Chapter 9

Grace was staring at her menu across the table from Connor in the lodge’s pretty dining room. One wall was all windows overlooking the harbor—Connor had insisted she sit facing them—and she should be admiring the view. The subtle lighting, terra cotta tile floor, sleek wooden chairs, white tablecloths, blooms on every table—shouldn’t she be appreciating those, too? All she could think about was the same thing she thought about the entire time she and Connor were talking while she was recuperating in bed.

Connor had kissed her.

To put it mildly, this was not a distasteful memory.

All the attraction she’d felt all those years ago had come roaring back. Not only physical attraction, but also attraction to his energy and kindness, the trust that had led her to choose him as her first. It had entirely replaced the hurt, the anger, the common sense, the sanity, what the hell was she going to do?

Nothing. She was going to do absolutely nothing.

She nodded as if she’d won an argument with herself.

Except…why? Why do nothing? She was grown up, he was grown up, they were both single…

Get a grip.

Her feelings were too suspiciously obsessive to trust, her condition too vulnerable. She’d lost her restaurant only last month, and today she’d learned new and confusing stories about the father she’d never known, and had a pretty impressively dangerous accident.

“Grace?”

“Huh?” She snapped to attention and realized she’d been ignoring Connor. “Sorry. Did you ask me something?”

“What are you thinking of having?”

“Oh…” She scanned the choices hastily, since for all that staring, she hadn’t been reading a thing. Another sign that she wasn’t in her right mind. Usually she couldn’t wait to find out what the chef had been thinking, what choices he’d made, how he’d organized the offerings, how he described the dishes, what flavors he’d invented with what combinations of ingredients… “What are you having?”

Blatant stall for time.

“Not sure yet.” He cocked his head. “You doing okay?”

He must have mistaken her hormonal meltdown for brain damage from the accident. Better than the truth. “I’m fine. Just thinking about…something.”

Connor nodded sympathetically. “You’ve had a hell of a day.”

“Yes.” That worked. Let him think she was worrying about her father, or her harrowing brush with death. Anything but that she was trying to keep herself from imagining him naked, with her hands roaming all over his—

She forced herself to read the menu coherently. It was decently interesting. Lots of native Alaskan ingredients: fish, berries, root vegetables. Some of the combinations piqued her interest. Salmon with rhubarb sauce? An appetizer of sea plantain, radishes and duck egg? Seductively weird. How could she resist?

She placed her order, taken aback when Connor asked for a salad and a mushroom burger, handing the menu back to the rather sullen—not well trained!—waitress, a young woman with one of those silver bars spanning the top of her ear. None of those on Grace’s turf. Too many people found anything but earlobe piercings distinctly unappetizing, which was the last emotion you wanted to invoke in a place selling food.

“Are you not an adventurous eater or just not in the mood today?” she asked.

Connor folded his hands on the table. “I am generally adventurous. It’s just the fancy food here isn’t…”

She glared teasingly. “You just let me hang, didn’t you.”

“No, it’s not bad, it’s…” He gestured toward her. “You’re the pro, I’ll let you decide.”

“Deal.” She found herself gazing at him lingeringly and dropped her eyes, relieved when the waitress brought their Sauvignon Blanc and she could tell herself that if this was her beverage list, she’d add a couple of sparkling wines by the glass, and several bottles of good rosés.

Connor raised his glass. “Here’s to calmer days for the rest of your vacation.”

“That would be nice.” Grace smiled and drank. A nice crisp wine from New Zealand. Why not more from the Pacific Northwest? Oregon or Washington? With so much local food, she’d think it only natural to stay close to home with the wines too.

Not her restaurant. She should be concentrating on her dinner companion in some other far less dangerous context than how warm and lovely his mouth had felt against hers.

“So, Connor, we’ve had a couple of pretty intense discussions in the past few days, but I haven’t gotten the chance to ask you the obvious catch-up questions.”

“Like?”

Why did you kiss me?

Argh! Grace forced her thoughts back into line. “Like how long have you worked at Northern Lights? What did you do before that? Catch me up on the years since we were farm kids in Colorado.”

“All right.” He took a sip of his wine and leaned forward. She had to fight not to lean the rest of the way toward him. “I finished my degree in environmental studies at University of Colorado Boulder. I wasn’t a brilliant student, but I got through it. After that, I had no plans, really. I backpacked around, worked wherever I landed until I got bored. I ended up here five years ago. I wasn’t planning to stay this long, but never found a good reason to leave.”

