Page 26 of Forever & Again
She gasped at him, indignant, but laughed as she swiped the bow from his grasp and prepared another shot.
This time she struck the branch, sending two cherries tumbling. She spun on her heel, triumphant. “And what say you to that?”
Oliver grinned, warmth rushing through him at the sound of her laughter. “I say..” He stepped closer, reaching for the bow but letting his hand linger over hers. “Best of three?”
Her next arrow went wide, and his next clipped another cherry. Her third landed the truest, splitting the fruit in a shower of red. The sound of their laughter lingered in the air, like sunlight breaking through the clouds.
Grace bent to pick up one of her spoils and, without hesitation, she bit into the cherry, the juice clinging to her lips.
She quickly lifted her hand to wipe it away, but Oliver moved first. He hadn’t even been thinking, his hand moving faster than reason. He gently cupped her chin, his thumb reaching to brush away the red stain from the corner of her mouth. His heart stopped, and the world went still.
He heard the hitch in her breath as his thumb feathered over her lip. Her lashes lifted, eyes locking with his. She was so close—so devastatingly close.
His heart started beating again, this time with such force he feared she would be able to hear every beat. For one maddening moment, he wondered what it would be like to close the space between them and kiss her until neither of them remembered what they had lost. But the weight of what hung between them made the inches feel like a chasm that Oliver dared not cross.
He pulled his hand away, every nerve screaming in protest. “Another round?” His voice came out strained, utterly betraying him.
Grace smiled. “Very well,” she said, her voice holding the same forced lightness as his own. “But I should warn you, my aim only improves with practice.”
“Then I had best keep you occupied, lest you grow too dangerous.” His gaze dropped back down to her lips before he caught himself and forced it on the bow.
Grace tilted her head, her eyes softening. “Are you afraid I might wound your pride?”
“My pride is the least of what is at risk,” he said, his voice low.
Grace’s eyes dropped to his lips and lingered so briefly that Oliver would have thought he had imagined it if it hadn’t been for the way her own lips parted softly. She dropped her gazeto the ground before stepping back completely out of his reach, breaking the trance that had been holding him captive.
Grace raised the bow to prepare for another shot, but Oliver was completely incapable of focusing on where it landed.
There was no use fighting the truth of it anymore. He was falling in love with Grace Rockwell—and she was still in love with a ghost.
Chapter Thirteen
Grace’s mother always said that men could avoid wars if only they would take the time to sit down for tea. It was difficult to remain angry when surrounded by the warm aroma of herbs and the sweetness of pastries and breads. By the time they had finished, it was unlikely they would even remember what their quarrel had been about.
Grace suspected that might be a slight exaggeration, yet she could not deny that from the moment she sat down to tea with Sarah in the garden, everything felt almost normal. Their conversation began harmlessly enough with the menu for their upcoming dinner party, but slowly—as they so often did—Grace’s thoughts drifted towards Benjamin.
At present, Sarah was recounting her battle with her cook over the main course. “She wants veal with mushroom gravy,” she huffed.
Grace listened with concealed amusement. Marriage and motherhood might have begun to temper Sarah’s reckless streak, but her fierce opinions remained gloriously intact.
“I believe we reached an agreement,” Sarah declared with a triumphant sigh. “Though I don’t trust Cook not to slipsomething by me. Fortunately, she is not yet aware that I have spoken to the shopkeeper. No matter what she orders, he will deliver what I requested. We will be having lamb with mint sauce.”
Grace smiled, watching her friend wield domestic battles with the same fire she had once brought to their youthful mischief. A part of her would always grieve the life she couldn’t have with Benjamin, but at the present moment, she couldn’t help but feel a small rush of pride at how flawlessly Sarah had stepped into her role.
“Benjamin would be so proud of you,” The thought slipped out before Grace could stop it. Of course, it was the truth; Benjamin Weston’s devotion to his little sister had been nearly unmatched. To see her commanding dinner parties, managing a household, and married for love would have been one of his greatest joys. Yet Grace braced herself for the shadow his name so often cast over them.
Sarah’s eyes glistened with tears, but she quickly composed herself. “Of course he would be.” She cleared her throat before offering Grace a wry smile. “Benjamin never would have come within miles of a table servingmushroom gravy.”She nearly spat the words.
A startled laugh broke from Grace’s throat, followed by a flood of relief. This was the first time they had spoken of him with such ease. The realization nearly hurt as much as her grief, but as they continued to discuss more of Benjamin’s strong opinions, the only pain that remained in her chest was from laughter.
“I don’t think I ever realized how particular he truly was,” Grace said with a sigh.
“He had his moments,” Sarah nodded. “But nothing that couldn’t be cured by a sweet cherry tart.”
Grace felt her face warm at the mention of the small red fruit. She quickly lifted her teacup to her lips in an attempt to hide her smile behind the rim. She could feel Sarah’s curious gaze on her. “Grace, are you blushing?”
“Do not be ridiculous.” Grace let the warm tea slip down her throat, willing it to steady the flutter in her stomach. But ever since their morning spent in the orchard, Grace had been unable to stop the feelings that rose every time she thought about Oliver—and nearly everything reminded her of him.
