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Chapter 52
Grace
ThedrivetoBristolis quick today since there aren’t many cars on the road. New Year’s Day is a day better spent in bed, nursing a hangover or making love, than it is traipsing outdoors in New England, but for some reason that’s what Cash has us doing. Although he told me about the distillery and the winery, I didn’t quite imagine that we’d be walking the grounds as we stared out at the ocean.
“This is incredibly beautiful, Cash.”
He squeezes my hand, and I can feel the excitement radiating off him. I’m not sure I’ve seen him this happy ever in Boston. Unless we’re alone in the penthouse. But even then, he doesn’t have the same intensity that he has right now, the same fire. He was meant to run this business from the ground.
“It’s pretty amazing, right?” He leans down and kisses me quickly before taking another moment to point out something else he finds fascinating about the operation here. That’s all he’s been doing since we arrived. Pointing out what he loves, things that his grandfather put into place, and ideas he has. He’s constantly reaching into his pocket to take out his phone and jot down notes. It’s freaking adorable.
As he babbles on, my mind drifts to the phone call with my mother. I haven’t told anyone about it yet. Part of me is embarrassed. Is it weak of me to agree to meet with her so easily after everything she’s done? And considering her penchant for speaking to the press, I should be worried that she’ll out Cash and me. It’s not that I don’t want people to know we’re together. I mean, they certainly will soon enough. It’s just not going to look great that I’m pregnant and the timing clearly lines up before the divorce.
And hewasmy client.
I look over at him and wonder what he’d think if he knew I was considering allowing my mother back into my life. Will he allow it?
Allow it?I mock myself; he doesn’t control me.
But it affects him too. As much crap as I give him about slowing down and giving me time to catch up to his penchant to make me his wife, I know he’s a huge part of my life already.
I smile at him as he continues his exciting chatter. His brown hair blows in the cold wind, and his cheeks which are covered in scruff are rosy from the frigid temperatures. I’m wearing the gloves he bought me and riding boots he surprised me with this morning. It’s like the man thinks of things I need before they ever cross my mind. And he provides them with little effort. The perks of money, I suppose.
“I haven’t even shown you the best part yet,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.
“Does it involve a bed or a bathtub?” I tease. The man’s appetite has only grown since my pregnancy. It’s like the idea of his baby growing inside me makes him an animal.
Cash pulls me close to him and drops his forehead to mine. “No, although that could certainly be arranged.”
I kiss him and then lick my lips to preserve his taste. “Okay, Mr. James, lead the way.”
Cash shakes his head at me. “You know what calling me Mr. James does to me, Angel.”
I smile. Yes, I do. And I happen to love it.
Cash lifts me up and carries me inside the building, a huge smile on his face the entire way. “Oh, am I getting punished now?” I tease.
He laughs, but we both grow quiet as he brings me inside the brick building. I look around us, taking in the incredible setup with curiosity. “Is this the distillery?”
Cash nods and sets me down on my own two feet. “But thisisn’tthe best part.”
I raise my brow. “No?”
He shakes his head and leads us into an elevator. It’s all glass and you can see the ocean as we climb each level. We reach the top, only five floors up, and Cash leads me out. The floors are a deep oak, and the entire room smells like the whiskey and wood that I’ve come to know as Cash’s signature scent. I really need to figure out a way to bottle it—we could make a fortune.
“Your new office?” I ask curiously, looking around and appreciating the wooden barrels that also grace his office in Boston.
“Ournew office,” he says looking down at me.
I eye him cryptically. “Our?”
Cash smiles but I see the nervousness in his gaze. “Follow me.”
With my hand in his, he leads us down the hall. Above one door hangs a sign that says Bristol’s Hope, Inc. which leads to a suite of offices on the other side of the glass. On the opposite wall it says Grace Kensington & Associates. I stare at it and get lost in the way the G curves larger than the rest and how it almost looks like a magical twist below it, as if he tried to replicate a fairy godmother’s magical zap.
It’s incredible and overwhelming and so very confusing.
“What is this?” I whisper. I feel his eyes studying my reaction, but I can’t school my features. I have no idea what expression I’m giving him. Probably wonder.
