Grounded (12 page)

Grace was tempted to turn on the TV to get a weather update, but Jeff no sooner ended one call and pulled on the socks, than he made another. Retrieving her laptop from the bedroom, she set it up on the kitchen table and checked the weather online. Oh, brother. Looked like the snow would continue well into the night, with at least twelve inches accumulation.

She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out.
O-kaay
. If Jeff couldn't get his rental car out of its parking space … she was looking at having company for the next twelve to fourteen hours at least.

Overnight.

“Grace?”

She jumped at the sound of his voice. Jeff Newman was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, phone in one hand, scratching the back of his head with the other. He looked incredibly sheepish. Or frustrated. Some of both.

“I'm really sorry about this. I thought I'd left enough room to get out of my parking space, even with the snow, but a couple of cars parked after me and boxed me in. On top of that the tires started spinning, digging a rut. I had to quit before it got worse. But even if I get out, there's that mess at the end of the street …”

Grace just nodded. “Uh-huh,” she said finally.

“Look,” Jeff said, sliding his phone into his pocket. “I'll go back out and see if I can find someone who knows whose cars are boxing me in. Maybe if we get one car moved, we could get mine out.” He gave her a questioning glance. “Uh … any chance you'd recognize the cars? Know who they belong to?”

She shook her head. “I'm sorry. With all my travel, I'm not home enough to know the people on the street very well, much less whose car is whose.”

“Oh. Okay. Well … I've got a carry-on bag in the car with a change of clothes. Got a pair of gym shoes in there. Think I'll change first and then knock on doors … Oh, thanks for hanging up my jacket.” He took it off the back of the kitchen chair where she'd hung it and went for his shoes by the front door.

He was back in five minutes. “Got a place I can change?” Grace showed him to the guest room, but the moment he closed the door she rued her decision. Hopefully he wouldn't open the closet door and see her wedding dress hanging there—

Grace! What's the matter with you?
So what if he sees the wedding dress. At some point he'd have to know her wedding plans were on the rocks—unless he really was clueless that she'd been engaged. Either way … so what? Her personal life was her business, and it was only his business to the extent that it impacted her career—which, she had to admit, it did. But only in the short term. She
would find a way to spin her concert message so it made sense. Or change it all together …

She heard the guest-room door open and Jeff appeared in the living room in jeans, denim shirt, navy fleece vest, and gym shoes. He was holding her thick socks. “Here … thanks. I had a pair in my bag. And, hate to ask, but—” He also held out the charcoal slacks he'd been wearing. “—do you have a dryer I can toss these into? These pants are pretty damp.”

Grace laughed. He looked even more boyish now. “I do. Here, I'll take them. You go see what's what about the car. But you know you're just going to get those dry clothes wet pushing cars around.”

He grinned. “Well, at least I can throw the gym shoes in the dryer. Don't try it with my leather ones.”

Adding the soggy pair of socks he'd taken off earlier to her armload, she headed for the clothes dryer in the basement, even as she heard the front door open and close.

With Jeff's slacks and socks tumbling cheerfully on Warm, Grace decided to change out of her own business casual and get into some jeans. And she might as well gather up her dirty laundry and start a load to kill time until he got back with a report about the car situation. While she was in the basement loading the washer, she heard her ringtone going off faintly somewhere—where in the world had she left her phone?—but decided to let it go until she got back upstairs.

But once back on the first floor, she couldn't find the phone. Not in the kitchen … not in the living room …
ack!
This was awful. She needed her phone. Then, miraculously she heard the strumming guitar again. Following the sound, she found her cell phone at the bottom of the laundry hamper. Good grief.

She had two voice-mail messages. One from her parents and one from her brother. Probably just concerned, wondering if she was okay. But she didn't want to call them back right now—not with Jeff Newman coming back in soon. She wasn't quite ready to try to explain what he was doing here. She'd just send a quick text to both of them, let them know she was hunky-dory, and she'd call later.

