he said accusingly.
“That’s such a big sin? He doesn’t mean anything to me. Suggesting that I’d have anything to do with him is an insult.”
He looked uncertain. “Have you spoken to him?”
“No,” she snapped, then remembered the encounter in the library. “He came into the library.”
“To see you?”
“He said it was to sign up for a library card.”
“And you believe that?”
The phone rang and Cliff grabbed the receiver. After the initial greeting, he said, “Just a minute, please. It’s the real estate agent,” he muttered, bringing her the phone.
She took it from him with a nod of thanks. “This is Grace Harding,” she said, astonished by how calm she managed to sound.
“Hello, Grace, this is Judy Flint from the rental agency.”
“Yes, Judy, what can I do for you?” All she wanted was to get off the phone and back to Cliff. This problem was too important to be deferred; if they didn’t settle it now, it would loom between them, growing more awkward all the time.
“I have a party interested in renting your house on Rosewood Lane. They’ve given me a check for the first month’s rent.”
“Wonderful.”
“I’m just not sure about them….”
“Why not?” Grace didn’t want to go another month making payments on a house that sat empty. She’d been forced to refinance in order to cover a debt of her dead husband’s. Before committing suicide, Dan had borrowed money from his cousin, which Grace felt honor-bound to repay.
“The Smiths’ references are questionable and—”
“Judy, this really isn’t a good time. Can we discuss it later?”
“Well …”
“They gave you a check, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then rent the house,” she said, decision made.
“Grace, are you absolutely certain about this?”
“Yes,” she said rashly, intent on resuming her conversation with Cliff.
“Okay. I’ll tell the Smiths they can have the house.”
“Thank you.” Grace prepared to hang up the phone. “Bye—”
“You’ll need to come by and sign some paperwork.”
“Yes, of course,” she said. “Thank you, Judy. Goodbye now.” Before the other woman could make small talk, Grace concluded the call and put back the receiver. Turning to Cliff, she braced herself.
Cliff now stood on the other side of the kitchen. “You said you hadn’t spoken to Will, then you said he’d been in the library. So you saw him?”
“Yes, and we did speak.”
“You’re changing your story. Again.”
Grace felt like groaning with frustration. “I’d forgotten about it, and then I remembered. I wanted you to know the whole truth.”
“Which is?” Cliff crossed his arms. His body language couldn’t have been more obvious; he was protecting himself, warding off pain—or the threat of pain.
“Exactly what I told you,” she told him, raising her voice. “Will invited me to lunch. He said it was so we could clear the air. I declined. I want nothing more to do with Will Jefferson and he knows it. Despite that, he’s trying to create doubt and confusion between us and you’re letting him. I, for one, am not going to allow it. I married you. I love you and I want to be your wife until the day I die.”
Cliff faltered slightly. After a few seconds, he dropped his arms and sighed. “I didn’t have lunch. I think I might be a bit cranky.”
She felt the tension seep away. Studying him, she said, “You should know I’ve decided against ever cooking again.”
“You have?” Frowning, he eyed the chicken breasts thawing on the kitchen counter.
“If Susan cooked for you out of guilt, then I refuse to follow in her footsteps. As a result, I may very well have baked my last pie.”
“No!” Cliff’s protest was immediate.
“Compare me to Susan again and watch what happens.”
He smiled then, for the first time that afternoon, and opened his arms to her. “I’m a jealous idiot.”
“Yes, you are,” she agreed, walking into his embrace. Their argument had frightened her, but the fact that Will held such power over her marriage was even worse.
“I’m sorry,” Cliff whispered.
“I am, too.” She clung to him, still shaken by what had almost happened. “I’m not Susan.”
“I know, and I hate myself for implying otherwise. But please, Grace, don’t keep anything from me again.”
“I won’t, I promise.” She closed her eyes, listening to the beat of his heart, and for a moment all they did was stand there, in the middle of the kitchen, holding each other.
“Grace?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think that apple pie is ruined?”
She saw him look longingly at the garbage. “I’m afraid so.”
Cliff’s chest expanded with a sigh of regret. “That’s what I thought.”
She lifted her head. “However, I made two apple pies and put the second one in the freezer. I’ll heat it up later.”
“Thank you.” He leaned down and kissed her, hands clasped at her back. “One more thing.”
“Yes.” She spread small kisses along his neck, taking pleasure in the intimacy they shared.
“What you said about not cooking anymore?”
“Oh, that.”
“How serious were you?”
“Well … for a suitable incentive I could be persuaded to reconsider.”
Cliff stroked her back slowly and with just the right pressure. “Do you have any suggestions on how I can make it up to you?”
Grace smiled at him. “I’d be more than happy to do that,” she said, standing on the tips of her toes and offering him her mouth. The lengthy kiss that followed was not only satisfying, it promised much, much more.