Grace discovered she was frozen. That was his life plan? Do whatever he felt like whenever he felt like it? “Did you start here in the job you have now?”

“No, no.” He smiled and shook his head. Even that was sexy. “I washed dishes, I cleaned rooms, I helped Sofia and Luke with boat maintenance. Then the job opened up for a hike leader. Derek wasn’t convinced, but I told him he could fire me whenever he wanted. I guess he hasn’t wanted to yet.”

Grace nodded, taken aback at the depth of her disappointment. She was about seven hundred steps ahead of herself investing in him this heavily, given that she’d been here less than a week and had never given a conscious thought to starting a relationship with him.

So why was she reacting like this?

Because he’d kissed her so softly and sweetly, as if she were his long-sleeping princess.

Grace nearly spit out her wine. Long-sleeping princess? Good God. She was sounding like her mother. “How long do you think you’ll stay on Polaris?”

“That’s easy.” Connor gave her a devilish grin. “Until I want to leave.”

“Ah.” She forced a smile. Wake up, Princess. He was a dreamer. Not a guy who would ever settle down. “That makes sense.”

“What about you? You were at the Culinary Institute of America when I knew you. I assume you graduated…”

“I did. Then I got a job at a restaurant in Saratoga Springs, Au Bon Gout. I worked up to be the chef’s number two. A friend from school who’d concentrated on the business end at CIA came to me with the idea of opening our own place. He raised the capital and we opened A Touch of Grace in Glen Falls, had an amazing run for a while, then tanked.”

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “A few sentences. A lot of emotions.”

“Yes.” Warmth spread through her that had less to do with the wine than she wanted. He understood. Maybe not completely, but he got it.

“What will you do after you leave here?”

“Get right back into business.” Grace watched the waitress approach with relief. For some reason she was uncomfortable talking about her next move. She did have more grief to get through after the collapse of A Touch of Grace, but also now that she’d tasted what it was like to have her own little empire, it was hard to summon the necessary hunger and passion to work for someone else again.

“Here are your appetizers. The plantain, radish and egg for you…” The waitress plunked a dish in front of Grace. Easy, girl. “And the salad for you, Connor. Anything else I can get you two right now?”

“No, thanks. This looks fine.” Grace stared down at her appetizer. Actually, it looked a little sad. On one quadrant of the plate, tied with a scallion in a neat bundle was the sea plantain, a grassy looking plant also called goose tongue because the leaves resembled…guess what? On another quadrant, slices of radishes sitting in a slightly tired lettuce leaf. Finishing the dish, a duck egg that had been baked in a tiny ramekin and sprinkled with black pepper.

Hmm.

Grace would have sautéed the radishes with butter and chives, maybe a splash of lemon or vinegar, then mixed them with blanched sea plantain in a mound on the plate. The duck egg, she would have poached and put on top of the vegetables so the flavors could meld. Then maybe sprinkle of Aleppo pepper, and a slice of French bread on the side, toasted and spread with—

“Something wrong?”

Grace jerked up her head. “No, no. Just fantasizing.”

Connor’s grin spread slowly, eyes sparking mischief. “Well.”

She blushed. She couldn’t help it. “I mean about the food. Professionally speaking.”

“Too bad.”

Grace narrowed her eyes. “You’re flirting.”

“Yes. So?”

“So why did you kiss me?”

He looked startled. She couldn’t believe she’d said it either. Maybe the wine had bolstered her courage, though she’d barely had a quarter of the glass.

Now that the question was out there, however, she was glad she’d asked. Let him know she wasn’t a simpering female who’d go wherever he led.

“I kissed you because I wanted to.”

She pretended disapproval. “No impulse control.”

“When I need to, I have plenty. I’m thinking you need less.”

“Still flirting.” She tried for indignation, but found herself smiling at him, and then, having started, not wanting to stop. It was as if she was seeing him all over again for the first time. He was so handsome. Boyish but definitely a man. Long-lashed gray eyes and thick short chocolate brown hair that refused to stand down. A slight and very sexy cleft in his chin.

Tonight she’d was enjoying herself outside of a kitchen more than she could remember in a long, long time. The defining feature of her career was its all-consuming nature, something she generally thrived on.

But this leisure to enjoy a quiet evening with the prospect of many more quiet evenings ahead, was really nice. She didn’t realize how much she’d missed living at a slower pace.

