Page 36 of QB Keeper
Which is why I’m here.
I set the new, fresh flowers on the counter, removing the old ones from the vase and tossing them in the trash. I went with yellow roses this time, because they symbolize friendship, and right now, I’d give anything for that with Grace.
After I’m done arranging them and making sure they have enough water, I look around, taking in the mess. I chuckle to myself because some things never change.
Libby always had a rule in the Valentine house. You pick up your own messes, no matter what. But that didn’t stopGrace from leaving her shit everywhere, then when we were asked about it, she’d deny it so she wouldn’t get in trouble. Most of the time, I’d take the blame because I knew the consequences would be less severe. I have zero regrets about creating the monster that turned my kitchen into what I’m looking at right now. There are a few pieces of dried-up pasta clumped together in a strainer in the sink. A pot sits on the stove, the bottom caked with red sauce, dots of it splattered all over the cooktop. Grocery bags litter the floor, and I’m a little upset that she wasted money on food when I made sure to fill the kitchen with everything she’d need, but I also understand why she doesn’t want any more of my help than necessary.
I make quick work of cleaning up, washing the dishes and wiping everything down. I’m happy to do it because this mess means that she’s here, making herself as comfortable as she can possibly be, considering the history that lies within these rooms. As I make my way to the bathroom to toss the kitchen rags into the hamper, I notice the bedroom door is wide open. There isn’t a lot of light coming through the curtains, but I can see Grace snuggled up under the covers. My heart cracks in my chest as I look at her face, taking in the way her brows are pulled in, even as she sleeps. She has the weight of the world on her shoulders right now, and what I wouldn’t do to bear all of it for her. She used to be so carefree, but I can tell just by what I’ve seen in the months I’ve been watching her, that the girl she used to be is now buried deep under the layers of hardness she’s developed since I left her.
I have a desperate need to help her find that girl again.
As much as I’d love to stare at her all day, I return to the kitchen, putting a filter in the coffee maker and scooping some fresh grounds into it so it’s ready when she gets up. I don’t know what time she has to work, but assuming it’s a regular nine-to-five, she’ll be getting up soon to get ready.
I make my way to the door, turning one last time to look atthe place. When I bought it, I couldn’t bring myself to change anything, even though my mom had offered several times to give it a more modern makeover. As much as it hurt me to know everything was here, just the way I left it the day I drove away, I felt like I would be losing the last piece of Grace that I had if I altered it in any way. There were several times over the last few years that I wanted to come here, but I just couldn’t. On those nights when I missed her the most, I went back-and-forth on just getting in my car and driving so I could feel closer to her. I promised myself I wouldn’t return to Hope Harbor, but the pull was so strong some nights, that I had to get shitty drunk just to stop the memories from playing on a loop in my head.
But now that I’m here, and she’s back in my life, regardless of the circumstances, I’m glad I kept it exactly the way it was. For one whole summer, this place meant everything to us. It’s where we truly began and also where we ended. I don’t know what it’ll take to earn another chance with Grace, but none of that matters, because I’d rather die than know I didn’t do everything I could to show her how sorry I am for tearing us apart.
“Have a good day, Bunny. I love you,” I whisper into the empty room before walking out the door and reluctantly driving back to Boston, counting down the minutes until I can find an excuse to see her again.
GRACE
I wake with a start, realizing it’s morning, and that once again, I slept completely through the night. That’s the second time this has happened since I started sleeping at thelighthouse. It’s not that I had insomnia or anything, I just never felt fully relaxed enough to stay asleep when I was lying next to Cash. He didn’t give me any reason to think I couldn’t rest, so I can’t really explain it, but it isn’t lost on me that being here has allowed me to sleep better than I have in a long time. That would normally be a great thing…if I didn’t have to work.
I jackknife up, grabbing my phone off the nightstand and checking the time. I’m supposed to be at work in a half hour, but it’s going to take me longer than that to get ready. I left a huge mess in the kitchen last night, thinking I would be awake at some point to clean it up. I can’t leave it the way it is in case Tanner drops by, so I need to take care of it before I leave. I didn’t even tell him I was coming back because I don’t have his phone number, so he might come here to make sure everything was locked up properly.
