Falling for Grace Page 12

  * * * *

  “Dad, can we get ice cream?”

  Gracie blinked painfully as they exited the theater, her eyes attempting to adjust to the unusually bright afternoon. Of course, her eyes were extremely sensitive today, so perhaps it was only her.

  She glanced at Carson. He was squinting, too. Good. Maybe she was getting somewhat back to normal.

  Carson looked back at her, appearing to assess something in her face. Then he turned his attention to Izzie. “Honey, I’m tired. How about if we do that later this evening?”

  “But Da-ad,” Izzie whined. “We always get ice cream after a movie.

  “Not today, Iz. Okay?”

  “But Gracie wants to. Right, Gracie?”

  “Well, uh...” she stammered.

  He caught Gracie’s eye again. Actually, she was tired herself, but should she let Carson handle this? She had the distinct feeling that he really didn’t want to spend any more of his afternoon with her.

  He’d been very quiet throughout the movie and once, when she’d accidentally crossed her legs and brushed her foot up against his calf, he’d jumped like he was scared to death. Another time, his elbow has slipped off the arm rest and his arm had fallen into her lap, startling both of them. Not to mention how he’d stared at her hand when she’d absentmindedly reached out and touched his arm.

  She’d just make it easy on him.

  “You two go,” she interrupted. “I have some work to do back at the shop.”

  Izzie moved in front of Gracie, grasped her hand, and looked up at her with those huge Disney eyes. “Please, Gracie? Please? Don’t go yet.”

  Heaving out a deep sigh, she searched the child’s eyes. Such an angelic little face. Reaching out, Gracie smoothed back a few wayward curls that had escaped her ponytail and smiled. Yet, she could be such a monkey. Starved for female attention, she’d deduced lately, this child was beginning to get to her. And bad.

  Glancing up, Gracie searched Carson’s face. But Izzie wasn’t the only one getting to her. She’d known it for a while but had refused to acknowledge it. Carson was getting to her, too. She couldn’t let that happen. Thing was, dad and kid were the whole kit-and-kaboodle.

  It was something she was just going to have to learn to deal with.

  Stalling, she wracked her brain for a moment, wondering how she might manage to get an afternoon nap and appease Izzie at the same time.

  Again, she looked down into the child’s eyes. She saw life dancing in them. She saw a child so different from the one she’d been so many years ago. She saw spirit and spunk and an innocence she, herself, has lost. She saw a child-like passion for living that radiated up at her with a zest Gracie had longed denied herself.

  She saw exactly what she’d been missing for years, had not allowed herself to feel.

  Love.

  It was simple as that.

  “How about this,” she whispered, crouching down to look Izzie directly in the eyes. The child smiled and continued to search her face. “I’m a little tired and your Dad is too, I think. Why don’t we all go home for the rest of the day today, then tomorrow, I’ll get my old-fashioned ice cream freezer out and we’ll make homemade ice cream out on the back deck. Deal?”

  Izzie’s face screwed up a bit. “You can make ice cream?”

  “Yep. You never had homemade ice cream before?”

  The monkey shook her head.

  “Well. I think it’s about time, don’t you?”

  Izzie smiled and nodded furiously. “But can’t we do it today?”

  Gracie shook her head. “I have some work to do and your father has to open up Geeks tonight, right?”

  Looking up, Gracie finally allowed herself to glance back at Carson, who was staring at her with an odd expression on his face. Something abruptly clutched in her chest and she felt like she’d done something very wrong.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly to him. “You may have had other plans for tomorrow. I should have—”

  He put up his hand to stop her, his eyes not leaving hers. “No,” he said. “We have no other plans. I think...” He paused and looked to his daughter and Gracie followed his gaze. A long sigh exited his lips. Izzie, still clutching Gracie’s hand, peered back at her dad with a most satisfied expression on her face. “I think,” Carson continued, glancing back to Gracie now, “that we both would like that very much.” Finally, a small, hesitant grin meandered across his lips.