During their main courses—her salmon came with a rhubarb and orange jam that needed considerable more depth of flavor and a whole lot less sugar, and the side of snow peas needed a minute shorter cooking time and more salt—they chatted easily, reminiscing about their summer on the farm and the people they’d known. Then their talk turned to movies, books, favorite foods, travel…as they’d discovered in Colorado, they had a lot in common, except how to live life. She was driven. He drifted.

Sometime later—most of the dining room had emptied—they were sharing a crème brulée, which could use a compote of local berries to spruce it up, when Derek appeared at their table looking back to normal except for a slight abrasion on his forehead where he’d bumped into Luke’s boat.

Earlier, when Derek had stopped by to visit Grace in her recuperation room, he’d still been pale and slightly unsteady. It was unexpectedly warming to see him fully recovered.

“You feeling okay, Grace?”

“Oh yes.” She beamed at him, admittedly giddy from the wine and Connor’s attention. “How about you? You look great.”

“Same.” He gave Connor a rather cold nod, then turned a distinctly softer gaze back to Grace. “How’s your dinner tasting?”

“Okay.” She tried to speak with enthusiasm, but her professional integrity wouldn’t quite let her.

“Ah.” Derek looked pleased that she’d all but insulted his chef. “Not sure I told you, but Jacques is leaving us soon.”

“Jacques?” She liked Derek, and she appreciated the things he’d shared about her father, but right now, rather childishly, she wanted him to go away.

“Our chef.” He pulled at his right ear. “You want to work here?”

Grace gaped at him. He didn’t appear to be joking, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. “I…well… I’m not really—”

“Think about it. Job’s yours if you want it.”

She glanced at Connor who dropped his jaw in exaggerated shock. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Grace laughed nervously, at a loss how to respond. “Without references? Without any kind of trial run or knowledge of my style?”

“Nah.” He dismissed professional protocol with a contemptuous wave. “I don’t need that stuff.”

He didn’t need that stuff. She could only stare up at him.

“Come see me in the morning, Grace.” He pulled at his ear again. Coughed into his hand. “I, uh, I have something else to discuss with you as well.”

“Okay.” She had no idea what that might be.

“Have a good evening, glad you are doing better.” He turned abruptly and left the dining room.

Grace waited until he was safely out of earshot. “Is it me or was that really weird?”

Instead of agreeing, Connor sipped his wine, looking a little uneasy. “Why don’t you go see what he has to say in the morning, then decide?”

Something about the way he spoke made her pause. “Do you know what he wants to talk to me about?”

“I have an idea. I could be wrong.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to tell me are you.”

“Nope.” He put his napkin on the table and held out his hand. “It’s a beautiful starlit night in Aurora, would you allow me to escort you home?”

She took his hand, trying not to giggle like a little girl. She had not needed that indulgent glass of dessert wine with the crème brulée. “That would be entirely acceptable, yes.”

“I should also warn you that on the way…” He came around the table and stopped a little too close to her, an invasion of her personal space she welcomed shamelessly. Because his eyes were so magnetic, and he smelled really— “I’m going to kiss you.”

Oh. My.

The butterflies in her stomach were not sweetly flapping their wings, they were going for the Indianapolis 500.

“Again?”

He chuckled and let his forehead rest on hers. “Would you mind?”

“That would also be acceptable.” She tried to speak airily, but managed only a cracked whisper.

Crap.

“Let’s go.” He escorted her out of the dining room, through the nearly deserted lobby—they’d been talking for hours!—and out into the sweet ocean-smelling June air.

She could get used to this. “Such a pretty night.”

“This is an incredible part of the world.”

“Did you always want to live in Alaska?”

“Nah.” He took her hand as they walked. “It just worked out this way.”

Did he ever take charge of any part of his life? “Where did you want to live?”

“Wherever I was happy.”

Grace took a few more steps, liking the feeling of his hand, the natural swing of their arms as they walked together. His answers not so much. “Do you not believe in making plans?”

“I used to. But I learned that life has plenty of plans of its own, and trying to fight those is exhausting and hopeless. Best you can do is learn to go where they take you, and try your best to be content wherever you are.”

“Huh.” A pretty-sounding excuse not to take responsibility for himself. “I think plans are vital if you want to get anywhere.”

“Okay.” He looked over at her. “Where do you want to get?”

“To be my own boss in the kitchen. I got there once. I want to get there again.”

