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There was no happy way for this to end. That was the problem. But she couldn’t end it now. The thought of it created physical pain in her chest. It had been less than fourteen hours since she’d last seen Michael and she was already missing him.
“I don’t know what will happen.” Grace took a deep breath, her brows pulled tight. “I guess eventually he’ll go back to London.”
“You could go with him.”
“We only reconnected last night. It’s too soon to think of anything like that.” She kept her voice light. “Don’t worry about me. I’m always okay in the end.”
“You never talked about a guy like this in all the time I’ve known you,” Ella said, definitely sounding worried. “Not even Pascal.”
“And now we know why. It’s fine, honey. I just needed to talk to somebody, get it all out. That’s all.”
“Well, I’m here anytime you need to vent,” Ella promised. “With my dry spell, it’s the only excitement I get.”
“What about that guy from accounts?” Grace asked.
“Turns out he was interested in my co-worker. Ryan.”
“Oops.”
“Yeah, well, you keep scooping up the hotties and I’ll keep living my life vicariously through you.”
Arcadia nudged Grace’s arm. She looked over the mountains to see the sky darkening. “I’d better go. There’s some rain coming in. Need to get Arcadia back.” Summer storms were no joke. She wouldn’t want to be caught out in one, and there was no way she’d put Arcadia through that. He was a thoroughbred, sometimes nervy. And he hated storms.
“Okay. But keep in touch.” Ella sounded reluctant to let her go.
“I will.”
“And ignore what everybody else thinks. You’re doing nothing wrong.”
Grace patted Arcadia’s side and sighed. “If only that were true.”
* * *
“What the heck is gooey butter cake?” Grace asked, laughing as Michael shook his head. It was Tuesday night, and he’d come over as planned, giving some stupid excuse about meeting another old friend. She was wearing a tank and a pair of panties, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Couldn’t stop touching her, either, even though they were both exhausted from their passionate hello.
Which had lasted an hour and a half in her bedroom, exhausting them both.
But she’d insisted on making them both a sandwich, and the growl of his empty stomach had hardened her resolve.
So here they were, in her kitchen, and he was watching as she sliced the bread, looking so damn beautiful his heart ached.
“You haven’t heard of gooey butter cake?” He frowned.
“Well, I know you use butter to make a cake.” Grace wrinkled her nose. Her mom was the baker in the family. She much preferred to eat than bake. “But to base the whole thing on butter? Isn’t that disgusting?”
He laughed. “You need to try some. You’ll never look back. It’s kind of like a layer of cake with custardy butter in the middle.”
She caught his eye, stilling her knife. “I thought you said a Slinger was the best thing I’d ever taste.” He’d been telling her all about the food he used to love when he lived with his family in Missouri. Apparently, a slinger was a hash brown topped with chili, cheese, and a fried egg. Her stomach turned at the thought of it.
“A slinger for your meal, butter cake for dessert.”
“Missouri is weird,” she murmured.
He leaned on the counter, his gaze soft on her. “It just has a lot of different influences. People immigrated there and brought their food with them. French, German, African…”
“But not Irish,” she pointed out. “Which is kind of ironic.”
“I didn’t get that nickname in Missouri.”
