Coming Home (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 2) (11 page)

After a decadent weekend spent mostly in bed with Logan, with a few short forays out for necessities like food and more condoms, Grace felt like a new woman.

Her good mood carried her through the following week, when she got an unexpected job interview. It was a place she’d applied to several months ago, when she’d first started looking for psychiatry positions in L.A.

“We can’t offer you much,” the program director said, after concluding the interview and giving Grace a brief tour of the facilities. “As you know, we’re always scrambling for funding, and our budget relies heavily on donor support. But if you’re interested, we’d love to have you on board.”

Grace shook the woman’s hand and promised to review the offer and get back with a response by the end of the following week.

Logan noticed her preoccupation that evening over dinner. They went to a hole-in-the-wall Thai place, and were walking back to his apartment when he asked her what was going on.

“I’m considering another job offer.”

“Another one? As in, not the faculty position you were so excited about?”

“The department still hasn’t made me a formal offer,” she said. “I need to look at other options, in case the university position falls through.”

“I thought you were a shoe-in.”

She smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but no. I’m not even sure who the other candidates are. For all I know, there’s a Nobel laureate among them. Or someone with a list of publications a mile long.”

“So what’s this other job?”

“It’s only for a year. At least, that’s all they have funding for right now.” She hesitated. “I’d be doing clinical psychiatry and overseeing mental health services for a non-profit that runs some women’s shelters and a rape crisis center.”

His pace slowed. She glanced up, and even with the fading evening light, she could see the concern in his eyes. She braced herself for an argument, but all he said was, “It sounds like a worthy cause.”

“It is.”

They crossed the street and walked another block before he spoke again. “You think you’re ready for something like this?”

That was the crux of the issue.

She’d applied for the opening because she knew what it was like to be abused and raped by the very person who’d promised before God and man to love and cherish her. She knew the fear, and shame, and self-loathing that went with it. Luckily, she’d had the resources and courage to escape the situation. But she had shied away from seeking help, even when she most needed it. She became good at rationalizing. If she sought help, she told herself, there would be repercussions to her career. And the press would for sure go to town on the story. Her best recourse, she figured, was to leave New York and start fresh. And maybe, in some small way, she could try to help other women who weren’t as fortunate.

This job was her chance to do just that. But was she ready? Had she recovered sufficiently from her own trauma to deal empathetically and effectively with others survivors of abuse? Or would every story she heard be like re-opening a freshly-scabbed wound?

“I don’t know,” she said.

They reached his building. He opened the door and followed her in. “I imagine the burnout rate in this kind of job is pretty high.”

“Probably,” she agreed.

“What if you were to do this part-time?”

“It’s a full-time position.”

“There’s always room for negotiation.” He unlocked the apartment door and flicked on the lights. “You could job-share.”

“And do what the rest of the time?”

“I don’t know. Hang out your shingle. See patients privately.” He laced their fingers together and slowly backed her up against the wall, his chest brushing hers.

She stiffened for a moment, and he stopped until she relaxed again. His breath whispered along her cheek. A butterfly kiss brushed her jaw. Another landed on her chin. She tried to capture his lips, but he evaded her efforts, moving down to her neck instead. He nipped a spot just above her collarbone, then soothed the area with his tongue.

“Logan...”

“You could enjoy life,” he said, punctuating each sentence with another kiss. “Run on the beach. Catch up on reading. Spend more time with me.”

He released one hand to undo the top button of her blouse. His finger brushed her breast above the lace edge of her demi-bra, back and forth. The nipple puckered and she shivered. When he continued the same teasing movement, she let out a sound of frustration and grabbed his hand to direct it where she needed it.

He grinned. “What do you say?”

She arched against him, restless, hungry for more.

When she failed to answer, he pulled back slightly. “Grace?”

“Yes,” she said. “Fine.”

He eased the lace out of his way and licked her nipple, then blew on it. “Fine, what?”

She tried to bring him closer, but he resisted. “I’ll think about it.”

His mouth closed fully over the nipple and sucked hard, and she felt the fire streak all the way to her core. Cupping the back of his head to keep him from moving away, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the heat.

