cleaners. The leather dress shoes were beyond repair; he’d tossed them into the trash as soon as he’d arrived home following the zoo trip. “Just give me the bottom line, sweetheart. What am I in for this time? Don’t sugarcoat it, either.”
“Right, sorry. OK, here we go…wear something that can get dirty—better yet, tossed in the trash when we’re through—and plan to stick around awhile, because craft day usually devours most of the instructional time. Of course, I’ll mix in a little reading, writing, and arithmetic for good measure. That’s the bottom line.”
“So, no suits allowed?”
“No. Absolutely no Egyptian cotton dress shirts or pressed linen slacks. No polished Italian leather shoes. No perfectly-knotted silk business ties—unless you plan to dip them into the decoupage glue.”
“It’s easy to see why Gemma adores you.” Grant caught a lock of Maggie’s hair between his fingers and savored the silky texture. “I adore you, too.”
“Hmm…Would you like to—?”
“Kiss you again? Yes.”
“I was going to say walk me to my door, but your idea sounds better.” Her laughter echoed the soft melody of wind chimes. “So…”
Grant drew her in, nestling her close to his chest. He dipped his head, pausing to drink in the expressive blue-gray of her eyes. “I never imagined rolling up my sleeves for the zoo could lead to…this.”
Maggie’s slow sigh mesmerized Grant as she eased into him and murmured, “Lions, tigers, and bears…oh my.”
5
Grant tapped a pencil along the top of his office desk as he skimmed through a file for the most recent merger he’d been cultivating. This client proved to be particularly difficult, and Grant’s free hand splayed over his belly in an attempt to force back the stomach acid that had churned in a firestorm all morning. His lunch sat on the corner of his desk, still wrapped in the take-out bag, and he had no intention of diving into it anytime soon. If he didn’t get this project wrapped up and sealed by day’s end, he’d have to back out of his promise to help Maggie with the kids tomorrow.
And that was simply an unacceptable option. Grant looked forward to seeing her again, even if it meant sinking elbow deep into decou—whatever that was—with a tribe of over-active and highly inquisitive kids. And as far as Gemma was concerned, well, if Grant didn’t stay to help with the class project tomorrow, she’d be heartbroken. She was counting on him, and he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let her down.
Not like his dad had let him down on more than one heart-wrenching occasion. But those times were all water under the bridge and couldn’t be undone. There was no point in dwelling on things from the past that couldn’t be changed. Grant knew he had to focus on what could be changed.
Which brought his dilemma concerning the locket—Maggie’s locket—front and center. The silver piece sat on the kitchen counter in the ceramic bowl where he had a habit of stashing his wallet and keys when he returned home from work each night. And each morning, Grant meant to take the jewelry with him, to stop by the school and explain, face-to-face, how it came to be in his possession. But he couldn’t seem to make himself take that step, though he’d prayed about it at length. Perhaps if Maggie got to know him a bit better, she’d be less apt to judge him…to despise him for what he’d done. He’d tell her by Sunday, he promised himself. And then—
“Excuse me, Mr. Anderson?” Carol Voigt, Grant’s office administrator, rapped gently on the open office door before stepping over the threshold. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a neat bun and the wire-framed glasses propped atop her nose gave her a no nonsense aura. She was efficient, dependable, and kind beyond measure. Best of all, she’d been with him since the inception of Anderson Investments five years ago, so she knew exactly how things operated and what needed to be
“Right, sorry. OK, here we go…wear something that can get dirty—better yet, tossed in the trash when we’re through—and plan to stick around awhile, because craft day usually devours most of the instructional time. Of course, I’ll mix in a little reading, writing, and arithmetic for good measure. That’s the bottom line.”
“So, no suits allowed?”
“No. Absolutely no Egyptian cotton dress shirts or pressed linen slacks. No polished Italian leather shoes. No perfectly-knotted silk business ties—unless you plan to dip them into the decoupage glue.”
“It’s easy to see why Gemma adores you.” Grant caught a lock of Maggie’s hair between his fingers and savored the silky texture. “I adore you, too.”
“Hmm…Would you like to—?”
“Kiss you again? Yes.”
“I was going to say walk me to my door, but your idea sounds better.” Her laughter echoed the soft melody of wind chimes. “So…”
Grant drew her in, nestling her close to his chest. He dipped his head, pausing to drink in the expressive blue-gray of her eyes. “I never imagined rolling up my sleeves for the zoo could lead to…this.”
Maggie’s slow sigh mesmerized Grant as she eased into him and murmured, “Lions, tigers, and bears…oh my.”
5
Grant tapped a pencil along the top of his office desk as he skimmed through a file for the most recent merger he’d been cultivating. This client proved to be particularly difficult, and Grant’s free hand splayed over his belly in an attempt to force back the stomach acid that had churned in a firestorm all morning. His lunch sat on the corner of his desk, still wrapped in the take-out bag, and he had no intention of diving into it anytime soon. If he didn’t get this project wrapped up and sealed by day’s end, he’d have to back out of his promise to help Maggie with the kids tomorrow.
And that was simply an unacceptable option. Grant looked forward to seeing her again, even if it meant sinking elbow deep into decou—whatever that was—with a tribe of over-active and highly inquisitive kids. And as far as Gemma was concerned, well, if Grant didn’t stay to help with the class project tomorrow, she’d be heartbroken. She was counting on him, and he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—let her down.
Not like his dad had let him down on more than one heart-wrenching occasion. But those times were all water under the bridge and couldn’t be undone. There was no point in dwelling on things from the past that couldn’t be changed. Grant knew he had to focus on what could be changed.
Which brought his dilemma concerning the locket—Maggie’s locket—front and center. The silver piece sat on the kitchen counter in the ceramic bowl where he had a habit of stashing his wallet and keys when he returned home from work each night. And each morning, Grant meant to take the jewelry with him, to stop by the school and explain, face-to-face, how it came to be in his possession. But he couldn’t seem to make himself take that step, though he’d prayed about it at length. Perhaps if Maggie got to know him a bit better, she’d be less apt to judge him…to despise him for what he’d done. He’d tell her by Sunday, he promised himself. And then—
“Excuse me, Mr. Anderson?” Carol Voigt, Grant’s office administrator, rapped gently on the open office door before stepping over the threshold. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back into a neat bun and the wire-framed glasses propped atop her nose gave her a no nonsense aura. She was efficient, dependable, and kind beyond measure. Best of all, she’d been with him since the inception of Anderson Investments five years ago, so she knew exactly how things operated and what needed to be
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