  For just a few seconds, Gracie studied his face. She found herself wanting to grin back. “Good,” she returned softly, then finally allowed her lips to return the gesture.

  Her heart suddenly felt full of something she didn’t dare try to define, so she shoved it away. Far away. Trying not to acknowledge that that fullness felt good.

  Too good.

  * * * *

  The next afternoon, Gracie stared into her bathroom mirror and groaned. Her eyes were no longer red but they were still puffy as all get-out.

  She’d hoped that after she’d showered and gone to the grocery to gather ice cream supplies, and had drank tons of water, the puffiness would have subsided.

  No such luck. Small bags of puff still existed underneath each eye like little carpet bags of fluid.

  Drat.

  Tea bags. That might do it. So after a few minutes, Gracie was lying in her bed with brewed and chilled tea bags on her eyes, when she started wondering why she was even concerned about puffy eye-bags in the first place.

  She wasn’t trying to catch Carson Price’s eye. She didn’t need to look gorgeous for him. She didn’t even want him to look at her in any way other than as her neighbor and landlord.

  So what difference did it make if she had puffy eyes?

  It didn’t matter.

  Quickly, Gracie rose and tossed the tea bags into the garbage in her bathroom. She splashed water on her face, toweled off, and didn’t even look in the mirror before she left. She also acknowledged to herself that she hadn’t put on a speck of makeup all day long.

  What the heck. She was just going to make ice cream on her back deck with her neighbors. She didn’t need makeup.

  She didn’t need to impress anyone. Least of all Carson Price. She just wanted to spend time with Izzie—and Izzie didn’t care, or not, if she wore makeup.

  She was in her kitchen some time later mixing up the ice cream ingredients, when the knock came at her door.

  “Door’s open,” she shouted, still stirring milk and eggs and sugar and vanilla and a few other ingredients in a large mixing bowl.

  The door burst open and like a whirlwind, Izzie raced across her living room toward her small kitchen.

  “Hey, Gracie!”

  Gracie smiled. “Hey ya, monkey!”

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  “Getting ready to cook the ice cream.”

  “Cook it! But we gotta get it cold, not hot!” the imp exclaimed.

  Smiling, Gracie transferred the mixture to a large saucepan. “Well, you have to cook this kind first, then we put it into the freezer to get cold and hard. It’s going to take a little while, so I hope you’re mouth’s not all set for ice cream just yet.”

  “How long?” she inquired.

  “A few hours. But it will be worth the wait.”

  “Then just skip the cooking part.” Izzie jumped up on a bar stool and peered across the snack bar into the mixture on the stove.”

  “Can’t,” Gracie explained. “This kind has eggs in it and you have to cook the eggs so we don’t get salmonella.”

  “Simonhoola?”

  Glancing up from her stirring, Gracie laughed. “Salmonella. It’s a kind of food poisoning. In other words, if you get it you throw up a lot.”

  “Samon-ellie?”

  “Salmon...like the fish.”

  Izzie screwed up her face then. “Cook it good, then, okay? I don’t wanna puke like a fish.”

  Giggling, Gracie nodded and agreed. “Sure will, Iz.”

  As she glanced up, she noticed that her
front door was still ajar and that Carson was standing in the door frame. Immediately, her heart clutched. How long he’d been there, she had no clue.

  “May I come in?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  Cautiously, he stepped across the threshold and toward the kitchen. After sidling up next to Izzie and depositing himself on another bar stool, he peered over to look at the mixture on the stove.

  “You have to cook it?”

  Gracie couldn’t help but smile. “Yes,” she told him, her attention still on the mixture. She turned the heat up a little bit.

  “But we’re going to freeze it, right?”

  “It’s ‘cause you’ll puke like a fish if she doesn’t cook it,” Izzie offered.

  Gracie looked at Carson who was looking at his daughter in surprise.

  “You’ll what?”

  “You’ll puke.”

  “Why?”

  “Some fish thing.”

  Gracie chuckled and went back to her stirring.

  “What fish thing?” Carson queried.

