The two walked into the kitchen, and Martin sat at the table while Grace made coffee and pulled the cake from the fridge.
“I’m going to miss Sally,” Grace told him as the coffee finished percolating and she poured them each a cup. “The creative ways she turns ordinary food into masterpiece dishes is out of this world. She’s spoiled me rotten in a few days’ time. I wish I’d learned how to cook better.” It was just one more disadvantage she’d had in growing up in such a cold home. “My mom wasn’t the milk-and-cookies type,” she said with a brittle laugh. “My dad wasn’t so hot in the kitchen, either.”
“I know you don’t like to hear this, Grace,” Martin said after she joined him at the table. “But you’re strong enough to know that you’re important. I know your parents have put you through the wringer, but you have to remember that you’re a survivor and what your parents have done or said, or didn’t do or say, doesn’t define who you are.”
“I was just making a joke, Mr. Whitman. I know that.” Grace wished she had just kept her mouth shut.
“There are a lot of truths in jokes,” he told her.
“Sometimes,” she said, then lifted her coffee cup to her mouth to keep herself from saying more. Why did she want to bare her soul to this man? It had always been that way. She blamed his eyes, his beautiful, soulful eyes.
“I’m not going to push you, Grace. And I know you have Sage, and Spence, and Cam, and even Michael and Jackson. Our family loves you as one of our own. As long as you know that, you’ll always be just fine.”
“I do know that,” she said, her voice quiet.
“All right, we’ve gotten that out of the way. Tell me what you’ve been so busy with lately.”
Grace somehow managed to switch gears, and spent the next fifteen minutes telling him about her event-planning business. It was easy to talk to him because he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say.
“. . . so I am locked in to planning Kitty Grier’s wedding. She’s a spoiled socialite who wants her way about everything. I haven’t even met the groom, and most likely won’t until the wedding day. In those circles, the wedding isn’t about the man, it’s all about how much the bride can outdo her so-called best friends’ weddings. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy large weddings. I’m just saying that sometimes it gets a little over-the-top.”
“I like over-the-top weddings. But the groom most certainly is a part of the ceremony,” Martin said, chortling.
“Yes, yes, he is,” Grace said with a sigh.
“You will make a beautiful bride one day, Gracie,” Martin said, taking her hand again.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever marry. It wasn’t like I had a good example of marriage from my parents.”
“No, you didn’t, but, oh, how I loved my wife before she left this world. It was far too soon. And I have many friends in beautiful marriages,” he told her. “And just look at how happy your best friend and Spence are right now.”
“Yes, I’ve never seen Sage so happy, but that’s because Spence puts her on a pedestal. That man would die for her,” Grace said with only the slightest taste of envy on her tongue.
“I’ve seen a certain person look at you in exactly the same way that Spence looks at Sage,” Martin said with a raised eyebrow.
Grace didn’t know what to say, and she was saved from having to answer by Cam, who picked that moment to walk through the door.
“You both went silent awfully fast when I came in,” Cam said, and his lips quirked up at the corners.
When he gave his dad a hug, then kissed her on the cheek, Grace was shocked to realize that, yes, she wanted him to gaze at her the way Spence did at Sage. How sappy could she get?
But at the same time, that thought terrified her. Because if he did, she would have to let down the walls of protection around her heart. And Grace didn’t think she could do that—because if she let them down and her heart was broken again, it would never be repaired.
“I’ve enjoyed the visit, Grace—and tell Sally that her cake was the second-sweetest thing in the house—but I must run,” Martin said. “I have a date.” He stood, then bent down and kissed the cheek opposite the one Cam had just grazed with his lips.
“Leaving as soon as I get in, Father?” Cam asked.
“I always want to visit with you, son,” Martin told Cam. “But time is money—for you, at least. Don’t you do anything to my girl.” And then he was gone, leaving his son alone with Grace—exactly where Cam wanted to be.
“I wonder what he thinks I’ll do to you,” Cam said. Hell, he wouldn’t mind doing all sorts of things to or, better, with her. First and foremost, he’d like nothing more than to carry her upstairs to his room and finally make proper love to her. Those teasing sessions they both seemed so set on were getting a little old, although they were better than nothing.
“You’ve been known to play less than fair,” Grace told him as she picked at her barely touched slice of cake.
“You know that man has always loved you, don’t you?”
Cam sat down and grabbed an extra fork from the table, then took a large bite off her plate. Grace pushed it toward him. She’d lost her appetite.
“Yes, and I’ve always had a soft spot for him. Your father is a kind and gentle man,” she said, adoration shining in her eyes.
“He has his grumpy days . . . but not too often.” Cam finished off the cake in no time before getting up and pouring himself a cup of coffee.