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Steven Bond, one of the last remaining of his generation. He came from Edward’s side of the family and had three children.
“There is my girl,” her grandfather said. “What’s in the bag?”
“Food,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. She was always laid back and carefree with him.
“I figured that much. But what kind of food?”
“Stuffed shells,” she said. “Plus a loaf of bread that I baked this morning.”
Her grandfather’s house wasn’t that big. Maybe twenty-five hundred square feet. It was a two story with a primary on the first floor for easy living for him in his elder years.
Not that twenty-five hundred square feet was small for homes, but considering his billion-dollar wealth, most would expect something much more grand.
That was her grandfather’s house in Boston. The one that was too big and lonely for him. In the nicer weather he spent more time on the island, but she knew he wouldn’t get rid of the mansion that had been in Edward’s side of the branch for years.
“It’s your day off and you’re still cooking. Not that I don’t appreciate it.”
Her grandfather had gotten up and followed her into the renovated kitchen. Not that it was anything up to her standards, but it would do.
“I can’t help the fact that what I do for a living I need to do daily anyway,” she said. “You’re keeping me company on my day off.”
Her grandfather snorted. “If you weren’t single you wouldn’t need your grandfather to keep you company.”
She didn’t want to hear this again. It felt like it was all she heard lately.
More than half of her cousins were now married or getting married. Some had kids on top of it.
If she could get past the walls she’d put up over the years, maybe she’d have a shot with someone, but the fact she was always looking for someone’s motive just kept her locked in her single-girl status.
Most got sick of her doubts in the end and walked.
She couldn’t help who she was though. If they didn’t want to stick it out, that was on them.
“Who has time?” she said. “I work weekends and nights.”
“Not every night,” her grandfather argued. “You run the kitchen, you can take some more time off or at least rearrange your schedule.”
She sighed. “Grandpa. Since you still have some controlling shares of The Retreat, you know it’s the wedding destination of the Northeast for those with big bucks.”
She was rubbing her fingers together with a grin.
Sure, her grandfather didn’t do much more than sit on the board of The Retreat. Even her Uncle Charlie did the same. Right now, her older cousin, Hunter, ran it. That stupid antiquated clause that only a male Bond could run it.
Better Hunter than her. She wanted no part of any of it. Never did and never would.
She liked going to work and doing her job and not having the responsibility and liability of running the business.
Which was stupid really because she ran the kitchen. She hired and she fired and trained, but she was given a budget. She didn’t worry about any of those other pesky details.
“It is the place to be,” her grandfather said proudly. “And someday I hope you get married there too.”
Grace rolled her eyes, and when the oven beeped, she stuck the shells in there. “Not on my radar.”
“You’re thirty-one years old. When are you going to settle down?”
She might be small, but she was mighty.
She had a loud voice and let it be heard.