  “The Simon fish thing.”

  “You mean, salmon, like salmon patties?”

  “Yeah, like that.”

  “You’re confusing me, Izzie. What does salmon have to do with ice cream?”

  Izzie heaved out a sigh and tossed out her hands as she looked her dad square in the eyes. “It has to do with fish eggs. You have to kill them all. That’s what makes you puke.”

  “Fish eggs,” he echoed. Gracie felt his gaze on her, so she looked up.

  “Fish eggs,” she repeated and smiled.

  “It’s named after some girl named Simon Ellen,” Izzie said then.

  Carson guffawed and looked from Gracie to his daughter and back to Gracie again.

  “Salmonella,” she finally offered. “This recipe has eggs in it so therefore you have to cook it so you won’t get salmonella.”

  “That’s what makes you puke,” Izzie explained.

  Gracie laughed, still looking at Carson. “Yes, that’s what makes you puke.”

  “Like a fish.”

  Again, Carson belted out a laugh. Leaning over, he bear-hugged Izzie and held her close. “You silly Munchkin,” he told her. “I love your mind.”

  “I love your mind, too, Dad,” Izzie chimed back.

  Gracie suddenly realized she was smiling at the whole scene and had stopped stirring when a big ker-plop! bubbled up through the mixture.

  “Oh, gosh!” Embarrassed, she turned down the heat and started furiously stirring. “Guess I need to pay attention to what I’m doing, huh?”

  “Yep!” Izzie laughed.

  “Please, do,” Carson added. “Make sure you properly kill all those fish eggs.”

  “Or we have to tell Simon Ellen,” Izzie told her.

  Gracie continued stirring, laughter boiling up inside of her.

  It was a nice feeling.

  * * * *

  Carson swiped at his brow and continued cranking the arm of the old ice cream freezer. The swipe didn’t help much, perspiration still dripped off his forehead onto the deck with huge plops. The July afternoon had turned into a humid evening. He wouldn’t doubt if there wasn’t a summer thunderstorm in their near future.

  “How much longer?” Izzie peered over his shoulder.

  “Not too much, I think. It’s getting harder to crank.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yes.”

  It was very good. His arm was tired. A few minutes passed and Izzie moved around to the front of him, intently watching the process.

  “You’re sweating, Dad.

  “That I am, Iz.”

  “Is it hard?”

  “You could say that.” He glanced up. Where in the heck was Gracie? His arm was tired. No wonder she’d taken the first cranking shift. Surely this should be ready by now.

  “Gracie’s slicing strawberries.”

  Carson looked up at his daughter. “Why did you say that?”

  “I saw you looking for her.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” He returned to his cranking. Water sloshed out of the drain hole.

  “Yes you were.”

  “Was not,” Carson returned.

  “Was too.”

  Frustrated, Carson stopped cranking and stared at his daughter. Slowly, he sat back on his heels, reached for his right bicep, and started rubbing the muscle. Who would have thought making homemade ice cream would be so much work?

  “Was not,” he countered and then threw her a narrowed gaze that meant, ‘no more.’ Besides cranking the freezer, his temper was bordering on cranky.

  “Done yet?”

  This was from Gracie, who just that second popped out the back door and stepped out onto the deck. She carried bowls and spoons and a plastic container which he hoped held those sliced strawberries. Perhaps all this cranking wouldn’t be for naught.

  “Not sure. How do you know?”

  He watched as she sat the dishes on the redwood table and approached the two of them. Smiling, she crouched down beside him and reached for the handle. After giving it one hard crank backward, she said, “Just a little longer.”

  “More?” he croaked.

  “More,” she replied.

  “You’re sure it’s not done?”

  “Positive.”

  He searched her eyes for a moment and realized that at some point today, Gracie had added a touch of makeup to them. Her cheeks looked rosier, too. And she was wearing a hint of lipstick. She must be feeling better, he thought, and was glad about that.

  “You’re perspiring.”

  Chuckling, he reached for the hand-crank. “This is hard work!”

