it.”
Grace smirked. “No Wi-Fi. I had to run like fifty yards down the road to get a signal.”
He winced. “Right.”
“How about bells? A foghorn.”
Dean grinned. “A radio?”
“How about the turntable?” suggested Grace with excitement.
“The turntable?”
“You have Jim Croce inside.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.” Grace winked at him with the promise of mischief in her eyes. “You know, you don’t mess around with Jim.”
Dean laughed. “That’s so crazy it just might work.”
“Lots of bass,” Grace agreed.
“He was never my cup of tea, but Celeste loved him.”
“She had good taste.”
They waited for the goats to move away from the pathway to the front door then darted inside. Grace grabbed a broom and shouted, Shoo! while pounding on the ceiling. Dean opened the dusty record collection and pulled out one of Celeste’s favorite albums. How she would laugh, he thought. How he would laugh. And suddenly, old records and Jim Croce didn’t seem like horrible memories he should avoid.
Dean put the record on the turntable, dropped the needle onto it, and cranked the old speakers up to max volume. The cottage walls began to vibrate. Grace squealed and covered her ears then raced around to open the windows. Together, they broke into laughter and sang the chorus until the movement on the roof carried over to the edge with a startling crash and disappeared. Dean ran to the parlor window with Grace at his side. Carrying the tune at the top of his lungs, he shouted for the animals to get lost while Grace waved the old broom in the air. The goats bleated in irritation and finally moved away. When they wandered far enough away from the house to satisfy Dean, he hurried to the turntable before the next song started to play. The sudden weight of silence when he lifted the needle felt like a door had slammed shut.
Grace eyed him for a second, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling then she dissolved into a pile of knees and elbows, laughing so hysterically that it was contagious. Dean threw back his head and laughed until his sides hurt. It felt crazy good, and he realized he’d forgotten he could do that. It’d been a long time, too long, but it wasn’t something he could do all by himself. Laughing alone was as suspicious as drinking alone. Thank goodness Grace was here. People in the village would have thought he’d lost his mind, although it was his heart that suggested he was in real danger.