Shattered Grace

Shattered Grace - By K Anne Raines


Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the lord my soul to keep,

If I shall die before I wake,

I pray the lord my soul to take.

-- The New England Primer --

Gone. He was actually gone.

Grace shook her head in disbelief as she wiped at her sensitive, puffy eyes with a rough tissue, unable to wrap her mind around the fact her grandfather was never coming back. He hadn’t been sick, didn’t seem to be slowing down at all, and yet…

He was gone.

With his death, he seemed to steal away what Grace had always so desperately wanted—the binding ties of family. Instead of receiving the safety and warmth of a familial bond from the two individuals who brought her into this world, she received it unconditionally from her grandfather. Through his love, she had a life. What she had now was anything but. It was dark and lonely and hopeless. He was the only person who had ever understood her and, to be honest, the only person in her life who had ever tried.

Time and time again her grandfather had told her she was a survivor, and even embraced her difference as if it were his own. Her difference was nothing but a curse. To her it was, anyway. Grace didn’t think she would survive much past this day. Obviously, he was wrong. She really wasn’t that strong.

With trembling hands, she swiped at a lone tear dangling from her chin. She tried to remember a single day in her seventeen years that he hadn’t been a part of, and she came up empty. All of her memories had traces of him.

The large manor that felt more like her home than the one she shared with her mother was filled with family. The remains of her family were going through the motions of the post-funeral visitation, and yet, there she sat, never more lost and alone. Every one of them avoided looking her in the eye, and no one offered her any kind of condolence. If a pair of eyes did chance to meet hers, there was nothing in the hollow gaze that could be considered kind or heartfelt, but was instead biting and cold. Especially the murderous glares from her much older cousin Rose.

Grace had always been the black sheep, so this was nothing new. Defiantly, she continued watching them all with contempt, refusing to hide how she truly felt toward them. Every single one of her family members mooched off the man they buried today. He had been nothing to them but a meal ticket. Even to her mother.

Grace watched from her lonely vantage point on the stairwell as her relatives milled about below, making themselves quite at home as they pretended to grieve together. Mourning didn’t move them all in swarms around her grandfather’s belongings. Greed did. She watched as they salivated over every possession with longing, sometimes going so far as to pick up a piece of bric-a-brac, turning it over nonchalantly as if to see if their name was penciled with intent by the deceased on a piece of tape underneath, before replacing it on the polished furniture with disappointment. The awful part about the whole sham was they believed they were fooling each other. They only pretended to be grieving. Grace wanted nothing more than to punch them in their pathetically sad faces.

Idiots!

Heartless, money-hungry pigs!

The whole thing made her sick.

Sour acid burned harshly in the back of her throat, and for a second, Grace thought she might lose what little food she had managed to force down earlier. With her face in the crook of her elbow, she scooted along the bottom step of the grand stairwell until she felt the wainscoted wall against her shoulder. An uncontrollable scream bubbled dangerously up Grace’s throat, but the sudden sight of black loafers from underneath her folded arms helped to repress it. Surprised, she snapped her head up and found a man in a black suit watching her. “Grace Morgan?”

A few straggling tears escaped her sore eyes. She swiftly wiped them away with the diminishing tissue. “Y-y-yep. That’s me.” At the moment, she wished she could be somebody else.

“I wish I could offer something other than an apology—”

“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “Who are you?”

Extending his hand, he paused until she took it for a brief handshake. “I’m your grandfather’s friend and attorney, Quentin Kenward. I came to the reception to pay my respects, and to keep a promise.”

Grace took his outstretched hand and looked up into his face. Through her grief she could see how young he looked. How in the world could he be an attorney at his age? He appeared barely out of college. She tried not to let her skepticism and distrust work their way into her expression; it would be rude, and after all, he was the only one talking to her. But her brows drew together on their own volition, as the rest of the frown took over her mouth.

He withdrew his hand and chuckled. “I can see you think I’m a little young. I assure you, I’m actually an attorney. I’m older than I look.” With that, he gave her a wink.

The wink threw her off guard, but not so much she couldn’t remember all he’d said. “What promise?”

“Could you come with me to his office?”

Her legs shook as she rose from the step, and her gaze fell upon where her family members still congregated. The ugly scene only made the bile rise again. With a slight clearing of her throat, she nodded and followed along.

