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“It used to be a long month for me,” Grace retorted. “When we were kids, you took so much pleasure in being the oldest!”
Nate stepped up to give her a congratulatory handshake. Like Dickie, his hands were thin and manicured. Her thoughts strayed to Kyle’s strong, rough, capable hands, doing a variety of tasks around her house. Why, the elbow grease he’d put into buffing away all of Button’s shoe scuffs was masterful. But such thoughts were useless distraction, a fantasy leading nowhere. Kyle was far from the reckless mate she’d once imagined. He had burdens, responsibilities.
“What do you think, Grace?” Nate asked. “About duking it out at the club tomorrow?”
“Saturday? Guess that would be fine.”
Dickie gave a quick call to the club on his cell phone, then announced, “We’ve got a court for five.”
“Great.” Nate glanced at his watch. “Hate to break this off, but we have another stop to make tonight.”
Heather leaned into Grace, whispering in her ear. “Hear from Michael there’s a new man in town playing with your staples. Sounds kinky. Can’t wait for details tomorrow.”
Grace felt a tug of loss. Before her marriage, Heather would’ve called her within hours for details. So this was how they’d be kicking off the start of their twenty-fifth year, Heather cuddling up with Nate, she with her kitten. Grace hadn’t felt this empty since…the night of Kyle’s elopement.
The buffet dinner proved a lavish feast of salmon, salads and breads, her birthday cake a white tiered monstrosity of near bridal potential.
Over cake she was forced to endure boring remembrances of previous celebrations. Accuracy varied among the storytellers. One vivid account of a pool party drenching was not hers, but Michael’s. Another of her tripping headfirst into her own sweet sixteen cake was, unfortunately, her own. Another story followed about a clown gone haywire that was completely unfamiliar. But that’s what you got when you invited acquaintances to family affairs, muddled inconsequential memories.
Each year Grace made a silent vow that she would not inflict the same sort of traditions on her own children. Celebrations would be limited to family and close friends. People who gave a damn.
It was close to eleven o’clock when the guests began to drift into the cathedral-style foyer for coats and handbags, salutations and farewells echoing off the marble. Grace was at the door to personally wish everyone a safe ride home.
Soon thereafter only Dickie lingered with the family. Ingrid urged them into the study for a brandy and a look at all the gifts assembled there on a long table. She served the brandy herself, from a small teak bar in the corner of the room.
“To my lovely daughter.” Victor stood in the center of the room, lifting his glass in toast. “Many happy returns.” Applause rose as Victor bestowed a light kiss on Grace’s forehead. A man of stern character and stiff posture, it was all the intimacy Grace ever expected from him, a peck to the forehead, a light palm on the small of her back.
The interaction triggered a vision of Kyle handling his daughter Button at the very difficult moment that afternoon when she was laying claim to Kitty. He’d scooped her up in his arms with warm confidence, getting his way with a loving firmness. It had been nothing short of magic.
Perhaps she wasn’t feeling a reawakening of her crush after all. Maybe on some level she was just envious of their father-daughter bond. She recalled thinking that Victor North would have never allowed such impertinence from her even at age three, or encouraged such close contact. And it had stung a little bit to see another father doing the right thing. Yes, she could handle Kyle from that angle, as the kind of father every girl dreams of.
The group sank into soft leather chairs as Grace began to open her gifts. Her parents presented her with a lovely emerald necklace encrusted with diamonds. Dickie gave her a pearl necklace she’d admired while shopping with her mother. Grace was torn between gratitude and suffocation over the precision shopping.
Her friends contributed mostly small humorous gifts. She knew it was awkward for them, wrestling over what to give the rich girl with enough money to open a bank. The rest of the lot were impersonal gifts undoubtedly picked out by secretaries and assistants, gift certificates to shops, a vase, chocolates, a pen set. Some of the things would be routed to the women’s shelter downtown.
“So how do you like your brother’s contribution?” Ingrid inquired, reaching out to inspect a silk scarf.
“You mean Kyle McRaney?”
Ingrid slipped the scarf over her pale chignon, unusually playful. “Now there’s a gift impossible to return!”
Grace swallowed hard, averting Dickie’s curious look. “But I am thinking of returning him. If Michael still has the receipt that is.”
Dickie perked up immediately. “What’s all this, Ingrid?”
“You remember Michael’s old college roommate, Kyle McRaney?”
“He’s back in town, isn’t he? Trying to buy the Andersons’ bistro?”
“How do you know that?” Michael asked.
Dickie shrugged elegantly. “Heard it someplace. Lot of buzz downtown, you know. Everyone knows of Amelia’s Bistro, and the fact that he is Amelia’s grandson-in-law.”
“Surprised you remember Kyle,” Michael pressed. “Never hung around Amelia’s, did you?”
“I was never one of the golden crowd welcomed in there,” he said stiffly, his poise making an unusual slip. “Though I did visit on occasion, I found it too dark and loud to study. Also didn’t care to be teased about my acne.”
