“What about your parents?”
Grace felt Brian studying her. She had to say something. “My parents died when I was seven.” She didn’t want to talk about the circumstances. “My aunt raised me.” Another topic she didn’t want to discuss. Aunt Elizabeth had taken Grace into her home out of familial duty, not love. Grace had never met her mother’s sister before that. Grace was taken into child protective services the night her parents died and had been placed in foster care until Aunt Elizabeth turned up. In truth, as Grace learned later, her aunt had taken the job at the IRS in order to be as far away from Grace’s mother and father as possible. “My friends called me a brainiac, and Patrick was all about sports. And he loved adventure.” And other women.
“So how did you two end up together?”
“We both went to UCLA. He had a partial football scholarship.”
“And you?”
She didn’t want to brag. “Enough to get me through, but Patrick needed to finish school first.” She smoothed the napkin on her lap, avoiding Brian’s perusal. “We got married partway through freshman year. When he lost his scholarship, it made sense for me to work, so he could concentrate on school.” She gave him a bleak smile. “We were going to take turns.” She lifted one shoulder. “A few months after he graduated, I came home early and found Patrick in bed with another girl. He said he loved her, packed up, and left.”
Brian winced. “Painful.”
Not as painful as it should have been. She’d been hurt, angry, and most telling, relieved. Their last year together had been difficult. She’d seen the truth. “I hated myself more than Patrick. I saw plenty of warning signs, but chose to ignore them. I tried to make it work. What is the old saying about fools rushing in?”
“And you have a child.”
Grace hesitated, understanding the assumption Brian was making. She wasn’t ready to confess more sins. “Yes. A son. Samuel. He’s five months old and the love of my life.” Had he noticed her blush? Brian seemed to sense something, but didn’t press.
“Charlene and I wanted children. That’s how I ended up in youth ministry. I love kids.” A good sign, Grace thought, then admonished herself. Brian talked about the program he’d started and ways he was trying to get the older and younger generations together. He joked about how too many people thought teenagers were out of control, beyond redemption, and to be avoided at all cost. He laughed. “Nothing’s changed. Plato bemoaned the younger generation.” He admitted teens could be perplexing and frustrating, especially the girls.
Grace didn’t have to wonder why. “I can imagine how many develop crushes on you.” A handsome, charismatic, young widower? “You’d better be careful, Pastor Brian.”
“Believe me, I am careful. I make sure I’m never alone with a girl, and I have plenty of adult supervision at our youth functions. A pastor can’t be too careful these days. It doesn’t take much to destroy a man’s reputation.”
Or a woman’s.
They talked over prime rib dinners. Grace ordered crème br?lée. Brian had warm chocolate fantasy cake. They lingered over coffee. Grace couldn’t remember ever having felt so comfortable with a man. Brian slipped the gift certificate and a twenty-dollar bill into the leather folder for the waiter.
Grace noticed another couple leaving. “I think they came in after we did.” She glanced at her phone to check the time. “Oh, my.” She and Brian had been talking for over two hours.
They left the booth and went outside. Brian held her sweater for her. They walked to her car, and he opened her door. “How far do you have to drive?”
“I’ll be home by eleven. It’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Brian. Thank you for a wonderful evening.” His hand was warm and firm.
“The kids will want to know how it went tonight. I’ll be telling them the evening far exceeded my expectations.”
“My friends will be asking the same questions, and I’ll tell them the same thing.”
Brian grinned. “In that case, would you like to join me and twenty-odd teenagers for a beach party Saturday after next?”
“Were you setting me up?” Grace laughed. “Sounds like fun, but only if I can bring Samuel.”
“Absolutely. Can’t wait to meet him.”
On the drive home, Grace heard her phone signal an incoming text. She read it after she had parked. Shanice, of course. Call me when you get in. I want to know details.
Shanice, a night owl, answered on the second ring. “Good time?”
“It turned out to be a very nice evening.” Grace kept her tone bland.
“Oh.” Shanice sounded disappointed, then brightened. “Nice enough to see him again?”
“Yes.”
“Fantastic! Tell me everything.”
“You’ll have to wait until Sunday.” Grace said good night and ended the call.
Roman used a paint roller on the back wall of his studio before Grace showed up Monday morning. He didn’t want to see the look on her face if she discovered where his real passion in art lay. When she came in with his mug of coffee, the scent of fresh paint still hung heavily in the air. She looked at the back wall. “You painted the wall again.” She grimaced. “What do you call that color? Mud?”
“Good description. It’s a little of this and that all poured into the same can, and that’s what you get.” He hesitated, then added, “Cities use it to buff graffiti.”
“I hope that’s not your idea of redecorating.”
He dabbed more red on the one remaining painting. Talia had picked up the other two. “I finished the transfer. I leave for San Diego this afternoon. I’ll be gone a week, at least. Maybe two.” Less if he worked long hours. If he ran short of any supplies, he could order what he needed and have it delivered. “I’ll finish this painting before I go. Talia can come and get it in a couple days.”
“Is there anything in particular you want me to do here while you’re gone?”
Her gaze kept drifting to that blasted wall still marred by faint outlines of the darker colors and shapes beneath. Was she trying to figure out what he’d painted? He made a downward stroke of red, lifted the brush away, and set his palette aside. “Why don’t you shop for furniture? Jasper Hawley said he wanted a bed to sleep in the next time he comes to visit.”
She kept looking at the wall, tilting her head slightly. “I need to know your taste.”
“Anything but shabby chic or French country.”
She laughed. “I’ll have you know I paid good money for my furnishings. Only the best of what the Salvation Army had to offer.”
“You won’t need to be that frugal on my dime.”
“What about bedding?”
“That, too. Pillows to sleep on.”
“How about decorative pillows?”
“Like the five you have on your couch?”
She looked surprised. “You counted them?”
“I remember what I see. You also have one on your swivel rocker, and I’m guessing a dozen more on your bed.” He wiped his hands on an oily cloth and decided he’d better change the subject. “Buy something that never goes out of style.”
He’d been striving for quality since his beginning in the Tenderloin, where it was scarce as money.
“How much are you willing to spend?”
“My bedroom set cost forty grand.”
“What?” Grace gasped. “Where do you find furniture that expensive?”
“I hired an interior decorator.”
“Oh. Why don’t I call her? She’ll know what suits you better than I do.”
“What makes you think it was a she? And maybe I want something different this time.” Grace was about as different as a girl could be from those he’d known up to now. “Something a little more . . . I don’t know. Classy. Use your instincts.”
“You might be sorry.”
“It’s only furniture, Grace.”
She looked at the wall one last time. “If you leave the ladder in here, I can repaint that wall a nice eggshell white.”
“It’d take more than one coat, and what’s the point?”
“It’d be a nice clean canvas so you can start fresh.”
Start fresh. If only he could.