Besides, it was already five o'clock. She ought to think about fixing something for supper. For two.

She was casing the refrigerator, trying to figure out what kind of meal to throw together, when Jeff came back in, stomping his feet on the doormat and shrugging off his jacket. “No luck. Nobody's out shoveling because it's still coming down. I did knock on a few doors, but nobody seems to know whose cars are boxing me in. One guy, Jewish fellow I think, had those curly sideburn things—” Jeff circled his forefinger near his ear. “—said sometimes people in the next block park in this one since it's not as crowded.” He held up his damp jacket. “Where do you want this? Kitchen again?”

She nodded and led him into the kitchen, where he draped the jacket on the back of a chair and sat down to take off his gym shoes, now also wet.

“What about the fender bender at the corner?”

Jeff shrugged. “Still a bottleneck. More than a fender bender, because there's a cop car there, and at least one of the cars is pretty banged up. Looks like a third car slid into the first two. Cars coming down that street are having to back up and go around some other way. Cop said they're waiting for a tow to clear out the cars.” He snorted. “Yeah, right. Good luck.”

Grace held up a bag of tortilla chips and a can of refried beans. “You okay with nachos? I think I've got all the makings to make it a main dish.”

“You've already fed me once today … look. Let me call the towing company again, and see if they can still come out tonight. If so, maybe I can return the car and get a hotel out by the airport. I'm going to miss my flight anyway, might as well get out there, see if I can get standby.”

She opened the can with the electric can opener. “Fine. But in the meantime, we're going to eat. All we had for lunch was salad, and I, for one, am getting hungry. Go make your call. Nachos coming up.”

By the time Grace heated the refried beans and set out the makings for do-it-yourself nachos, Jeff had once again tried the three original towing companies plus a few others from the Yellow Pages. “Can't
believe it,” he said, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. “I either got a busy signal, or my call went to voice mail, or no one answered. Now I
am
hungry.” He surveyed the outlay of tortilla chips, bubbling refried beans, grated cheese, chopped tomatoes, sliced green onions, sliced black olives, and jars of sliced jalapeños and chunky salsa in the middle of the table. “That looks great … uh, you go first.”

“Okay.” Grace piled cheese on a layer of tortilla chips, zapped her plate in the microwave until the cheese melted, and then added the other condiments. “Go for it,” she grinned.

Her phone rang again as her accidental supper guest started his own pile. She pulled the phone out of her jeans pocket and glanced at the caller ID … what?
Roger!
“Uh, excuse me a moment,” she said and took the phone all the way into the bathroom. If she didn't answer, he might show up at the door like he had last weekend. That would not be cool. Not tonight.

“Hello?”

“Grace! So glad you answered. Are you okay? This is turning into quite a storm.”

“Uh-huh, I'm fine. Everything's good.”

“Your voice sounds better.”

“Yeah, thanks. Getting there.”

“Well, don't try to go out. It's a madhouse on the tollways. I left my car at work and took public transportation. Even that's crawling.”

“Smart.” But she felt annoyed. What made him think he could tell her what to do? He'd butted out of her life. Let him stay there.

“You need anything?”

“No, I'm good.”

Silence stretched on the other end, but she didn't try to fill it.

“Well, okay. I just wanted to check, make sure you were all right.”

“Well, I'm fine. Thanks for checking.” She hung up first. But she stood still in the bathroom for a few moments. Hearing his familiar voice, his concern for her, touched something. She'd kept her answers short, no more than necessary to be polite … but it had been all she could do to not fall into the cozy chitchat that had characterized their phone calls so many times in the past.

He still cared. Why else would he call to check on her?

Shaking off those thoughts, Grace strode back into the kitchen, where Jeff was lofting a loaded tortilla chip from the plate and into his mouth. “'Ou caug' me,” he mumbled, mouth full, grinning. He sucked stringy cheese off his fingers, chewed, and swallowed. “Everything okay?” He made a “phone” out of his thumb and little finger and held it to his ear.

