How much should she confide to Michael about the unsettling feelings she was experiencing? Could she even define them to her own satisfaction?
There were solid obstacles to Kyle’s invasion. Grace didn’t want anyone tampering with her messy life. She’d deliberately set up her fashion design business in her home because she liked the aura of creative chaos and enjoyed mixing business and pleasure in one big jumble of clutter. It was plain to see that Kyle had a frightening sense of orderliness. During his brief visit he’d actually started to rearrange her pathetic kitchen inventory more to his liking, touching everything, silently judging everything with grumbles and mumbles. Surely his tongue hurt from all that tsking.
Who’d have ever guessed at such a turn of events: her first intense crush barging into her creative nest to—to put things away!
Furthermore, Grace was unaccustomed to having children in her home, save for the young actors who came for costume fittings. They were older of course and proud of behaving professionally. Button had proven what was best described as a blissful tornado. Smudging her elegant hardwood flooring, dumping a knapsack full of toys into the center of her living room. She even brought her own music in the form of a battery-operated boom box. Kyle claimed she couldn’t nap without the tinny singsongs, but she never did take a nap.
It had taken all of Grace’s resolve to endure. After two full hours, she’d finally feigned an appointment and dashed out. Some birthday gift. They’d actually chased her out of her own home! The helpless feeling left her frustrated and uneasy.
“Sorry, Gracie,” Michael said. “Pick up where you left off.”
Not wanting to appear completely bulldozed by the McRaneys, she went on to relate a condensed version of the afternoon’s events, mainly chiding him for not getting her approval for such a setup in advance.
“I probably handled the presentation all wrong,” Michael admitted. “I was just so excited to hear from him after so many years. He’d really cut ties, you know. Wanted a fresh start with Libby and I respected that decision. Finally, even the Christmas card exchange fell to the wayside. When he called to confide his new plans to me, I instinctively sprang into action. He suggested I warn you, but I thought, no, why not tease you like the old days. If it’s any consolation, he did get into the fun of it. Not many laughs for him this past year. That’s about how long Libby’s been gone,” he added.
“So how long has Kyle been back in the Cities, anyway?”
He gazed up at the high ceiling. “Oh, a couple of weeks—give or take a week.”
“Three weeks! How could you possibly lock up your excitement for that length of time?”
He was not the least bit offended. “I come by my self-control genetically. You are the odd one out, the impulsive wild mind.”
She folded her arms across her beaded bodice. “Maybe you should know better than to try and tame a wild mind.”
“Is that a threat? Hey, you aren’t seriously considering giving Kyle the brush-off, are you?”
“I haven’t decided what to do—about his services.” Her voice wobbled a little, betraying more than she intended.
Michael promptly reevaluated her. “This isn’t some kind of payback over that elopement misunderstanding is it? C’mon, he doesn’t even know you cared. And you aren’t exactly damaged goods who hid in a closet. You’ve dated a small army of men, probably broken a half-dozen hearts.”
She raised a yielding hand. “I am steady as a rock concerning him, don’t you worry.”
But she wasn’t. And she knew she looked more hurt than angry. A dangerous sign with an unfulfilled crush. “If I stretch it, I can imagine the faded bruise to your ego, but don’t try and tell me that you actually have lingering affection for Kyle.”
It didn’t seem so wrong in her imaginings. Why, she’d been indulging herself for years. But now, in light of Michael’s dismay, she felt like a vulnerable teenager again. A waiter passed by with a bottle of champagne and Grace jammed her glass into the vicinity of his scarlet cummerbund for a refill.
Michael paused until the waiter moved on. “It would be tough for Kyle to discover your secret right now, Grace. His plate is full already.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought twice before posting him in my home.”
“Okay, I should’ve considered your feelings. But he needed ready cash for living expenses. And he sure wasn’t about to take a handout—from me or anyone else. C’mon, the man wants to cook you some meals, organize your utensils. Just let him.”
“I’ll consider it, if you stop trying to second-guess me. I have Kyle firmly in perspective. I’m certainly no fool for him.”
Michael grunted to the contrary. They fell silent then, scanning the guests. “Hey, look,” Michael said moments later in a boyish guileless tone, “Mr. Wonderful is here after all.”
Grace sipped and whirled at the same time, her painted red lips lifting at the corners, her eyes lighting. She faded slightly when centering upon the man standing in the arched doorway with her father. Both were dressed in dark suits, Victor’s dark head dipped down to his pale one. Victor had an arm clamped around his shoulders, as if frightened he might somehow escape.
“You look surprised,” Michael observed. “Of course you knew I was referring to Dickie Trainor, your date.”
“He isn’t my date for tonight,” she was swift to clarify. “Mother invited him and his parents as always, because they’re old family friends.”
“But admit it, you assumed I meant Kyle.”
“Just shut up.”
“Gracie. How can you be a natural born North, the way you revel in passion, scheme the impossible? We are a practical people with perfectly useful left brains.” He gestured to his glass. “Old painful memories should hold a fizz as long as this champagne.”
Actually, Grace had spotted Dickie a full fifteen minutes ago, working the room with her father. Presently they’d paused to chat with Dickie’s parents, who were stationed near her mother. Gales of laughter rose as tall slender Ingrid related some story with an elegant flutter of hands and a nod of her blond chignon. Like Victor, Ingrid’s touch ultimately landed on Dickie, namely his lapel.
“Mother’s stroking him like a collie,” Michael observed with a chuckle.
“Wish they wouldn’t make such a fuss over Dickie,” Grace lamented.
“It’s your own fault. A few dates with the guy and they’re seeing husband material.”
“That’s way too premature.”
Michael bared his teeth. “Still, you lit the fire.”
“Yeah, a forest fire with a tiny matchbook.”
Grace sighed in resignation. It started out so casually with Dickie Trainor. She needed an escort for a leukemia fund-raiser at the Meadowlark Country Club. The sensitive artist she was dating at the time didn’t meet her parents’ club standards as he insisted upon meditating at odd moments in a high-pitched hum and limited his diet to brown rice and chopstick utensils. Henceforth, old reliable Dickie was tapped. A date for the opera followed, as did a basketball game with his law firm friends and a couple of dinners. Dickie was taking the initiative with increasing regularity. Just the same, it was still at the harmless stage.
“Look out, here comes our proud papa with his catch of the year,” Michael teased. “Got ’em hooked right under the gills.”
Grace smiled as the pair approached.
“This