One of her grandfather’s favorite places in Morgan Manor was the open hallway. All the special moments from Grace’s birth to now were captured behind wooden frames hanging on the walls on either side of the hallway. He had taken every single picture. A lifetime of memories flashed before her eyes, making it nearly impossible to stay walking upright as her feet faltered. She touched the wall with her hand to help steady herself as she continued.

The sound of clinking metal tore her attention from the onslaught of flashbacks. When Quentin turned the knob to open her grandfather’s office door, she had to control herself from stopping him. An overwhelming panic washed over her. She wasn’t ready to go in there. Quentin’s eyes were searching out the office when he swept his arm out in invitation for her to go inside.

She hurried past him, not thrilled about him seeing her cry even more. The instant he felt the effects of being in her grandfather’s office, she knew. The nonchalance that controlled his features seemed to flee as he walked into the room, pulling his face down into a frown as it left him. The grief in his eyes mirrored hers. Grace appreciated the camaraderie, no matter how unfamiliar. Quentin hesitated before walking to where she stood, and held his hand out. Confused by a tri-fold black folder lying across his palms, she carefully took it from his outstretched hands without touching him, and held it in her own.

Quentin hurried to move away from her and as he turned, she saw him take an inconspicuous wipe at his eyes. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest, seeing how choked up he was as well. He continued to the fireplace and knelt to start a fire. “I never understood why Christophe insisted on keeping this hearth exactly as it’s always been.” His voice broke as he spoke. “I’ve tried for years to get him to replace it with a gas insert, but he’d have no part of it.” He chuckled softly.

Thoughts of her grandfather and his stubborn ways brought a smile to her lips. The cool, soft material of the folder slid along the tips of her fingers as it started to slip from her hands. Gripping it tighter, she inched a couple more steps into the office. “What is this, Quentin?”

Still on his haunches, he gazed up at her. The firelight danced hypnotically along his bronzed skin and flickered behind him, creating a luminescent halo around his raven hair, cut a little long for today’s standards. Instantly, she was taken aback by how handsome he was. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks as Grace forced her eyes to the folder in her hands. She turned it over, not at all surprised to see the unique seal of her grandfather’s crest melted in wax over the folds. The creak of leather as Quentin took a seat on the sofa brought her eyes back to meet his steel-colored gaze. “It’s why I brought you in here.”

“This folder?”

“No. The contents inside it.” A few minutes passed as she visually inspected it, and she wondered if he could sense her hesitation. “Go ahead, Grace. It’s okay.”

A few more pressure-filled moments passed before she found the courage. She broke the seal between her thumbs and pulled the folder open. On the left lay a folded piece of paper with her name written across the outside, and on the right, a brass key with a red velvet lanyard tied to its top. She took it from the folder and felt her eyes tear up a little.

“Do you know what this key unlocks?”

He smiled warmly. “I’m sure it’s explained in the letter.”

Her eyes moved to the paper again.

“Okay. Well …” he began as he got up from the sofa, “… this is where I leave, and you read.”

The prickle of his stare on her back told her he hadn’t walked out the door. Not ready for the inevitable moment of acceptance, she stood motionless. “And, Grace,” Quentin said softly from the open doorway.

“Yes?” she said, her gaze fixed on the folder.

“You must do everything your grandfather asks in that letter. It’s important.”

“Uh, okay,” she said.

“I’ll just be in the hallway.”

A soft click of the door and she was alone again. The room seemed to drop a couple degrees in temperature and she shivered a little, even though the fire burned hot. The fear of a life filled with solitude held her heart still. The folded piece of paper lay heavy in her hand as she made her way to her grandfather’s desk. She could almost see her grandfather bent over it. Whispers of pen on paper as he conducted business could faintly be heard in the echo of her memory. Tears trickled down her grief-stricken face as she sat in the large leather chair that had wrapped around her grandfather night after night. With the cuff of her shirt, she rubbed the tears from her eyes and began to read.



My Dearest Grace,

There are so many things I want to say to you, to show you, but I’ve run out of time. Sometimes life doesn’t go how we’ve planned or imagined.

My one wish now is that you find a way to forgive your parents. Your mother does the best she can with the cards she’s been dealt. It hasn’t been easy for her. I hope I’ve been able to ease some of her burden by helping provide for you and her. Well, as much as she’d allow me to. She’s a stubborn woman, that one. And your father did what he had to do to protect you. He never wanted to leave you and your mother, but it was the only way. I know you can’t understand that now, but I’m hoping with time, you’ll come to understand, and maybe find it in your heart to no longer hate him.