I get up, rushing to the kitchen, but stop in my tracks when I see that my disaster from yesterday is completely clean. The burnt sauce I let splatter all over the stove has been wiped away and is now gleaming. The noodles that wouldn’t fit into the container I put in the fridge have been emptied from the sink. And sitting on the counter are two dozen yellow roses, replacing the white ones that had wilted.
My heart skips. I should be mad that he snuck in here while I was asleep, but of all the emotions I’m experiencing right now, anger isn’t one of them. This is his house, after all, and I never told him I would be here today. I want to kick myself for the warm feeling in my chest at knowing we were inside these walls together again, even though I was completely unaware of it. I shouldn’t allow myself to have these butterflies in my stomach after everything he did to me. But I don’t have long to dwell on all of that. Even without having to clean up, I’m still going to be cutting it close making it on time to the boutique.
Fifteen minutes later, I look somewhat presentable.Thankfully, yesterday’s eyeliner easily transitioned in today’s smoky eye, so I didn’t have much to do as far as make up. My hair is slicked back into a bun on top of my head, and I’m wearing a cotton maxi dress with a knot tied in the bottom to keep it from getting caught under my shoes. I top the look with a denim jacket and rush out the door, remembering to lock it behind me.
The drive to work takes only about ten minutes, so I shove through the door with five minutes to spare before we open. I’m out of breath, and pieces of my blonde hair have escaped my hair tie, sticking up all over like I put my finger in a light socket. But I’m here. That’s all that matters.
“Somebody got rode hard and put away wet,” Monroe says, raising a brow at me. “Did that useless fiancé of yours finally do something right this morning?”
Ugh.
With everything that happened after work Friday, and needing time to process it all over the weekend, I didn’t even have time to fill her in on what went down. Part of me is afraid to actually give her the details, because she is loyal to a fault and has a hell of a right hook. She had a fling with a boxing instructor last year, and he taught her how to throw a proper punch. I’ve only seen her use it on a heavy bag, but I have no doubt in my mind that if she really wanted to, she could knock Cash the fuck out.
Actually, that’s not a terrible idea.
“I don’t have a fiancé, and I don’t want to talk about it here,” I tell her quietly. Her eyes go wide with surprise, but she reins it in just as Claire steps out of her office.
“Fine,” she whisper-shouts. “But I’m taking you to lunch later and you’re giving me every single detail, so I can decide his fate.”
I give her a weak smile, making my way to the back room, where the new deliveries have already been dropped off. The three of us work to unpack everything, hanging it allon a rack to be steamed before it goes onto the floor. Like always, I inspect every piece, thinking of all the ways I would have put my own spin on them to make them even more unique. These thoughts run rampant in my mind all the time, but as soon as I sit down at the sewing machine, I blank. Maybe this new start I’m about to embark on will change things for me.
We’re like a well-oiled machine. Claire does the steaming, I bring everything out to where it belongs, and Monroe takes the photos, posting them to social media. I decide on a long-sleeved, off-the-shoulder bodycon dress to be the center of our picture window in the front of the store. The style is blowing up in Paris right now, and it’s perfect for a night out in the city.
I can’t even imagine having a date or other event to wear something like this to. The amount of charity functions that go on in Boston every weekend ensures that these types of dresses will fly off the racks. There are several affluent families that live right here in Hope Harbor, and the women are always trying to outdo each other. I have a feeling that this little number won’t last long.
Before I know it, we have the first line on display and people are already funneling in to check it out. I’m proud of the inventory I’ve built since I took over as the fashion buyer here. Claire has been so easygoing, letting me try new styles every season, which has definitely paid off for us all.
“Alright. Enough of this shit,” Monroe says, tossing my purse into my lap as I sit on the floor, putting shoes on the last mannequin of the morning. “Do you want real food, or are we just walking over to the café?”
As if it has ears of its own, my stomach growls loudly as I stand, brushing the nonexistent dirt off my butt before pulling the crossbody strap of my small bag over my head. She shakes her head on a laugh, wordlessly leading me out the door and to her car. I plop down in the passenger seat,and she doesn’t even have her door closed before the inquisition begins.
“Tell me everything,” she says, putting on her blinker and checking her mirror before she pulls onto the road. There are only a couple of restaurants that serve good lunch in town, so I’ll let her have the liberty of choosing which one we end up at.