“Oh, it’s long gone,” Ingrid oozed, brushing his chiseled jaw.
“Yes, it cleared up during my sophomore year at the university. Unfortunately by then I was known as Mr. Pock by twisted Star Trek fans at Amelia’s and every other cool hangout in the Twin Cities. But—never mind. What has Kyle to do with Grace’s birthday?”
Victor, always anxious to steer clear of one’s frailties past or present, spoke up quickly. “Seems Kyle’s a cook of some kind. Michael hired him to make three months’ worth of meals for Grace.”
“Kyle’s a restaurant manager, Father,” Michael corrected, “with a business degree similar to my own.”
Victor frowned, always annoyed with censure. “Well, he always liked to cook. He is cooking.”
Michael was out of practice in building up his old friend in his parents’ critical eyes, but fell swiftly back into the groove. “It’s been his dream since college to open an eatery and finally he has a chance with the bistro. Amelia’s selling it to him.”
“Kyle certainly hasn’t had it easy,” Ingrid mused. “I remember when his father abandoned the family your first year of college. If I’m not mistaken, his mother briefly cleaned house for the Hendersons before fleeing the city too.”
“He did strike out with both parents. The old man skipped mainly because he charged up some big gambling debts with local bookies. Subsequently Kyle’s mother got tired of being harassed for the same debts and skipped out as well. Luckily Kyle was too young to be harassed. But he did have to make his own way after that. Barely eighteen.”
Victor clamped a cigar between his teeth and lit it. “Must admit, Kyle always had guts.”
Not a small compliment from Victor. Michael smiled faintly before continuing. “This personal chef work is only a temporary sideline for extra cash. Kyle started it during Libby’s layup in the hospital, when he was forced to quit his job and care for Button. It allowed him flexible hours and time with Button—er ah, Betsy.”
“Button is an odd name,” Ingrid complained. “Why do people do that to a child?”
“She’s cute as a button, that’s all,” Michael said defensively. “She’s bright and wonderful.”
“What a super gift for you, Grace,” Dickie interjected, holding his emptied glass steady as Victor promptly refilled it. “Wholesome food in your kitchen. It gives a hungry man hope, a life preserver for the future.”
Not for the first time, Grace felt he was making too many assumptions, talking way too big for his legal briefs. So did Michael, by the smirk he flashed her. Predictably, her parents sat there glowing.
“Dickie does have a stake in this, of course,” Ingrid agreed. “He could benefit from the meals as well. I do worry that you can’t entertain properly, Grace.”
Victor glanced at his wife. “That chopstick phase was particularly odd.”
“I never ate with chopsticks on a regular basis,” Grace protested. “You caught Gunther and I at that once. Experimenting…”
Ingrid turned to Dickie, as aghast as if she’d caught them exploring the Kamasutra. “They were sitting cross-legged on the floor, humming and eating out of wooden bowls.”
“That was Gunther’s birthday,” Grace announced with a defiant lift of her chin. “Sometimes it’s just nice to think of a person’s desires on that special day.” Her hint went over every head, except for Michael’s, who flashed her a maddening grin.
Suddenly, Grace had enough. She forced a yawn, then stifled it. “It’s been a wonderful birthday. Thanks to all of you.”
“Heading home then?” Ingrid asked.
“Yes. I’ll pick up these gifts sometime soon.”
“I can drive you,” Dickie volunteered.
“That’s all right. I have my car. Stay on with Father.”
“Yes, indeed, son,” Victor concurred. “You haven’t even had a cigar yet. And I’d love to hear more about the Freeman case. Anything you’re not sworn to secrecy over, anyway.”
“So, Grace,” Michael intervened guilelessly. “Can we count on you taking Kyle’s nutrition makeover?”
We? Grace gritted her teeth. He had a nerve putting her on the spot in front of the folks and Dickie.
“Surely you can’t come up with one sensible reason for declining,” Ingrid challenged.
Of course she couldn’t. Her feelings for Kyle, for her guarded space, wouldn’t come close to registering with her impervious socialite mother who put appearances first. There was no choice but to give in.
Feeling it was high time she left, Grace stood up and made her excuses. Scooping up her emeralds and pearls she smiled down sweetly at her brother. “Now, Dad, don’t let Michael get away without telling you his exciting news. He is putting big bucks behind Kyle’s bistro deal! Isn’t that exciting?”
“Is that true son?” Victor’s silvered head rose sharply. Glaring at his son, he puffed smoke like a locomotive. “You actually made a decision that crucial without consulting me?”
Michael whitened. “I am nearly thirty! And when you hand over money to your children, it becomes theirs. Just ask the IRS.”
Grace winked at Michael as Victor fell into one of his standardized lectures on wise investment. And away we go, interfering smarty-pants…
Chapter Three
Grace took her time navigating through the dark winding roads of the opulent Lake Minnetonka neighborhood, indulging in the guilty pleasure of escape.