The key in the folder is a master key. It opens every door in and on the estate. It also opens the safe deposit box at the bank. Quentin has the details of where. You must go and retrieve the contents before your birthday and tell no one of its existence. That’s three weeks, Grace. Make sure you get there before then. It’s not a simple expiration date. Please trust me. I can’t press this enough!

I trusted Quentin with my life. You can trust him with yours, and with your secret as well. He’ll be able to answer many of your questions, but some of them you’ll have to find answers to yourself.

I love you, Grace, with all my heart. Thank you for giving me what money has never been able to buy. I’m sorry it feels like I’ve abandoned you. Please forgive me.

Love,

Your Grandfather,

Christophe Morgan

P.S. Throw this letter in the hearth at once and do not leave the study until it is incinerated completely.




Overcome with sadness, teardrops fell haphazardly from Grace’s eyes to the confusing letter that lay loose in her hand, smearing some of the ink down the page. Grace clung to the letter, reluctant to do as he asked and relinquish the last precious message from her grandfather. She held it tight to her chest as she forced her feet to carry her to the fireplace. After tossing it into the flames, she covered her face and sobbed, watching it burn through the narrow space between her fingers. Several times she had to restrain herself from grabbing it. Once it was reduced to ashes, she remained lost in the blaze, trying desperately to commit every word of the letter to memory.

Quentin was out in the hall, still waiting with apparent protection and answers. Her grandfather had trusted Quentin with his life and had told her she could too. But her secret? Since the moment she had realized she was different from other girls, she had known she was a freak. That’s all she needed right now on top of this. To trust some baby-faced lawyer with a secret that undoubtedly would end up with him having her committed. Not gonna happen. No way! Her trust in Quentin would only go so far. She had no other choice but to lay her secret to rest with her grandfather.

Grace snagged four tissues from the dark cherry bookshelf behind the desk, then blotted her eyes and softly blew her nose. Through her grief, her even-numbered demon still managed to rear its ugly head. After glancing down at the thin tissues in her hand, she sighed and shoved them all in her pocket.

With one final glance around the room, she left in search of Quentin.

If there were carpet under his feet, Quentin would have worn a path from his pacing by now. Gentle sobs from under the door of the study caused him to pause. Self-doubt painfully twisted at his insides, an emotion foreign to his kind. Once Guardian to Christophe, he was now Guardian to his granddaughter. What if he failed? What if he was wrong for her? The gnawing was relentless. So was the pull to console her; however, duty kept Quentin’s feet planted on the dark wood flooring. After a few moments, his feet gave in to the nervousness and continued to pace up and down the wide-open hallway.

Generations of family portraits watching him on his nervous walkabout did little for his nerves. If anything, they made things worse. They all seemed to be judging him from the perch of their perfect mountings. “What the hell are you looking at? I got you guys through it, didn’t I?” He scowled. In fact, he’d fulfilled his duty with every single one of them. So, why was this one so different from all the others? The answer was obvious…Grace.

Quentin wasn’t afraid of dying. He’d lived so long that he often fantasized about it. What he did fear was failing. He feared her dying, because of him. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought.

Others must know about her by now, he thought. The contents of Quentin’s stomach rose in protest at the notion, and he pressed a hand to his chest as if to suppress it. A slight jangle from the office door handle pushed his queasiness back down. The seneschal band around his left bicep warmed beneath his shirtsleeve as soon as Grace stepped through the doorway, pulling his emotions and focus back to his purpose, to his duty. Unfortunately, the man in him marveled at how tall and beautiful she had become. He had to tear his thoughts from wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked, or if her mahogany hair would feel like silk running through his fingers. His gaze moved back to her face, catching the sheen in her round, moss-colored eyes, which stared back at him expectantly.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

“No.” The pain in her voice cut through the membrane surrounding his heart, making his insides hurt.

Instead of asking a host of lame questions to fill the quiet, he waited for her move. After all, he did understand. Christophe wasn’t just another Chosen. He was a close friend—a brother. Quentin was beyond saddened by the death of the Chosen. He truly grieved him.

A piece of Quentin’s spirit broke the day Christophe left his mortal body. The fact he would never see him again, in this life or the next, made his passing that much harder to accept. He could only imagine what Grace was going through. And because he could understand a little, it seemed reasonable he would feel the impulse to console her.

“I’m not sure where you’re supposed to fit in to all of this, but…” she said, and then looked solemnly at her knotted hands as if lost in thought. “I’m sorry. I really don’t even know what to ask you.”

