He didn’t say I love you, too.
* * *
Troy was in a daze when he went into the bathroom in Grace’s loft. He was thinking about her beautiful smile, her perfect laugh, the body that welcomed him so naturally, as if they were experienced lovers when they were really new. His fulfillment was always complete, leaving him weak and grateful. And she’d said she loved him. His heart was so full he was tempted to push the issue then and there, tell her what he knew, force her to come clean with him so they could get on with their lives. But it would be better if she came to him with the truth, trusted him.
He went back to bed, crawled in beside her and pulled her into his arms. He pulled her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck.
“Hmm. I thought you were hungry.”
“Honey, we have to get you on the pill. Soon.”
She rolled onto her back and looked at him. “Huh?”
“I think it’s time for us to stop messing around with just a condom. They’re not a hundred percent.”
“So, what are you getting at?” she asked.
“We should be better protected. Is there any reason you’re not on the pill?”
“It never occurred to me before. Before you.”
“Yeah, of course. You should see the doctor. Or Peyton—Peyton could take care of you if you prefer a woman. We don’t want to have to deal with complications like pregnancy.”
She gasped. “You mean I could be pregnant?”
“You shouldn’t be—we’ve been careful. But it’s not worth the gamble. It would be a bummer to get pregnant—that’s not the plan. That could put a serious damper on our fun.”
“Our fun?” she asked softly. “You can say pregnant and fun in the same sentence?”
“Well, I’m not in the market for a baby, are you?” he asked. He grabbed her small waist. “At least it would be a few months before your belly got in the way of our good times.” Then he laughed at his own joke.
“Did you just say that? Really? That it would get in the way of our good times?”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t joke about it. Listen, can you do it? Check with the doctor and see if you can take the pill?”
“Sure,” she said.
Then she rolled away from him and closed her eyes and her mouth before she screamed.
* * *
Grace didn’t stir when Troy got up early. She feigned sleep while he dressed, kissed her cheek and left to go back to his apartment to get ready for work. When her loft was quiet, she rolled over on her back and blinked. She wasn’t sure why she felt so emotional. He was right, after all. This was no time to get caught. But she was a hopeless romantic—she wanted love, marriage, children, happily ever after. Weddings were a big part of her job, after all.
It was just that when a guy you’d whispered love words to talked about the possibility of an accidental pregnancy, shouldn’t he say something tender? Something like Please don’t worry—I’d never leave you to deal with it alone. Or maybe, You know how much I care about you. Or how about a real stretch? It’ll be okay, Grace, because I love you.
Then she asked herself, was she expecting him to do it all when she still hadn’t been completely honest with him? After all, the secret of who she was wasn’t shameful. It was just weird and complicated. She had no idea how he’d react. Would he let it out? Would Grace Dillon vanish as she became Izzy Banks all over again?
She opened the shop a little early, tidied up and made herself a list, and the top of the list was a visit to the clinic. She refreshed the water in the flowers in the cooler. She’d go see Peyton as soon as the clinic opened to get it over with. When she heard the bell to the shop’s front door jingle, she peeked out and almost had a heart attack. There stood Peyton! She had a sudden irrational fear that Troy had called her, told her to go take care of Grace.
“Are you all right?” Peyton asked. “Did I startle you or something?”
“I just... I mean, I was just going to walk down to the clinic to see if you were available. What a coincidence!”
“I’m totally available,” Peyton said, smiling. “Scott’s covering for me. What’s up? You feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” Grace said. “But why are you here?” she asked.
“Well, Scott and I plan to get married on my folks’ farm in late April. Everything will be blooming and there will be a lot of fruit blossoms involved. Is there enough time to talk about some other wedding flowers?”
“I’ll have to check my book—I have a couple of weddings in April. But there’s plenty of time to order and make up arrangements and bouquets,” she said happily. This was her comfort zone. While she talked flowers, she’d work on her confidence. After an hour of flower talk, she’d be ready. “What have you got there?” she asked, indicating a flat box Peyton held under one arm.
“Some pictures. I know—usually the florist shows the bride-to-be flowers. But a wedding on the farm is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. The pear trees will be in full bloom. If it’s a warm winter they’ll start early and if it’s a late spring they’ll just be starting. My mother’s gardens will be blooming and so will my aunts’ and cousins’. When a Basque girl gets married, everyone brings flowers and food.” She laughed a little. “Even when the girl is thirty-five!”
“It doesn’t sound like you need me,” Grace said.
“But yes, I do. Let me show you.”
“Come on back,” Grace invited. The worktable was still clean because it was early. Grace only had a couple of orders to make up later, to be delivered tomorrow.
They sat at a corner of the large table and Peyton leafed slowly through a lot of loose pictures, describing them as her brother’s wedding, her oldest sister’s wedding, her youngest sister’s wedding. “She got married quickly—no pear blossoms for her. We had to order from the flower growers. I thought my mother would have a stroke over that—her baby, getting married off the farm. To add to the insult, she married a chef and he insisted his restaurant cater. The fact that I’m finally getting married, in late spring, on the farm—it goes a long way to helping her get over it.”
“These pictures are gorgeous. They should be published,” Grace said. The trellises were adorned with blossoms, and the women wore flowers in their hair. The tables sitting outside for the reception had arrangements on each one. The women carried beautiful bouquets and the buffet table that held enough food for an army also displayed roses, gardenias, cherry and pear blossoms, hydrangea, roses, baby’s breath and rich, dark fern. It was a fortune in flowers, and a great deal of work. More than Grace could possibly manage alone. “You’re right, I’ve never seen anything like it. Who did the flowers?”
