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She nodded. “You remembered.”
“The terrible cook grandma who baked a killer rhubarb pie? How could I forget?”
“Gram came to live with us after my mother died.” Grace wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I was four.”
His eyes clouded. “Young. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It’s okay. I mean, I missed her…I still do…but the things I remember about her, and the stuff my father and grandmother have told me, is all so good and comforting that the memories have always softened the loss a bit. Does that make sense?”
Lincoln nodded, not taking his gaze from her face. “Perfect sense.”
Grace’s cheeks warmed suddenly. She didn’t often tell people about her mother. She also didn’t think she’d ever told anyone else about Gram and the rhubarb pie. For some reason, Lincoln was a safe place for secrets.
Maybe even her deepest, most private ones.
Heat pooled in her belly. She reached for another piece of pizza. “So, what about you? I read about your family and Folio Publishing. Must have been quite a childhood, growing up in Manhattan in such illustrious circles.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” A shadow darkened his face. “We were pretty dysfunctional. My parents never married, but they couldn’t live without each other any better than they could live with each other. So they were always fighting, cheating, sabotaging, you name it. They had separate houses, and Sam and I were shuttled back and forth between them for years. I went to live with my father when I was fourteen, but that didn’t make things easier.”
“Between you and Sam?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he live with your mother?”
“No.” He frowned slightly. “He was still shuttled between houses. There were a lot of…well, he had a rough time. He and I have always been pretty different. We don’t get along all that well.”
Grace hesitated before asking, “Is that the reason you’re here?”
“More or less.” He nudged the pizza box toward her in invitation.
“No, thanks. I’m stuffed.” She patted her stomach and reached for another napkin. “Good call with Nico’s Pizza. He makes the best in town.”
“I met him yesterday.” Lincoln closed up the box and took their plates to the sink. “Met a lot of the folks on Mariposa Street. Lively neck of the woods. Sam’s girl is Brooke Castle, who appears to know everyone and everything related to Bliss Cove.”
“Oh, yes. She used to do a lot of reporting forThe Gazette, especially the Mariposa Street renovations.” Grace put the leftover pizza in the fridge. “She also covered many of the high-school stories. She’s an alum, of course.”
She turned to find him washing the dishes. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, exposing the tanned, corded muscles of his forearms. She let her gaze drift from his big hands all the way up his arms to his shoulders and chest.
What did he look like without a shirt? She’d never known a man so well-built, and she’d certainly never seen one naked up close and personal. But despite his height and breadth, Lincoln didn’t seem out of place or look as if her kitchen were too small for him.
Just the opposite, in fact. He fit just right.
Setting the last plate in the drainer, he glanced over at her. “Ready?”
She was more than ready, though for things she suspected he wasn’t referring to. Unfortunately.
“Yes.” She swallowed the heat rising in her throat. “I was—”
The back porch door banged against the side of the house. The hinges squeaked.
Grace hurried out to the screened-in porch. A slight wind was bumping the open door back and forth, but the cat dish was still full of food. With a sigh, she propped the door back into place.
“Everything okay?” Lincoln asked.
“Oh, I thought it might be my cat, Viola.” She picked up the water dish and slipped past him to refill it at the sink. “She ran away a couple of weeks ago, and I haven’t had any sign of her. I feel terrible because I hadn’t closed the door. She got spooked by a police siren and bolted off. I keep the screen door open and food out in the hopes that she’ll find her way home.”
“What does she look like?”