Quentin had to force his arms back down as they automatically came up to envelop her. “You don’t have to say anything.”

A small smile crinkled the edges of her luminous eyes when she brought her gaze back up to his. Remaining tears covered them like glass, mirroring almost his full reflection. Grace stood erect, but the pain in her eyes was a giveaway she was close to collapsing. Her sorrow was palpable. The pull to embrace her, to comfort her, rocked him and left him a little unsteady.

“What about the bank?”

“It’s important, but you can take a couple of days to mourn, Grace. The safe deposit box will still be there when we get there. Right now, you need time. Soon you and your family will have to meet with your grandfather’s estate attorney, and that’s going to be an enormous issue to deal with.”

“Oh? How so?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Did you not see the Gollums out there?” He hunched forward and rubbed his hands together, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he lisped evilly, “My precioussss …”

Her laughter boomeranged up and down the hall. The infectious sound made Quentin laugh too.

“True. I see what you mean,” she said, still chuckling a little. After a few quiet intakes of breath, she locked eyes with him. “Thank you, Quentin.”

He was surprised at the premature gratitude. He hadn’t done anything to help her yet. Hadn’t saved her, taken away her pain—nothing. “For what?”

“For being here and for caring for my grandfather.”

“I was honored to be your grandfather’s friend. I loved him like a brother.”

“And that is exactly why I’m thankful.”

“Here,” he said, handing her a business card. “When you’re ready to go to the bank, call me. We shouldn’t wait any longer than next Saturday. In the meantime, if you need anything, you have my information.”

“Okay. I should probably give you my info as well.” She turned toward the office.

“No need.” She paused before clearing the doorway. “Your grandfather made sure I had all of that a while back.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.”

Quick footsteps brought their attention to the hallway that led to the foyer. A woman approached them, wearing a determined look that morphed into relief when she caught sight of them. “Oh, there you are, Grace. Are you ready to go home now? These shoes are killing my feet and I feel a headache coming on.”

Grace sighed at the same time her shoulders rolled forward. “I’ll be right there, Mom.”

“Okay, but don’t be too long. I’ll be in the car.” The woman gave Quentin a polite little nod before she turned to retrace her footsteps.

Grace looked back to him apologetically. “I’m sorry, Quentin, I have to go.”

“I understand.”

“I’ll make sure to get a hold of you before next Saturday. It was really nice meeting you.” She extended her delicate hand. He took it gently and shook it.

“It was nice meeting you too, Grace. I’ll see you soon.”

It unnerved him to watch her go. He hoped she wouldn’t need a lot of time before going to collect the contents of the box, because he wasn’t sure if he could wait another week before seeing her again. After all, his purpose now was to protect her.

Yeah, that’s it, he tried telling himself as he rubbed absently at the lingering burn of his seneschal band.

A hazy glimmer of sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting geometric orange-red shapes behind Grace’s closed eyelids. She fumbled blindly along the top of her nightstand for her cell phone, desperate to check the time. Even though she made it through the night, she knew she should still be dead to the world. Through a partially opened eye, she saw it was only 6:07.

Exasperated, she grabbed her extra pillow and covered her face, hoping to drown out both the sunlight and the disgustingly cheerful chirping of the birds. A pillow, however, couldn’t darken or drown out her thoughts. All night long, spinning round and round in her head was her grandfather’s death, his letter, her ungrateful family, her upcoming birthday, and now…how seriously hot Quentin was.

She couldn’t get over the hard, steely stare of his eyes. The intensity of it seemed to see right through her—searching. Frustrated and unable to stop the wheels from turning, she relented and forced herself to get up. On top of her laundry basket at the foot of her bed was a pair of faded blue jeans and a red henley. She grabbed both of them and headed for the bathroom. The messy mound of her dark mahogany hair was still piled on the top of her head from the night before. Green eyes stared back at her, but were barely recognizable through her puffy red eyelids, as she tried focusing only on the mundane ritual of getting ready.

Before she had a chance to leave her bedroom, the smell of fresh pancakes danced its way up to the top of the steps, beckoning her to the kitchen. Her growling stomach convinced her to heed its calling. From the kitchen’s entry-way, Grace watched as her mother flitted around making breakfast. A single eyebrow rose as she wondered what her mom was up to. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Gee, Mom. Maybe it’s because you don’t do this.” She gestured with hands spanning the kitchen.

The spatula her mom was using to flip pancakes hovered over the griddle as she stood unmoving. “Grace… you know I love you.”