She nodded, sticking her plate back into the microwave for half a minute. “Uh-huh. Just a friend, making sure I'm okay.”

Jeff regarded her as she sat back down. “‘Friend' … as in, your fiancé?”

Grace caught her breath. Where did
that
come from? She finally blinked. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “Fowler told me you were engaged. And I saw some of your recent New Year, New You shows—amazing what you can find on YouTube—trying to get up to speed before we met. You talked freely about your engagement to … Roger? Is that his name? But have to admit I'm a little confused. You haven't said anything about your fiancé all day. And then I realized”—his eyes dropped to her left hand—“no ring. I just wondered …”

Well, there it was. The elephant in the room. She looked down at her plate of uneaten nachos. “The engagement's off. That's why I'm not wearing the ring.” Was that enough? “It only happened a week ago,” she added, her voice suddenly husky. “It's … hard for me to talk about.”

Jeff seemed taken aback. He spread his hands out contritely. “Grace, I am so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. It was just, you know, so public, but today …”

Argh! Those darn tears
. Grace fished for another tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “It's all right,” she whispered. “I … I should have said something.”

Jeff cleared his throat and stood up. “Look, I think I should get going. You've been kind to put up with me, but … the weather's not your fault, my rental car being stuck isn't your fault. I should go.” He picked up his dishes and set them on the counter. “Thanks for supper.
But, uh, if I can get my slacks from your dryer, maybe I can call a taxi to take me to a hotel and sort out this rental-car thing tomorrow. Unless you know of a motel or hotel within walking distance.”

Grace blew her nose and frowned as he pulled on the leather jacket that had been hanging on the back of his chair. “Wait. Just … sit down a minute, will you?” She needed to get herself together.

He hesitated a moment, but sat down again.

She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “There are no motels or hotels within walking distance around here, so scratch that. And given the state of the roads until the snowplows get out there, even getting a taxi is going to be a gamble. So don't do anything stupid.”

“Stupid?” he repeated, with a slight laugh.

Which sparked an embarrassed giggle. “Okay, I meant, don't do anything rash.” Did she know where she was going with this? There was only one option that made any sense. “You need to wait for the tow truck, and I've got a guest room. So just take off that jacket and wait this thing out. And those …” She pointed at the wet gym shoes he'd taken off. “Take them down to the basement and throw them in the dryer so you'll have at least one pair of dry shoes the next time you go out—dry for five minutes, anyway.” She gave a little snort. “You know you're playing Russian roulette with your clothes.”

Jeff reached for the gym shoes with a resigned grin. “Yes, ma'am. If you're sure about the guest room. So, where do I register for Hotel Meredith?”

“Ha. This is a bare-bones operation. No complimentary robe, no chocolate on the pillow, wait your turn for the bathroom.” Now that she'd accepted the inevitable, offering hospitality to a business associate stuck in the storm didn't seem like such a big deal after all. “But we do offer entertainment—how about a game of Scrabble? But I'm warning you: the Merediths take no prisoners.”

Shouts … an engine being gunned … BANG!
…
metal hitting concrete …

Grace sat up with a start. Daylight filled the bedroom. What was all that noise? Better be the city snowplows clearing Beecham Street.

She threw back the covers and headed for the hall in bare feet and nightshirt—but stopped short.
Wait
. She wasn't alone in the house. Jeff Newman had spent the night and was hopefully still asleep in the guest room. They'd played Scrabble till almost midnight.

Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt—at least long enough to find out what all the commotion was outside—Grace once more headed out of her bedroom. Was that coffee she smelled?

She glanced at the schoolhouse clock as she came into the living room. Nine thirty? How could she have slept so late? Only then did she realize her guest was standing at the front window of the living room, drapes pulled back, coffee cup in hand. “Oh—good morning. You're up.” Her first words of the day came out hoarse. Not surprising. All that laughing and talking last night.