“Beat you,” Grace laughed as she breezed past Logan on the bike path the following Sunday.

He caught up with her alongside the pier. “It’s not all about speed, you know.”

She unclipped her helmet and grinned. “So says the man who came in second.”

He followed her toward the bike racks, admiring the curve of her ass in the skin-tight bike shorts. “I was enjoying the view.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “It is a gorgeous day.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.” He cleared his throat and looked back at the stretch of beach that went for miles in either direction, dotted with people and umbrellas. Beyond it, the water glistened like a vast expanse of smoky glass, with only a few sailboats and intrepid swimmers breaking the otherwise smooth surface.

“I’m glad you talked me into this,” Grace said, threading the lock through her helmet straps and securing her bike.

Logan followed suit. “Hungry?”

“Starving. And
someone
promised to feed me as soon as we hit Manhattan Beach.”

“Ah, that explains the rush to the finish line. Say no more.” He caught her hand and headed up the street that led from the beach toward town.

They found a café with outdoor seating and fast service. Logan set down his fork after a few minutes, too fascinated by the sight of Grace digging into her food to be able to concentrate on his own plate.

“What?” She glanced up. “Do I have something on my chin?”

He smiled. “No.”

“This omelet is amazing. Want to try?”

The taste of walnut pesto and sun-dried tomatoes exploded on his tongue.

“Well?”

“Mm.” He nodded. “Delicious.”

And it was. Who would have thought that such a combination, along with kale, spinach, eggs, and ricotta, would work so well? Completely unexpected, and yet absolutely perfect.

He sipped his coffee and continued to watch Grace eat, enjoying the way she seemed to relish each bite.

The past few days had been full of moments like this. When the simple act of witnessing Grace’s pleasure heightened Logan’s own. Hearing her laugh during a musical comedy they attended at the Geffen Playhouse, holding her hand as they strolled amid packs of teenagers and weekend tourists on the Santa Monica Pier, feeling her sway to the strains of Mozart beneath the stars at the Getty.

Grace set down her silverware and sighed. “Why didn’t we ever do this before?”

“What, bike to Manhattan Beach?”

“Yes. And go to the theater. And ride the Ferris wheel. Play tourist. All of it.”

Logan hesitated. The truth was he’d never before set out on a deliberate campaign to convince Grace that there was more to life than work. The whole work-life balance issue hadn’t even crossed his mind until she dropped the bomb about her recent job offer. It was the prospect of her burning out from taking on too much that got him thinking. He hoped that by offering her a taste of all there was to experience outside the clinic, he could persuade her to accept a part-time schedule.

But
telling
her that was likely to have the opposite effect.

In the end, he settled for a partial truth. “We were too busy, I guess.”

She refolded her napkin and set it aside. “You know, I spent eight years in New York and never even visited the Statue of Liberty. Or the Lincoln Center. I used to pass by there all the time, without ever once going in.”

“Is that something you want to do?”

“Maybe. Someday.”

“We could go together,” he offered. “Fly out for your graduation, stay a few days. Visit all the places you want to see.”

“Nice try, Logan.” Her smile softened the sting of her words. “Don’t you find it strange that we’ve done more things together in this past month than we ever did in college?”

“I wouldn’t say that. What about our trip to Europe?”

“One trip over four years.”

“One
big
trip. Was there a single major city that we didn’t see?”

“Okay, one
big
trip.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “But what about L.A.? Our own back yard, and we never took the time to explore it.”

It wasn’t something Logan had thought about much, until recently.

Growing up, he’d always had his nose stuck in a book. His father was too busy working or chasing after women to pay Logan any attention. And his mother, when she was still alive, had been too drunk or high to care.

Later, there had been college and grad school and career. He’d barely come up for air—and even then, it was just to refuel.

Not much had changed in the years after Grace’s departure for the East coast. Work, food, exercise, sex. The same pattern, on endless repeat. The women were interchangeable, and never lasted long. The moment they started pushing for more than light conversation and a good time in bed, he excused himself and moved on.

But this time, he didn’t want to move on. With Grace by his side, he wanted to dig in and grow roots.