“Do I?” she asked. She’d known all she’d ever needed to know from every touch her mother gave her. Grace knew love had been a very small part of what her mother had felt toward her since the day her father walked out on them fifteen years before.

“I hope you do.” Her mother slid several pancakes on a plate. “Here,” she said, placing the plate on the table. “You should eat something. You didn’t eat much yesterday.”

Grace couldn’t help but wonder if breakfast was a ploy. The sting of her mother’s ambivalence for her over the years was too entrenched in her forethought for her to give her the benefit of the doubt. She’d given up trying to earn her mother’s love years before, and had built a wall of distrust and resentment around her heart to protect herself from the pain. Out of habit, she braced herself for the hurt that was inevitably coming.

“The estate attorney called last night after you went to bed. He’s requesting we be at a meeting set for tomorrow afternoon,” her mother said through a mouthful of food.

Grace knew better than to break the safety glass surrounding her heart. She was thankful the sting wasn’t as bad as last time. She was done trying to will her mother to love her. “What time?”

“Two o’clock. It’s in downtown Bountiful at the attorney’s office.”

“I’ll leave school early then and meet you there.”

“School?” her mother asked in surprise. “I thought you’d take a couple more days off.”

Originally, she hadn’t planned on going to school much this week. Knowing her mother had an agenda pushed her toward changing her mind. “I’m fine. This way, I’ve only missed a few days. I won’t get behind now.”

“I could always go to the school and get your homework.”

“I’m fine. I want to go to school.”

“If you change your mind,” she started, but Grace’s hand lifted in a voiceless rebuttal, cutting her mother off. You just did change my mind, she thought, as she finished her breakfast.

Just outside her bedroom door, she heard the chime of her cell phone. Hurrying to her nightstand, she slid her finger across the screen. “Hello?”

“How are you doing?”

The caring, familiar voice of her best friend was almost enough to make her start crying again. “I’m alright, Em. Did you guys just get home?”

“Yeah, about ten minutes ago. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you, Grace.” Emily’s voice hitched with emotion, her compassion evident in the silence that followed.

“It’s okay, honest. How were you supposed to know what was going to happen?” Grace asked, flopping backward on her bed, and stared at the blank white palette of her ceiling.

“True, but I still feel bad.” Emily’s voice cracked. “I wasn’t even here for your grandfather’s funeral and it makes me sick to think you had to deal with your family alone.”

“Well, actually, I wasn’t exactly alone.” Her toe tapped anxiously on the floor just thinking of Quentin.

“Oh?”

“Apparently my grandfather had a good friend I never met. An insanely hot friend. He showed up at the reception yesterday.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?” Emily asked, pursuing her usual you-need-a-boyfriend agenda. Grace needed a boyfriend like she needed another pain-in-the-butt relative. No, thank you.

Grace sat up on her bed, following the stitching of her comforter with a finger. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her finger stopped its tracing. “Seriously. I have no clue if he has a girlfriend. He wasn’t there for me, he was there for my grandfather.”

“Uh, okay…” Before Grace could speak up again in her own defense, Emily added, “So, what are you doing now? You up for some company and an iced coffee?”

“I could definitely use some of both,” Grace said, reaching for the bag of candy that was still on her nightstand, then poured six candy-coated chocolates in the palm of her hand. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Sure. Give me fifteen minutes. I have to wash the travel sludge off.”

Grace tossed her head back and dropped the candy in her mouth. “In that case,” she said around the candy. “I’ll give you thirty.”

“Gee, thanks, pig,” Emily said sarcastically.

Evidently Mother Nature didn’t know one of the greatest men who ever lived had died. The weather was perfectly beautiful. The sky was a cloudless cerulean blue, punctuated by bright sunlight. Spring was officially here in Woods Cross, Utah.

Her car was parked under the flowering Chinese fringe tree at the curb in front of her house. Grace’s heart swelled at the sight of it. She was even more thankful now for her silver ’67 Shelby GT than the day her grandfather gave it to her. She felt closer to him somehow just looking at it. They shared a love for American metal, but when he insisted on giving it to her for her seventeenth birthday, she had been confused. To this day, she’d never understood his giving it up, but was immensely grateful that he had entrusted her with it.

