Page 22 of Return To You

“Mister K?” Who is that?

She sighs. “Ethan King. He’s too old for me.” She shakes her head in a serious manner, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Yes—he is too old for you.”

“I need someone like him, except, like, fifteen years younger.” She rolls her eyes. “Looks aren’t everything. You can tell he’s a super nice guy.” She sighs. “Supposedly my cousin dated him in high school, but I don’t believe her. She’s too mean for someone like him.”

Ethan was a heartbreaker in high school. I resist the urge to ask who her cousin is. Tracy comes from a large family, and I sometimes get lost in the family trees—not just hers. I know everyone Ethan dated, at least the girls from Emerald Creek High, but I do not want to go down that memory lane. It would bring up the more painful memory. Ethan’s college years.

Besides, I have more important things to worry about.

“How do you feel?” I ask Tracy.

She shakes her legs and stands up. “Ohmygod! Like new. Not gonna lie, Ms. Grace, you have magic in your hands.”

“Awww, thank you, Tracy.”

“Hey, your spa is called A Touch Of Grace for a reason.”

I smile and dump the sheet in the hamper. Tracy helps me pack up my accessories. “Would you—would you consider giving me massages after training? I have pre-season camp next week.”

Oh wow. I guess my massage really helped her. “At the Arena?” I hadn’t thought of the young athletes in town, but that would be great exposure.

She nods.

“Sure. Have your mom call me.” We fold the table and roll the carpet. Autumn insisted I leave everything, and she’d pick it up tomorrow.

Tracy helps me carry all my massage stuff to the car, and while we’re carrying the table, her mom shows up to pick her up. After a quick chat, we agree on a daily massage for Tracy after training. I priced it a little on the high end because of the convenience of me going to the Arena every day, and she didn’t even seem to think it was pricey.

My phone rings as I get in my car. Haley. I let it go to voicemail, telling myself I need to focus on my lease issues, when really I’m terrified she’ll bring up Ethan in the conversation.

I can’t right now.

Just like I won’t be going to Lazy’s for a beer and a chat with Justin because he’s Ethan’s brother.

Too risky.

Back to the safe problem at hand. The one I can solve. My lease.

I run through my options as I drive back into town. Looking at the worst-case scenario—the one where I have to vacate and can’t find another place—I suppose that for a while I could keep A Touch Of Grace afloat by having my staff give in-house facials and mani-pedis, while I continue developing the massage business by going to people’s home with my portable table. But God—it would kill me to leave my place. I’ve put so much of my heart and soul into creating the haven that it is now.

As I enter the spa, I take in the soft luxury of the space I’ve created. The leather armchairs and their soft throws, the velvet wingback, the pine accent furniture, the side tables with magazines—I would take all this with me. And the sound system and my scented candles and all the minute details that contribute to the atmosphere of relaxation. All this I would keep.

But could I recreate the same welcoming sophistication without the waxed hardwood floors I paid a fortune to bring back to life? Without the painted moldings that are now the right hue of cream? Without the warm copper accents on the mantle that reflect so perfectly in the mirrored panels?

Moving somewhere else would mean so much more than just moving furniture and equipment.

How much time do I have left here? Alex said it was priced to sell.

And where would my team go if I have nowhere to offer services? My house is way too small, and I can’t think of any available space in town. Cheyenne, Hope, Shanice, Fabrizio, Claudia—they’re all counting on me, on A Touch Of Grace, for their livelihoods.

Ignoring my phone dinging with text messages, I unlock the filing cabinet hidden behind a discreet wood paneling and sift through it until I find the lease. Flicking on the desk lamp, I read through it carefully.

And there it is.

I thought so.

A right of first refusal.

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