“Logan?”

He blinked. “I suppose we took things for granted. We assumed that this—” he swept his fingers in a semi-circle before settling them atop her hand on the table, “would always be here.”

She dropped her gaze to their joined hands. “Things don’t always work out according to plan, do they?”

“No. But we’re making up for lost time. And you’re having fun, right?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.” He stroked a thumb across her knuckles. “Sometimes life works out even better than planned.”

She shook her head. “Awfully cocky, aren’t you?”

“No. Just optimistic.”

It wasn’t until two days later that his optimism suffered a setback.

“I got the faculty job,” Grace announced the moment he opened his front door.

“That’s great, congratulations!” Logan caught her around the waist and lifted, swinging her around in a circle down the hall and into the living room until they were both laughing. “We need to celebrate.”

“Not yet.” She pushed against his chest. “I didn’t say I accepted it.”

“You didn’t?” He set her down. “But you will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it’s the smart thing to do.”

His confident tone seemed to rankle her. “I have another offer on the table, if you recall.”

“Yes, but obviously that’s no longer an option.”

“Why not?” She stepped back, eyes narrowing. “They jumped at the idea of my working there part-time.”

“But Grace, sweetie.” He tried for a conciliatory tone. “If you’re already working full-time at the university, you won’t have time to work at the non-profit as well.”

She crossed her arms over her chest.

Logan recognized the battle sign, and felt the first stirrings of alarm.

Sure enough, her next words confirmed that she wasn’t about to be reasonable. “That’s assuming I take the faculty position.”

“I thought it was your dream job.”

She was silent.

“You’re going to be helping people, no matter what,” he pointed out.

“It’s not the same demographic,” she said. “The patient population here on campus isn’t exactly underserved.”

“Just because they have insurance doesn’t mean they don’t need help. You know that, Grace. Come on, don’t be so stubborn.”

The words seemed to fuel her anger. “I can do one day a week at the non-profit and still work full time at the university.”

He frowned. “That’s a pretty big time commitment. Doesn’t leave much room for anything else.”

She dismissed that with a shrug. “Residency’s no walk in the park, either. I’m used to eighty hour work weeks.”

“Eighty hours?” he sputtered. “Where would that kind of schedule leave us?”

“What do you suggest?”

He took a deep breath. “Move in with me.”

She drew her brows together. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

“Last week,” he agreed. “And I admit, that might have been a little premature.”

“And this isn’t.”

“Well, no.” He tried to moderate his tone. “I’ve had a chance to think about it. Line up my arguments, so to speak.”

“Really,” she said, arms still in combat mode, but now the fingers of one hand tapping against the opposite arm. He wasn’t sure that was a good sign. “What arguments?”

There was no backing out now, he realized, so he forged ahead. “First off, you won’t have to leave a nice warm bed late at night to get home.”

“I don’t do that anyway. I wait until morning.”

“Okay, you won’t have to rush around in the morning to go home and then double back to get to work.”

“That’s assuming I’m working here on campus.”

“Yes.” At her silence, he continued. “Think of all the time you’d save by not having to commute. It’ll be time we can spend together. Exploring L.A., like we did the last few days.”

Her fingers stopped tapping. “Keep talking.”

“You like to run in the mornings, right? So do I. We could do that, before work. And after work we could stop by the market and load up on organic veggies and cook meals at home.”

Her brows shot up. “Since when do you cook?”

“You could teach me.”

“Of course. Go on.”

“And it’ll be good for you. Get you past all of these lingering trust issues.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” he said, warming up to the idea. “I mean, look at how far you’ve come since we got back together.”

Her hands dropped. “Are you telling me this was all some kind of master plan to get me over my
issues
?”

Her tone didn’t bode well. Maybe that hadn’t been the wisest argument to make, but he was right, damn it. “You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

If anything, her tone turned frostier. “I don’t need some arrogant, patronizing male rearranging my life for me. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself. No matter what happens, I’m not going to fall apart.” She turned on her heel and marched toward the front hall. “And for your information,” she tossed over her shoulder, “you’ve just justified whatever
trust issues
I might have.”