  “But worth it.”

  He stopped mid-crank and looked at her again. “Promise?”

  Slowly, she nodded. “Promise. Now get cranking.”

  She walked away then and Izzie joined her. Carson found himself lost in the way she kidded with Izzie and gracefully moved about the deck and set the bowls and spoons and strawberries out on the table.

  He was enjoying himself so much, he didn’t even notice that his arm hurt like hell.

  Chapter Eleven

  Twenty minutes later Carson lifted the last spoon of creamy vanilla ice cream topped with a slice of just-ripe strawberry to his lips, savored the flavor, rolling it over on his tongue. The strawberry literally melted in his mouth along with the ice cream. He swallowed, then closed his eyes and leaned back on the padded redwood chaise lounge and sighed.

  Heaven. Pure heaven.

  “Good, huh, Dad?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Carson opened one eye only to find the two females on the deck staring at him.

  “Worth it?” Gracie asked.

  “Yummy,” he answered.

  She grinned. “Told you so. More?”

  Opening the other eye and sitting up, he told her no. “I’ve eaten more than my share already.”

  “But you did all the hard work,” Gracie said. “You deserve more than the rest of us.”

  “Oh, I think you did the most important work,” he replied. “I mean, killing those fish eggs was extremely important. Simon Ellen says so.”

  Gracie and Izzie looked at each other and burst out laughing. Carson found that he immensely liked the sound of their voices blended together in laughter like that. But all too quickly Gracie stopped laughing and rose to gather their bowls. She reached for his and he handed it to her, holding onto the bowl just a tad longer than he’d intended. Her fingertips grazed his and their gazes briefly touched. A puzzled look crossed Gracie’s face and he let go of the bowl. He couldn’t deny though, that he liked the electric sizzle her touch had sent up his hand.

  Quickly, she retrieved Izzie’s bowl and set about cleaning up other things. Carson rubbed his hand on his leg to try and stop the sizzle. It wasn’t working.

  His daughter slowly made her way to where he was sitting on the chaise and curled up in his lap.

  “Sleepy Munchkin?”


  She yawned and nodded. “A little.”

  Glancing at his watch, Carson realized it was an hour past her bedtime. Making the ice cream had taken a lot longer than he’d expected. “Well, let’s help Gracie clean up then we should get you to bed.”

  He rose, taking the child with him. Izzie clung to him, snuggling closer into her daddy’s chest. Gracie turned, her hands full of bowls and such.

  “I can do this. Why don’t you put her to bed.” She smiled and Carson felt warm. More warm than the humidity and Izzie’s hot body was making him. This was something else entirely.

  “I tell you what,” he answered. “You do the dishes and as soon as I get her down, I’ll come back and take care of the freezer, empty the ice, and hose the salt off the deck. All right?”

  Gracie must have liked the sound of that because she actually smiled at him. “All right.”

  He liked the sound of that, too. It would give him one more chance today to be with her today. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to spend a little more time with her. It was like he needed to do that, just to see if what was happening between them, was happening.

  And to determine if he wanted what he thought was happening, to really happen.

  Something strange was happening between them he was sure. Or maybe, it was just with him. There was not a doubt in his mind: Gracie Hart was getting to him. And how.

  He just wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

  * * * *

  Some time later Carson slipped through Gracie’s back door and joined her on the deck. The night was cooling somewhat and the stars were sparkling overhead, an occasional drifting storm cloud hid them from view. The day was long and Gracie was tired, ready to relax. It had been a good day, a nice weekend, actually. For the first time in forever she’d given herself two full days off.

  Night sounds skittered about, birds called, people talked somewhere down the street, a cat meowed. She rested her head on the back of the chaise and closed her eyes as she listened. Carson’s footsteps drew nearer. Then they paused and she heard the creak of the redwood and knew he’d sat in the chaise next to hers.

  “She asleep?” Gracie asked, her eyes still closed.

  “Finally,” he answered after a minute.

  “That’s good.”