Emily lived in a cul-de-sac at the end of a quiet street, lined on both sides with cookie-cutter houses. As she pulled in the driveway, Grace eyed Emily’s home and the neighboring houses. As usual, the sight provoked a surge of envy to pulse through her veins. It was hard seeing all the families, the sheer normalcy of it all. The fact that she couldn’t remember much of when her father lived with her and her mother made the envy harder to swallow. Some days it bothered her more than others. Today was one of those more bothersome days.

The likely catalyst was burying the only person who had treated her like family. Or maybe it was her grandfather’s letter. Being reminded of her dad’s leaving dredged up old hurts. She forgave him for abandoning her years ago, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to come back so she could say it to his face. Now or ever.

Grace honked the horn once, hoping Emily would hurry up. Being surrounded by all this suburban family sweetness made her a little nauseous, and all she wanted was to get out of there.

From somewhere in the backseat, she heard the buzz of a text. She turned back around just as Emily bounded out her front door, bouncing all the way to the car, her dark high pony swinging back and forth with her exuberance. Absentmindedly, she placed the cell phone in the ashtray, concentrating on putting a mental block up before Emily got in the car. Somehow, she managed to do this with her. Grace couldn’t imagine what their friendship would be like today otherwise.

As soon as Emily jumped into the passenger seat, Grace was greeted with a single-arm hug and a quick kiss on her cheek that smelled like strawberries and cream. “Ready?” Emily asked as she pulled away, her brown almond-shaped eyes searched Grace’s. Her eyes moved to Emily’s glistening gloss-coated lips before answering. “Abso-fricken-lutely,” she said, knowing something was up.

Uncertainty continued to haunt Quentin after the funeral reception and clear into the next morning. Since the moment Christophe had died, he had been chock-full with it. The common denominator? Grace. Get it together, Q, he chided himself.

Self-recriminating thoughts haunted him. This was the one time when he needed to be on his “A” game the most, and here he was turning into a total wuss and misplacing his “man” card.

Guardians were made to protect the Chosen, so what the hell was wrong with him? She might be a female Chosen, but still.

Even though being a blood descendant of Christophe made her special, the combination of being a female as well as a blood descendant of Christophe made her extraordinarily special.

His relentless pacing wore another path in some poor, defenseless flooring. He stopped and took a deep, cleansing breath. Maybe this self-doubt crap was what had caused others to fail? Quentin shook himself of the thought as he resumed his pacing.

Regardless of the reasons for past failures, he had to focus. And fast. He had to forget the doubt, forget the past, and remember who he was. What he was, more importantly … a Guardian. And not just any Guardian. Grace’s Guardian. She would need him more than any other he had protected before her.

His shoulders squared with resolve as he paused. There was nothing left to mull over except being damn ready for whatever might be coming. Quentin rubbed the seneschal band that continued changing as Grace’s birthday drew closer. He felt the blood drain from his face as he was stricken with a sudden attack of anxiety at all the possible scenarios he could imagine threatening them in the coming days.

Like the warm Utah sunshine, the coffee at Latté Da’s did a good job of bringing the younger crowd out in droves on early Sunday mornings. Grace noticed some other girls about her age making their way down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Silently she prayed the coffee shop wasn’t too busy yet.

Grace parallel parked between an old beater and a nicer late model sports coupe. She preferred parking along Orchard Street, which was only a few buildings down from Latté Da’s, because it wasn’t nearly as busy and she’d rather not chance a scratch on the Shelby. She chanced a quick glance at Emily as she turned off the ignition, waiting for the outburst she knew would come. Emily hated that she always parked so far away from everything and inevitably would pout to be sure that Grace knew it. When Emily reluctantly moseyed out of the car, her exaggerated expulsion of breath pulled her shoulders nearly to her ears.

Grace snickered. “The walk’s good for you.”

“Good for you, maybe,” Emily said while holding out a foot sporting a sexy, strappy high heel. “But definitely not good for the feet.”

She knew Emily didn’t do it on purpose, but every time she drew attention to her flashy heels, Grace couldn’t help but look down to the boring flats always on her own feet. Flats became an everyday essential in junior high when she shot past most of the girls and guys in height. What’s worse was she was still way taller than average, but only seemed to attract the shorter-than-average guys. All the guys that wouldn’t make her feel like a giant were into girls barely five feet tall. Girls like Emily. Grace knew it wasn’t fair to hate Emily for her perfect petite size, but sometimes she couldn’t help indulging in a secret I-hate-my-best-friend pity party. And enjoying it.