* * *
Troy was in a daze when he went into the bathroom in Grace’s loft. He was thinking about her beautiful smile, her perfect laugh, the body that welcomed him so naturally, as if they were experienced lovers when they were really new. His fulfillment was always complete, leaving him weak and grateful. And she’d said she loved him. His heart was so full he was tempted to push the issue then and there, tell her what he knew, force her to come clean with him so they could get on with their lives. But it would be better if she came to him with the truth, trusted him.
He went back to bed, crawled in beside her and pulled her into his arms. He pulled her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck.
“Hmm. I thought you were hungry.”
“Honey, we have to get you on the pill. Soon.”
She rolled onto her back and looked at him. “Huh?”
“I think it’s time for us to stop messing around with just a condom. They’re not a hundred percent.”
“So, what are you getting at?” she asked.
“We should be better protected. Is there any reason you’re not on the pill?”
“It never occurred to me before. Before you.”
“Yeah, of course. You should see the doctor. Or Peyton—Peyton could take care of you if you prefer a woman. We don’t want to have to deal with complications like pregnancy.”
She gasped. “You mean I could be pregnant?”
“You shouldn’t be—we’ve been careful. But it’s not worth the gamble. It would be a bummer to get pregnant—that’s not the plan. That could put a serious damper on our fun.”
“Our fun?” she asked softly. “You can say pregnant and fun in the same sentence?”
“Well, I’m not in the market for a baby, are you?” he asked. He grabbed her small waist. “At least it would be a few months before your belly got in the way of our good times.” Then he laughed at his own joke.
“Did you just say that? Really? That it would get in the way of our good times?”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t joke about it. Listen, can you do it? Check with the doctor and see if you can take the pill?”
“Sure,” she said.
Then she rolled away from him and closed her eyes and her mouth before she screamed.
* * *
Grace didn’t stir when Troy got up early. She feigned sleep while he dressed, kissed her cheek and left to go back to his apartment to get ready for work. When her loft was quiet, she rolled over on her back and blinked. She wasn’t sure why she felt so emotional. He was right, after all. This was no time to get caught. But she was a hopeless romantic—she wanted love, marriage, children, happily ever after. Weddings were a big part of her job, after all.
It was just that when a guy you’d whispered love words to talked about the possibility of an accidental pregnancy, shouldn’t he say something tender? Something like Please don’t worry—I’d never leave you to deal with it alone. Or maybe, You know how much I care about you. Or how about a real stretch? It’ll be okay, Grace, because I love you.
Then she asked herself, was she expecting him to do it all when she still hadn’t been completely honest with him? After all, the secret of who she was wasn’t shameful. It was just weird and complicated. She had no idea how he’d react. Would he let it out? Would Grace Dillon vanish as she became Izzy Banks all over again?
She opened the shop a little early, tidied up and made herself a list, and the top of the list was a visit to the clinic. She refreshed the water in the flowers in the cooler. She’d go see Peyton as soon as the clinic opened to get it over with. When she heard the bell to the shop’s front door jingle, she peeked out and almost had a heart attack. There stood Peyton! She had a sudden irrational fear that Troy had called her, told her to go take care of Grace.
“Are you all right?” Peyton asked. “Did I startle you or something?”
“I just... I mean, I was just going to walk down to the clinic to see if you were available. What a coincidence!”
“I’m totally available,” Peyton said, smiling. “Scott’s covering for me. What’s up? You feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” Grace said. “But why are you here?” she asked.
“Well, Scott and I plan to get married on my folks’ farm in late April. Everything will be blooming and there will be a lot of fruit blossoms involved. Is there enough time to talk about some other wedding flowers?”
“I’ll have to check my book—I have a couple of weddings in April. But there’s plenty of time to order and make up arrangements and bouquets,” she said happily. This was her comfort zone. While she talked flowers, she’d work on her confidence. After an hour of flower talk, she’d be ready. “What have you got there?” she asked, indicating a flat box Peyton held under one arm.
“Some pictures. I know—usually the florist shows the bride-to-be flowers. But a wedding on the farm is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. The pear trees will be in full bloom. If it’s a warm winter they’ll start early and if it’s a late spring they’ll just be starting. My mother’s gardens will be blooming and so will my aunts’ and cousins’. When a Basque girl gets married, everyone brings flowers and food.” She laughed a little. “Even when the girl is thirty-five!”
“It doesn’t sound like you need me,” Grace said.
“But yes, I do. Let me show you.”
“Come on back,” Grace invited. The worktable was still clean because it was early. Grace only had a couple of orders to make up later, to be delivered tomorrow.
They sat at a corner of the large table and Peyton leafed slowly through a lot of loose pictures, describing them as her brother’s wedding, her oldest sister’s wedding, her youngest sister’s wedding. “She got married quickly—no pear blossoms for her. We had to order from the flower growers. I thought my mother would have a stroke over that—her baby, getting married off the farm. To add to the insult, she married a chef and he insisted his restaurant cater. The fact that I’m finally getting married, in late spring, on the farm—it goes a long way to helping her get over it.”
“These pictures are gorgeous. They should be published,” Grace said. The trellises were adorned with blossoms, and the women wore flowers in their hair. The tables sitting outside for the reception had arrangements on each one. The women carried beautiful bouquets and the buffet table that held enough food for an army also displayed roses, gardenias, cherry and pear blossoms, hydrangea, roses, baby’s breath and rich, dark fern. It was a fortune in flowers, and a great deal of work. More than Grace could possibly manage alone. “You’re right, I’ve never seen anything like it. Who did the flowers?”