She hadn’t meant to burn Dickie there at the end by not accepting his ride. But all in all, he was better off with her folks. They’d ply him with smokes and liquor and compliments until his large hungry ego was bloated to the max.
Not as good as sex, but as good as he was bound to get from any of the Norths tonight.
As it was, bed was a place she and Dickie hadn’t been together yet. But not for Dickie’s efforts. He had begun putting on the subtle pressure to take their relationship to the “stage of consummation.” And lovemaking put in such articulate terms didn’t do a thing to entice her.
She stared out onto the wide manicured lawns, thick with mature trees. Methods aside, Grace decided she was in no hurry to consummate their relationship. It seemed a bad sign for any lasting union. But passion wasn’t predictable, couldn’t be measured like the temperature on a thermometer. Perhaps a relationship that was slow heating up wouldn’t burn out so fast. Who knew?
At last she turned off into her Edina town house development, passing small neat yards fronting beige, blue and white duplex structures. She didn’t always roll by the front of the attached structure she shared with her brother; it depended upon which entrance she used to the community. As it happened, she was doing so tonight. And to her surprise, there was a familiar black Jeep parked at her front curb—with a security car alongside, its roof aglow with flashing lights.
Grace pulled up in the rear and alighted to the street. On highs heels she clattered up between the vehicles to join the security man standing there. She recognized him immediately as one of three uniformed men who patrolled the community round the clock.
“Ben! Hello!”
“Evening, Miss North.” He tipped the brim of his gray hat to her.
She pulled the shawl covering her bared shoulders tighter against the evening chill. “Trap a dangerous invader on my property?”
“Seems harmless enough.”
“Harmless?” she gasped in doubt.
“Well, he knows you were in Minnetonka. And knows it’s your birthday. Has the cake to prove it.”
A peek into the Jeep revealed Kyle, looking very glad to see her.
Without a doubt, she could become addicted to that look.
She shuffled her heels like a little girl in tennis shoes. “You came all the way back here to bring me a cake?”
He rubbed his chin. “Yeah.”
“Gee.”
“I never expected to run into you,” he admitted. “Michael gave me a spare key to your place, so I just expected to be in and out in a flash.”
“Well, come in now,” she urged.
Ben cleared his throat. “I suggest you park round back, son. In Miss North’s driveway.”
“Yes,” Grace agreed more firmly. “Follow me round back.”
“THANK GOD YOU CAME along when you did!” Kyle had eased the truck up close to the open garage door and was moving to join her in the garage.
“It’s not that serious. Ben would’ve called me at my parents’ place and you would’ve been cleared.”
“That would’ve been a little embarrassing for me,” he admitted, ducking into the garage. “I haven’t even seen your parents since my return. Hardly a great way to reconnect, collared like some vagrant.”
She flashed a sympathetic smile, then jabbed the remote to lower the garage door and beckoned him to the service door connected to the house.
She led him through the mudroom to the kitchen. Palming the wall, she flipped the switch controlling the overhead fixture.
“Aren’t you afraid of waking your kitten?”
Grace gestured to the empty basket beside the dishwasher. “She has decided my space is far superior to her own. Found my bed and just stretched out flat.”
Kyle had a sudden and vivid image of doing much the same. Startled by the idea, he avoided her eyes. Instead he concentrated on the cake keeper on the table. He whisked off the lid to reveal a homemade two-layer chocolate confection. It was slightly uneven and held a birthday salutation etched in white icing, which was signed off with a K and a very squiggly B.
Grace gasped, placing a hand at the sweetheart neckline of her dress, on the soft skin of her rising breasts. “It’s absolutely beautiful!”
“Yes. Absolutely.” Kyle’s eyes centered not upon the cake, but her breasts, imagining his own hand checking out her heartbeat. Heaven help him, she was a sex goddess in that dress.
For the first time in his life, Kyle envied a bed-hogging kitten.
She peeled off her shawl and moved closer to the table, yet unaware of her sensual impact. “I haven’t had a wonderful homemade cake since camp. I can’t believe you went to the trouble. That you did this for me.”
Clearly, the gesture meant something special to her. To think he actually had some impact on this pampered, beguiling princess. Seemed impossible.
“Button helped,” he erupted. “No big deal.” In fact, the cake was sort of an afterthought that deserved little attention, just an impulsive gesture to seal their deal. Moreover, he’d thought it a good exercise for Button to do something kind for someone she didn’t particularly like yet. He could only imagine the monster cake she just bit into at her official party.
Arms folded over her chest, Grace was presently giving him the once-over. Lost in her, he’d forgotten about his own sorry state of dress. Allowing Button to run the egg-beater had left his decent shirt and slacks speckled with cake batter. Having little clean laundry he’d thrown on a faded gray T-shirt and some very sorry blue jeans with fabric so thin, they left little to the imagination.