From the corner of her eye, her gaze went from Emily’s sexy shoes to her shiny pink lips. With a deep breath, Grace pulled her shoulders back and focused on standing up straight like her mother nagged so often for her to do. Grace brushed off her irritation, and led Emily down the sidewalk by the elbow.

Latté Da’s wasn’t full by any means, but there were just enough teens to make it feel busy. Grace breathed in deeply, thankful for the lack of coffee drinkers this morning. She didn’t feel like being upbeat, nor did she feel like talking to anyone but Emily. “You sure you’re up for this?” Emily asked.

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” Grace pasted on a wan smile and followed her inside.

When the door shut, a charged, buzz-like chatter swirled around them. Grace recognized most everyone in the place, with only a few exceptions. The chalkboard welcome sign just inside the door listed both the house specials of the day and the scheduled night’s entertainment, and she stopped to check it out. Every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night showcased different entertainment at the coffee shop, whether it was a poetry reading, a magic show, or singing. Something was always happening. Tonight? Emily’s boyfriend’s band, Distant Echo, was on tap. “Oh, look at that, Em. Tommy’s playing tonight.” Instantly, she eyed Emily’s lips. She knew it.

Emily’s eyes bugged a little and her jaw nearly unhinged. “Well, look at that. He is,” Emily squealed. Grace hid her smile at Emily’s theatrics. Her best friend’s overdramatic expressions were part of her charm, and she’d learned to not only expect them, but usually found them entertaining enough to sometimes provoke them, like now. She’d also come to learn what Emily’s choice of lip gloss flavor meant. Strawberries and cream signified a happy day, happy meaning it involved Tommy somehow. “You should come with me tonight,” Emily went on. “You need the break.”

“Maybe,” Grace said.

Emily smiled. “Maybe you should.” She waggled her eyebrows wickedly and swiveled around with a flick of her dark ponytail, narrowly missing swiping Grace’s nose with it as she stepped up to the counter to place her order.

As Emily went into a long dissertation about her coffee to the barista, the voices all around Grace rang louder in her ears, and the floor seemed to tilt sideways. A panic fluttered inside her chest, and inexplicably her thoughts shifted to her birthday. Grace felt a heavy mantle of burden settle on her shoulders. The letter her grandfather wrote her had left her nervous. Beyond nervous. She realized she was about to have a panic attack in the middle of a coffee shop when a sudden feeling overcame her, a certainty that something serious was going to happen within the next couple of weeks. Her breath caught again, and her vision pixelated into a purple haze.

“Grace!”

Emily’s raised voice brought her attention back to Latté Da’s. Her vision cleared and she pulled herself together as she turned her face toward Emily’s, wondering at the harshness of her tone. “What?”

The confused expression on Emily’s face made her look like one of those cartoonish, doe-eyed Bratz dolls. A pinch at Grace’s elbow drew her gaze downward. Emily’s fingers were wrapped tightly around her arm, practically cutting off the circulation as she gave her a sharp tug. “Are you okay?” Emily asked. “I’ve been trying to get your attention.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m fine.” Grace shook her head slightly, focusing on not scrambling her equilibrium any further. “Just a lot on my mind.”

“We don’t have to come back tonight, really. I just thought it’d be fun.” Emily maintained her grip on Grace’s arm, the painful compression making her want to wince.

“No, it’s fine. You’re right. I think I need a break.” Grace’s eyes went to Emily’s hand, hoping she would open it and let her go. She was fine.

Concern drew Emily’s brows together as she peered at Grace, then her expression cleared as she switched gears, obviously determined to lighten the mood. “What do you want? My treat.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to. So, what’ll it be?” Emily pulled her lips into a wide smile, showing off perfect white teeth.

Grace tried her best to talk around the panic-filled lump lodged in her throat. “Okay.” The girl behind the counter grabbed the notepad on the side of the register, no doubt thinking Grace’s order would be just as complicated as Emily’s. “I’ll have a sixteen-ounce iced pumpkin spice latte. Two straws, please.” Grace held up two fingers. The girl released the breath she held and clacked her fingers quickly across the cash register.

The instant Emily got her drink, she quickly made her way toward the platform at the back of the coffee house with Grace in tow, Grace’s nearly passing out the moment before already forgotten. She smiled faintly at Emily’s back, relieved that her friend’s short attention span ensured that she wouldn’t have to endure unwanted attention.

It took Emily all of two seconds to find the table Tommy was sitting at, which didn’t surprise Grace that he was there too. He and a blond guy Grace didn’t know leaned across the table toward each other, deep in what appeared to be a heavy conversation.