“Looks like you landed where you were meant to be, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can take the job here.” He stopped and turned to face her, his features calm but his eyes searching. “You just got an offer.”

She laughed, feeling antsy and uncomfortable. A guy like him, a hummingbird, content to light on the surface of whatever flowers it found, wouldn’t understand her need to do this her way. “Connor, it’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Yeah, why not? “I…don’t want to work here.”

“Why not?”

Yeah, why not? “Because…” The wine was confusing her. Something was. “It’s not my plan. I mean, I have always wanted a place somewhere in New York, my home state. A restaurant with my name outside and my dishes inside. I was so happy when I had that.”

That wasn’t entirely true. It had been a grueling and incredibly anxious time as well as a triumph—er, a temporary triumph. But it was sort of true. Or… Maybe it wasn’t the wine, maybe he was confusing her.

“Do you have a job waiting back east?”

“Not yet. But it’s up to me to find that place, work hard there, then work to find another restaurant of my own.”

“That’s a lot of work, Grace.” They resumed walking. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. But ask yourself why, when what you want is right here, you would go out of your way to choose a more difficult path?”

“Because…” She couldn’t get her brain to work on that one except to tell herself he didn’t understand.

“It’s beautiful here. You’re needed. You’d be your own boss, can design your own menu, have a steady stream of hungry customers…”

Grace bristled, uncomfortably aware that she was annoyed because she was struggling with the logic of his argument. I thought you weren’t going to tell me what to do.”

“What?” He looked astounded. “Did I sound like I was favoring one option over another?”

Grace burst out laughing. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’re just trying to get me to shut up.”

“Absolutely.”

He swung her around with their linked hands behind her body so by the time she realized what was happening, she was pressed solidly against him, their lips inches apart. “You are a truly fantastic woman.”

“Hmph.” Somehow she kept from melting against him, though she didn’t exactly struggle to get away. He felt so good, solid and male and warm. “You are…not so terrible.”

He snorted. “And I would like to kiss you right now.”

“Oh.” Grace sighed and gave in without even the hint of a struggle. “I would like to let you.”

Kissing Connor was heaven. Truly heaven. His lips were gentle, exploring, lingering then pulling away. Once, twice, three times, then she lost count.

“Thanks.” His voice was a low murmur. “I am pretty sure I’m going to want to do that again sometime.”

“Really?” She sounded like a breathless idiot. Because she was a breathless idiot. “When?”

“Now.”

“Mmm.”

Crazy, impossible and so, so wonderful. She was kissing Connor Reed under a starry Alaskan sky, hearing waves tumbling onto the shore, feeling her heart pounding in her chest.

Where had these wild, powerful feelings come from? They were fantasy. Unreal. Dangerous. She was rebounding from the demise of her restaurant, carried away by the romance of the evening and the man. She needed to regroup, reassess, get in touch with her…

With her…

Oh, never mind.

Finally he pulled away, leaving chill where his warmth had been.

“Wow.” His whisper was hoarse, his breathing high. “Something is happening here, Grace.”

Oh no. Him too. One of them had to stay sane. “You’re kissing me?”

“Yeah.” No smile. He was gazing at her as if he wanted to read what was written on the dark side of her brain. Or in the secret depths of her heart. Or both.

She wasn’t even sure what was written there. But she was starting to fear it involved the letters C-o-n-n-o-r. Had she learned nothing from her mother?

They walked the rest of the way to her cottage in silence. Twice she thought of shattering whatever spell they were under by offering a cheerful observation—the sky was so pretty. The harbor was so pretty. The mountains were so pretty.

But she couldn’t bring herself to spoil the magic. Even if it was dark magic, it was still magic.

At her door Connor pulled her close for a long moment, then kissed her too briefly. “Good night, Grace. Sleep well. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She nodded mutely and let herself into the cottage. Closed the door and leaned against it.

Oh boy.

She’d dated a few guys. One in high school. One at the CIA. One briefly at a restaurant she worked at, until she found him in the pantry making out with someone else amid boxes of early lettuce and English peas. Outside of those relationships, she’d kissed a few men. Made out with a couple more, all meaningless experimental fun.

None of them had come close to this.

Not even close.

This was trouble.

Big trouble.

But the biggest danger was that when Connor had been talking about her taking the job and staying here, in essence giving up everything she’d dreamed about…he’d come close to making perfect sense.