“Yes, and I need …” my voice cracked as my mouth went dry. Grace, I reminded myself. I was doing this for Grace. Gripping the bathroom counter for strength, I gritted out, “I need your help.”
“It’s about fucking time.”
I unlocked my phone to put it in airplane mode when Grace's name showed up on the screen for the first time in weeks. The only name I wanted to see … at the worst possible time.
When I fumbled to answer, it fell and slid down the aisle. I unbuckled and crawled for the phone as it skidded under the flight attendant’s shoe. She glared as I half-fondled her pumps. “You need to turn that off, sir.”
I scrambled to retrieve it, clutching it to my chest. “It’s a really important call.”
She restrained her ‘everyone says it’s an important call’ eye roll.
“I’ll make it quick,” I promised. She tapped her wrist and looked away. First class perks.
The ringing had stopped. Fuck.
Grace answered on the second ring.
“Hey,” she said. Such a simple sound, but god, I missed her.
“Hey,” I said, almost breathless. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“Listen, I've been thinking about your offer, and if you’re open to it? I’m ready to negotiate.”
My heart, which had been on life support since my last flight in the opposite direction, stumbled into an irregular beat.
“Sir, you really need to turn that off,” the flight attendant said again.
“That’s not going to happen,” I growled at the flight attendant.
“Oh,” Grace said, her voice meek. “Well maybe I should —“
“No, Grace, not you,” my voice emerged frustrated.
“So if the offer still stands, maybe I could visit San Francisco, and we could —“
“Not San Francisco.” She took a quick inhale as if I’d slapped her, and I backtracked. “I mean, I … I’m not even there. I want to see you, I really do, but I’m traveling.” Shit, I wanted to talk to her so badly, but the people in nearby seats shifted in annoyance. “The cabin doors are closing, so I can’t —“
“What’s the problem?” An unfamiliar male voice asked, clearly close enough to her for me to hear.
“Something about a cabin,” she answered, her voice muffled.
“Who is that?” I snapped in frustration.
“You won’t believe it, Alex, but it’s —“
“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to flight 365, nonstop to Miami.”
“Grace,” I said, my voice pleading. “I’m so sorry, I can’t hear you.”
“Oh.” She sounded withdrawn. “Are you on a plane? Where are you going?”
“Um … nowhere important.”
The flight attendant glared. I considered flipping her the bird, but an Air Marshall escorting me off the plane would ruin my timeline. I would be traveling for the next six hours, then in negotiations all day tomorrow I couldn’t discuss, then another five hour flight before I could even — “Friday. Could we talk on Friday? Is 9 Eastern too late? I know that’s after your bedtime.”
I heard the smile in her voice when she said, “It’s a date.”
Chapter 43Grace
Something felt wrong.
Two weeks ago, Alex knelt at my feet and begged me to keep in touch, but when I called, he couldn’t find time to talk for three days. Had his feelings changed? Had going back to San Francisco reminded him of what he had, and he’d forgotten about his desperate plea on New Year’s morning? Had he reverted to his cold facade of indifference?
Then again, his voice hadn’t sounded arrogant or detached, it was frazzled and frustrated. He’d been on a plane to ‘nowhere important,’ whatever that meant. Was he on a business trip like the one before Christmas that consumed him? When he called, would he be an exhausted wreck again, a shell of the man I knew?
To take my mind off worrying about Alex, I worried instead about finding a new house. My realtor showed me several homes, but nothing had been right. Mallory or Elijah tagged along for a second opinion, and at first they’d been helpful, but for the past week they’d been nitpicking, finding problems with every possible rental. It almost felt like they were sabotaging my search.
After two days of agony as hours crawled by, with four hours left I went to Mallory’s 5:15 candlelight yoga class. I hadn’t told her about reconnecting with him, too nervous the conversation would go badly and her grudge would deepened. After the last student left at 6:45 — two hours left — Mallory threaded her arm through mine and suggested we go for a walk on the unseasonably warm late January night.
“Can we walk by a house near the high school? I think it’s the one.” Based on the listing, I imagined baking in the cozy kitchen, taking a bath — a real bath in a bathtub, after years with only a shower! — and pushing Ruby on the swingset in the fenced-in backyard.
“Sure, later,” she shrugged, “but first I need to swing by my dad’s office.”
I tried not to seethe at her indifference on our walk to Clarke & Associates. Mallory’s hand lingered on the doorknob. “Remember the Mad Men finale, when Don called the three most important women in his life?” She drew a triangle in the air and flipped her hair. “I even look like Sally.”