“Are these seats taken?” Emily asked in her best flirty voice.

Grace didn’t recognize the other guy until he and Tommy looked up to reply. “Hey, baby!” Tommy reached for the empty chair to his left and pulled it next to his own. As soon as Emily sat, he grabbed her chin with his thumb and finger and pulled her in for a lingering kiss. Grace winced. Way too much PDA, in her opinion.

“Yum. Strawberry, my favorite,” she barely heard Tommy say. Grace almost gagged.

Not that she hung out with guys a lot, but she couldn’t help but wonder why these two were out for coffee so freaking early in the morning, and together no less. She tried turning her attention elsewhere since Tommy and Emily weren’t finished with their morning greeting.

“Geesh, you two. Get a room,” the blond guy scoffed.

“Right?” Grace couldn’t resist a grin as she nodded at him in agreement.

He glanced up at her. “I don’t think we’ve ever really met. I’m Zeke.” She steeled herself as she took his offered hand briefly, before settling into the chair to his left. His hand was so soft and warm, she had to fight the compulsion to turn it over just to see if it was perfectly manicured as well.

“Grace. Nice to meet you.” His touch didn’t give her the heebie-jeebies, so she figured it was safe enough.

So this was the new guy who’d moved to town a couple of months ago. The one all of the girls at Woods Cross High wouldn’t stop talking about. Grace studied him for a second as he sat back in his chair, completely at ease. He wore his streaked blond hair a little longer than most other guys, especially in front where it fell over surprisingly deep blue eyes lined with thick black eyelashes that most girls would kill for. The most appealing part about him though, was how tall he obviously was. Tommy looked short next to him, and he wasn’t. Yep, she could see why he was a hot topic.

“I’m glad you’re finally talking to me,” Zeke said.

Grace was puzzled and glanced at Emily for backup, but she was still too engrossed in her boyfriend’s lips. Grace shook her head in mock disgust. Zeke sat, still considering her, apparently waiting for her response.

“Zeke, right?” Grace said.

He pointed a finger at his broad chest. “Zeke.”

Grace smiled. “Well, Zeke, I have no clue what you’re talking about. I’ve seen you around school, but we have no classes together and you’ve never tried talking to me.” She stared back at him, playing with the straws in her coffee.

“No classes, huh?”

“None.”

Zeke’s grin turned impish. “You sure about that?”

“Well, let’s see.” Touching a finger to her chin, Grace contemplated in playful thought. “Yep. I’m sure.”

“I hate to pop your confidence bubble, Miss Grace, but we most certainly do have a class together.”

“Okay fine, I’ll bite. Enlighten me, Obi-Wan.”

“You’re going to feel real stupid, you know,” he teased, cocking his head sideways.

“I’m still waiting.” Grace pursed her lips, determined not to smile.

Zeke was fun. And cute. Why hadn’t she talked to him before now?

“Third period,” he prompted, pulling her from her quiet ponder.

“Keyboarding.” Her reply was a statement rather than a question. He nodded slowly. “We don’t have Keyboarding together.” Inside she wondered how the heck she could have missed him.

“I’m the one banging on the keys two rows ahead of you.”

Grace tapped her fingers in a rolling motion on the table, tilting her head sideways in curiosity. “That’s you?”

“One and the same.” He smiled.

“Well, Zeke, I hate to burst your confidence bubble, but did you happen to notice how many people are banging keys around me, even two rows ahead of me?”

“Oh, that? Yes, well that has been a problem for sure.” His face split into a huge grin.

Watching Zeke’s face light up with a smile pulled Grace’s mouth up as well. She couldn’t hold it down, laughter spilled from her lips. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, wiping away the pooling tears.

“How about I make sure you see me tomorrow?” he asked in a husky, flirtatious tone.

Despite herself, Grace couldn’t keep from peeking at him from under her lashes. “I’ll make sure to talk to you then.”

The teasing banter had caused her cheeks to warm. Self-conscious, she turned away, looking everywhere but at Zeke. With no one left to safely look at, she pulled her hand up from her lap and focused on her dark-painted nails instead.

Apparently winding down the PDA, Emily and Tommy finally pried their lips apart and contributed to the conversation, taking some of the heat off Grace and lightening the mood. The mindless chatter and laughter that followed had Grace’s heart beating easier.

It was nice.

Momentarily able to put her grief aside, she didn’t think about her grandfather’s death. Surprisingly, Grace found herself looking forward to coming back later that night.