A Fresh Start

Chapter 4

Grace hadn’t quite been able to quell that unsettling feeling all day. She was going to take off early, she had told Katie, quite firmly.

Katie had pouted. Grace had ignored the pout. She had put in more than enough overtime to deserve an early day off.

She took care, getting ready, and still had butterflies in her stomach.

It was nice, she told herself, to know that she could wear heels without worrying about bruising a man’s ego. She slipped on deep green stilettos that always made her feel confident. Grace felt as if she could use the confidence.

Grace fussed with her hair a bit. She had manageable hair, really – she had large curls that tumbled around her, but it could get frizzy if left loose. Not willing to take any chances, she pulled it back in a simple low ponytail that suited her well.

Finally, she was ready, and on time. She’d been careful not to be ready too early and have too much time to wonder if she was getting in too deep.

It was just a date, Grace chided herself. There was nothing to worry about. Still, it did feel odd.

Grace attributed that to the fact that her date was with Alan Barden. Every time she thought his name, she felt almost ill with nerves.

Deciding to splurge, she called a cab and gave them the address. The cabbie might have made conversation, but she didn’t think she’d made adequate responses.

By the time she got to Libraria, she was about ready to ask the cabbie to just turn back, she was so nervous.

Telling herself not to be such a coward, she got out and, on wobbly legs, walked in.

She found herself facing a scarily competent looking maître d’.

“Do you have a reservation, ma’am?”

Did she?

She gulped.

“Ah, my name is Grace Hickory. I’m supposed to meet Alan Barden here.”

As she said the words, they sounded very unlikely. What was she thinking? He was going to give her a supercilious look with a curling lip and turn her away, and she would deserve it.

“Ah, of course, Ms. Hickory. Your table is ready and the gentleman is waiting for you. If you’ll come this way, please?”

Feeling a bit dazed, she followed him.

Dimly, she registered that it was a wonderful place – it looked like an ancient library, turned into a modern, extremely trendy restaurant. There were books on shelves that you could borrow, and fancy or not, reading at the table was not discouraged.

It would be a wonderful restaurant for people who liked to eat alone, thought Grace. She often got takeaway just to avoid eating alone at a restaurant, when she did eat something other than Violet’s miraculously delicious creations.

She felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw Alan, looking handsome as sin. He was still not wearing a tie, she noticed. He really seemed to hate them.

He looked up and met her eyes. The smile that curved those lips made her stomach clench just a bit. The way he looked at her made her feel special. Did he have that effect on all women?

He rose to his feet. The maître d’ pulled out her chair personally and seated her.

“Please, when you’re ready to order. The wine list is here, sir, if you desire it. I hope you have a wonderful evening.”

The words only buzzed around Grace’s head. She was drinking in the sight of her date.

“Hello, Grace. I trust you had no trouble finding the place?”

She shook her head, smiling.

“No. I wasn’t very sure if I’d imagined the whole thing. On the cab ride over, I nearly convinced myself I had and turned around. I’m glad I didn’t,” she told him, softly, with touching honesty.

Alan smiled at her and she felt the world brighten.

It was all so romantic, thought Grace. It was like a fairytale. She’d never believed in them, but it was happening.

She should have more faith in fate, she told herself.

“I found myself looking forward to meeting you again, too. I wondered if you could really be as genuine as you seemed to be when I met you.”

Grace grinned when she heard that.

“A bit too genuine, probably. I tend to say what I think. People don’t usually want to hear that.”

“But it must be very flattering when you think well of somebody.”

“I think you’re wonderful,” said Grace, without guile.

“Do you have a preference for wine?”

“Oh, not at all. I’ll leave that to you,” said Grace, who thought that anything would taste wonderful in that moment.

The wine was ordered, with the waiter offering her the taste ceremoniously. She wiggled her eyebrows a bit skeptically and sipped.

“I haven’t the slightest clue. It seems fresh, and light, and almost flowery. Like a spring meadow.”

Alan grinned.

“Apparently, you’re a natural, Grace. That’s what the best critic said, too.”

Grace chuckled.

“Well, I can tell you that it isn’t corked, but that’s the only guarantee I can offer!”

“I know we said we’d meet for drinks, but how about dinner? The food here is incredible, I’m told.”

Grace was surprised.

“Haven’t you been here before? It seems like the kind of place an author has got to love.”

“I don’t make too many public appearances, even at restaurants. But I don’t mind making an exception for you.”

Grace let him order for both of them. Everything would’ve tasted wonderful to her, and she wasn’t fussy at all.

She felt like she was floating on a cloud. Conversation flowed easily. Grace talked about how much she had enjoyed his book, but didn’t expect him to discuss it, since she knew he disliked doing that. He seemed to be intensely private, so Grace let the conversation turn to herself.

“I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Most people say it’s just a pipe dream. I do understand why they say so. I mean, so many people want to be a writer. Especially now! Everybody fancies themselves a writer, especially with fan fiction. Not that fan fiction writers can’t be good,” added Grace hurriedly.

“They can be really good,” she went on, “but they’re usually so bad. Ever since Fifty Shades became so big, I’ve had to edit so many horrible manuscripts! And my dream of being published seems destined to gather dust, like my manuscript. I don’t pretend that it’s the Great American Novel or anything, but I think it’s a story that many people would enjoy. My mother is the only one who always told me that I could do it. She would tell me that the day I gave up on myself was the day I deserved to fail. She gave up so much to give me everything. So I can never give up on myself.”

“Your mother sounds like a good woman.”

“She’s the best. She’s the strongest person I know.”

Dessert was served, and Grace only knew that whatever it was melted in her mouth. She’d hoped that they would share one dessert, but she waved away her disappointment, telling herself not to be silly.

Something changed in the air as he leaned across the table a bit.

“Grace, I have a proposition for you.”

The words rang a few warning bells, but they were far away and faint.

“I need something. You need something, too. I believe we can help each other.”

Grace didn’t understand.

“I’m not sure what you mean, Alan,” she said, puzzled.

“You’re a good person. You’re a sincere, competent, lovely woman who would be a wonderful companion and an excellent representative of sorts. You know that I hate doing events. But I need to start doing them now, or so Rachel tells me.”