Logan stood rooted to the spot. It was the sound of the door opening that finally shocked him into motion.  “Grace, wait.” He caught up with her halfway to the elevator. “I know you’re strong and can take care of yourself.”

“Damn straight.”

He overtook her and planted himself in front of her. She tried to step around him, but he matched her step for step. “I wasn’t trying to arrange things for you,” he said, when she finally stopped and glared at him. “I was trying to help in whatever way I could.”

“Including getting me over my
trust issues
in bed?”

He wished she’d stop using that term.

Down the hall, the elevator doors pinged and slid open. A woman exited and glanced at them curiously before heading toward an apartment in the opposite direction.

“It wasn’t like that,” Logan growled.

“Sure sounds that way to me.”

“For God’s sake, Grace, I love you.” He stepped closer, reaching for her. “You’re everything I ever wanted. Don’t you get it? We all need to have one person in our lives whom we can turn to, no matter what, and I want to be that person for you. The person who loves you, protects you, and yes, damn it, helps you, in whatever way you need, for the rest of our lives. I love you, Grace.”

His hands cupped her cheeks, and he lowered his forehead to rest against hers. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I love you.”

Her lips trembled. With shaking fingers, she clasped the backs of his hands.

He wiped the moisture from her cheeks with his thumbs. “Grace?” His lips brushed hers.

Her voice was barely there. “What?”

“I really do love you.”

“Okay.”

He smiled against her lips. Stubborn to the end, that was his Grace. But he loved her. And whether she admitted it or not, she loved him.

The rest—that was all details. They’d work things out. Eventually.

He took the final step that brought his body flush against hers. When he lifted her up, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nestled her face into his neck. Her lips moved almost soundlessly against his skin.

“What was that?” he said, barely pausing on his way back to the apartment.

“I forgive you.”

“And...?”

“And maybe I love you too.”

“Maybe?” He kicked the door shut and eased her back to her feet, keeping his arms wrapped around her.

“Probably.”

“After all we’ve been through?”

“Okay, I’m pretty sure.”

“We have to work on that.” He dipped his head to capture her mouth in a soul-stealing kiss.

By the time they came up for air, she was barely standing.

“You know what this means,” he said.

“What?”

“We’re going to have to go to New York.”

She reared back. “What?”

“So I can meet your father.”

Her forehead puckered. “Why?”

“You stood up at his wedding. It’s only right he do the same for you.”

In the silence that followed, Logan wondered if he’d overplayed his hand. Finally, Grace cleared her throat. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

For the first time ever, the words didn’t make him break out in a cold sweat. In fact, he kind of liked the idea of matching china, jumbo mortgage, two-point-four children, and furry pet. As long as Grace was the one sharing it all with him.

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

She took a deep breath. “That’s kind of a big step, isn’t it? What’s the rush?”

“We’ve known each other twelve years, Grace. I wouldn’t exactly call that rushing.”

“We spent eight of those years apart.”

“I know, and believe me, I’ve regretted every minute of that since.” He tipped her chin up to look directly into her eyes. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

She blinked. “That’s no reason to jump into anything. We should both take some time to think this through.”

“Right.” He reminded himself he was a patient man. And he’d already waited this long. He eased back, making sure she was steady on her feet before he stepped away.

She eyed him uncertainly. “So that’s it?”

“You said you need time to think.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.” She glanced around, as if unsure what to do next. “Well, then. I should get going.”

She hesitated, as if expecting him to make a move. When he remained still, she rose up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “’Bye.”

Logan stared at the closed door, replaying the scene in his head. He’d told Grace that he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. And she’d hightailed it out of there faster than a gazelle trying to outrun a lion.

Clearly, he still had a lot of convincing to do. He ran a hand through his hair and down the tight muscles at the back of his neck.

In the kitchen, he started a fresh pot of coffee and considered his options. It wouldn’t hurt to get some allies on his side.

He poured his first cup and glanced at the time. New York was three hours ahead. Good, not too late to call.

Powering up his laptop, he opened a search window and typed in
Joseph Prentice.