He liked this dynamic woman—a lot. And he’d be doing her a favor if he kept his distance.
* * *
Dahlia wasn’t sure what she’d expected Grant’s home to look like, but it wasn’t this. An old sofa and a matching chair covered in a pretty chintz pattern framed a large coffee table, the perfect size for two little girls to sit at and color. In the corner a tidy desk nestled under the window. There was no dust and no mess, yet the room had a lived-in feel, as if people enjoyed each other here.
She allowed herself to be pulled through the house as the girls chattered about their first day at school. It was while Grace and Glory were showing her their room that Dahlia noticed how few clothes they had in their wardrobe. None of them looked warm enough for the cold northern winter that would soon arrive.
After a lively bath time, Dahlia made the girls cinnamon-sugar toast, which they devoured. Then she supervised toothbrushing, read them a story and tucked them into bed, conscious of Grant standing by, watching. As she was about to leave the room, she noticed that Grant seemed tense.
“Good night, girls,” he said, his voice hesitant.
“Kisses first, Daddy,” Glory reminded.
He dutifully bent so that each girl could embrace him, and waited patiently as they plastered kisses across his cheek. But when Grace tipped up her face for his return kiss, Dahlia’s heart squeezed.
A look of pure panic spread across Grant’s face. He hurriedly brushed his lips against Grace’s cheek, and a second later, did the same with Glory. Then he quickly drew away.
A moment later, his composed mask was back in place. But Dahlia had seen the truth.
Grant Adams was scared of his daughters.
She couldn’t think of a thing to say as they moved back into the living room. Grant made tea and poured it, carrying her cup to where she sat in the easy chair. After the silence stretched out too long, he tilted his head and studied her in a quizzical way.
“Why did you choose a hardware store?”
It was exactly the right thing to break the tension that had fallen between them. Dahlia burst out laughing.
“I’m serious. It’s not at all what I’d have guessed you’d do,” he said.
“It’s not that far from architecture,” she mused. “Once I drew plans to build things, now I sell goods to make plans come alive.”
“But don’t you miss the creative part of being an architect?”
“Not really,” she said, only then realizing it was true. “I like the problem-solving aspect of running a hardware store.” She looked directly at him. “Besides, I couldn’t stay in the family firm anymore.”
Dahlia knew he was waiting for an explanation, but she wasn’t sure how much to tell him.
“You don’t have to talk about it if it’s painful,” he assured her.
“It is quite painful.” Dahlia cleared her throat, sipped her tea then began. “I trained as an architect because my parents expected me to join their architectural firm. They told me that since Damon was gone, I’d take over.”
“You didn’t want that?”
“I did, more than anything.” She heard the fervency in her own voice and smiled sadly. “I had a lot of dreams for the company. My fiancé, Charles, and I used to talk about the things we’d change, how we’d grow the business.” She looked down into her tea. “I had no idea my parents thought I was incompetent.”
“But—” Grant raised an eyebrow.
“They wanted Charles as CEO. I would be a figurehead, to carry on the family name.” The sting of it was as sharp as it had been four years ago. “I graduated top of my class, well ahead of Charles. I could have taken a fellowship with a prestigious Montréal firm. Instead I went home, because they ‘needed’ me.”
Dahlia couldn’t disguise the bitterness that shone through her words.
“Why would they do that?” Grant asked.
“Because I was too weak, or so they thought.” Dahlia saw confusion on his face and decided to tell him the whole story. “I had cancer as a child. Despite the fact that I got better, my parents always considered me sickly. Fragile. The doctors said I was cured, but my parents never heard that. My entire childhood, they were always on the watch, protecting me from myself.” She exhaled. “Thank goodness for my Granny Beverly.”
Grant sat silently watching her, waiting. That’s what made him good at his job, Dahlia decided. He didn’t have to say a word because you could feel his interest in you.
“Granny Bev was a dragon. She suffered terribly from arthritis, but she came to see me every single day when I was in the hospital. And she always spoke the same message. ‘You are strong, Dally. You can beat this. You can do whatever you put your mind to.’”
“Good ally to have,” he murmured.
“The best.” Dahlia swallowed the lump in her throat. “Because of her, I beat cancer and finished school on the honor roll, though I’d missed more than half the year. Because of Granny Bev, I ignored my parents’ comments about being too delicate for gymnastics, too.” She smiled. “I actually teach it now, twice a week. You should enroll the girls.”
“Maybe I will,” he said.
“I’m a pretty good teacher.” Dahlia knew she sounded proud and she didn’t care. It had been a long, hard road to silence those negative voices that had dragged her down, and she’d succeeded.
Almost.
“Tell me the rest of the story,” Grant prodded.
“I fell in love with Charles at university. He said he loved me, gave me an engagement ring. I thought my life was on track.” She made herself continue though she’d begun to wish she hadn’t started this. Revealing personal details was not her usual style and defending herself even less so. “We both interned at my parents’ firm. They loved Charles. They offered him a job when we finished school.”
“Was he supportive of you?” Grant asked.
“At school, yes. And at first he was a great partner at work.” She paused.
“And then?” Grant nudged.
“Then things began to change.” The understanding in his eyes encouraged her to continue. “Meetings were changed without notifying me. My parents took me off three large commercial projects I’d brought in and gave them to Charles although his specialty had always been residential.”
“You complained?”
“Vehemently. They said they were worried about my health. Charles didn’t want me to be run-down for the wedding. To prove them all wrong, I went out and found three more major clients.” She smiled wryly. “Didn’t do me any good. I caught the flu, which turned into pneumonia. I was out of the office for a week. By the time I came back to work, Charles was acting CEO. I had been given the title of assistant.”
Grant whistled. Dahlia nodded.
“My parents’ explanation was that in two months they would turn the company public so they could retire and travel. They felt Charles was a natural for CEO, but he needed time to prove himself before a new board came in. I was to be the company spokesperson and find new clients, because I was so good at it,” she mocked. “I’d be a figurehead, but Charles was the boss.”
“What did Charles do?”
“Charles pretended it was all a big surprise, that he hadn’t put in a word here and there to make my parents doubt my ability. He’d always promised we’d