Half Moon Harbor (9 page)

At the very least, he needed to make sure they could stand together against any intrusion Cami might make with a prospective third, fourth, or fifth buyer whose vision neither he nor Grace could control. Grace wouldn't want to risk the quaint harbor idyll she envisioned for her quiet little inn any more than he wanted anyone else messing with his property.

He had to convince her that he was the one least likely to infringe on that idyll—whether or not it happened to be true. One part of Grace's learning curve she'd yet to embrace was that, by their very nature, there was nothing idyllic or particularly peaceful about shipyards. He had to make sure he'd secured the deeds to his family's property before that reality became unavoidably apparent.

G
race felt him before she saw him. It didn't seem fair that she was so in tune with a man she'd done nothing but try to erase from her mind for the past two weeks. Even worse, her heart picked up an extra beat.

Whomper, of course, had no such conflicting emotions. With a bark of pure glee, he made a mad dash across the plank flooring to the open panel doorway as Brodie entered the cavernous boathouse space.

“There's a lad,” he said, wide grin on his too-handsome-for-his-own-good-face. He patted his chest and Whomper accepted the invite without a moment's hesitation, launching himself from floor to arms in a single, well-timed bound.

Grace might have sighed a little inside, thinking how nice it would be to leap into those arms every day.

After a good belly scratch, Brodie plopped Whomper back on the ground and picked up a hank of canvas sail fabric that had been tied into a knot in the middle and clearly chewed on. Grin broadening, he heaved it across the open warehouse space and Whomper tore after it with utter canine abandon. Brodie glanced up and caught her gaze for the first time, and Grace thought,
he makes for a pretty picture, but that's all. Remember that.

“Top o' the morning,” he said, still grinning as he approached.

“Hello yourself,” she said, doing everything she could to stamp out all the little butterflies flitting about her heart, not to mention the zips and zings that went straight to her tingly parts. And failed miserably across the board. That grin, those eyes, that accent. She'd hoped she'd romanticized the whole morning-in-his-boathouse chemistry thing. Apparently, she hadn't done it enough justice.

He gave a quick glance around the empty building. “Crew all done for the day? Or have you been making all that noise down here by yourself?”

“Curiosity finally get the better of you?” she asked, smiling despite herself. Damn Irish charm. “Yes, the crew is done for the day. I know it doesn't look like anything yet, but we're in more of the ‘figure out what we can restore and tear out what we can't' phase, than doing anything particularly constructive. Or reconstructive, I guess I should say.”

Brodie made a slow turn and stared up and around the warehouse-size boathouse. “What in the world made ye look at this place and envision an inn of all things? Why not take over one of the historic old homes and renovate it? Dress up all the bedrooms, install a few extra bathrooms, expand the kitchen a bit. Charming, quaint, historic, traditional.”

“Who said I wanted to be traditional?”

“I believe you did. You said you planned to honor the Monaghan history.”

“Oh, I do. Very specifically, in fact.” She followed his gaze, knowing she saw something completely different from what he saw. “I know it will take longer and involve more, but I'm not afraid of the work.” It was what came after the work that terrified her. “I will honor this place's history, and charming will definitely be part of the appeal, but quaint?” She scrunched her nose a bit. “Mmm, not really what I had in mind. If we're going to transform a boathouse, then I want to do something to reflect its original function.” When Langston had sent her rough sketches of his initial ideas on how they could transform the cavernous, open space into nautical-themed, loft-like spaces, a thrill like nothing she'd ever experienced shot straight through her. It was like passing the bar exam on her first try. Times a hundred. Thousand.

“I came here with the idea to build something. Not just renovate or restore, but to create. My original plan was to look at land and build my own inn from the ground up. Something that was purely mine from the start.”

“I'm on board with that idea.” The dry note in Brodie's tone carried humor and a hint of resignation.

Was that what he'd come to tell her? That despite wishing otherwise, he'd resigned himself to the way things were? She hoped so. She shot him a wry smile in return, but didn't apologize again. What was done, was done.

“When I got here and saw the historic architecture and how important preserving traditions were, I wanted to celebrate that and build on it, instead. I want to find a way to blend tradition and innovation.” She smiled. “Ironically, when Cami showed me this place, her suggestion was to tear it down and build myself a brand-new little harborside inn. The property, the placement, the footprint, all would have supported that.” Grace caught the way his facial expression tightened, but he didn't otherwise say anything.

“From the outside, the property was a long-abandoned, run-down boatyard—at least as far as I knew—so I actually considered the idea. I wasn't sure it was salvageable. Then I walked inside.” She did a slow turn and gazed up into the open space, the wide-beamed ceiling area, the thick, weathered hardwood planks that made up the interior walls, the wide and timeworn cypress boards beneath their feet, and felt the same wired mix of adrenaline and fear simultaneously knot up her gut and exhilarate every nerve ending. Along with all the other tingly bits percolating inside her body, it made for an almost light-headed rush, and she spoke from her heart, without thinking.

“This place has such character and heart. After Cami had said it was part of founding the town centuries ago, I knew I couldn't tear it down. But I couldn't walk away from it, either. Initially, I think I connected to it because of my own feelings about being on the water and how that makes me feel. Though I've never spent time in boathouses this size, I've spent a lot of time in and around them. There's a comfort there, a security for me. I'll always feel like I'm where I belong.”

She continued her slow scan, her thoughts spinning to the past and to the future. “It all came together from there. That once there had been meaning to this place, an important, vital one that had helped launch this town and build it into what it has become today. It's hard to wrap my head around that, to really understand that kind of time span.

“I came here because I don't have that history, not the traditions nor the ties, much less any kind of legacy to pass forward. Shipbuilding isn't the backbone of this town now, but the town still thrives. Past, present, and future, all wound together, each part vital to the other. I knew there had to be a way to take what had once been so important and make it useful again. In doing so, I can create my own place in the legacy and history of this town. Preserve and renew.”

Her gaze landed back on Brodie and she felt immediately abashed at gushing the way she had. “I know I'm the last person you think should be spouting about the importance of this place. It probably seems the height of patronization or . . . or worse. But I assure you, it's not. I know you don't care what I think or feel, and I get that, but surely my motivation, my passion, seeing the possibilities and feeling the drive to do something about it, is something you can relate to.”

“Aye.” He continued to look at her, his gaze so direct and intense it was as if he'd pinned her right to the spot where she stood.

She didn't know what he was thinking, if the emotion she could see banked in those storm-tossed-sea eyes was because he related to her professed passion, or if it was barely restrained fury that she had the audacity to think she had any right to be there.

He abruptly went back to looking around, and she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. It was as if he'd physically released her, and she felt surprised that she hadn't stumbled at the force of it.

He shifted his gaze to her. “I don't know that my vision is quite as . . . creative as yours.”

Her mouth dropped open, surprised by the dry humor, the casual observation. Stunned, actually. Given what she'd seen in his eyes, she'd expected derision at worst, dismissal at best. She noted the tension hadn't left his jaw or the set of his shoulders.

She could understand that. It couldn't be easy for him, but he was clearly trying to find a balance. She wanted that, too. “I've spent the past two weeks asking myself what kind of crazy person does this, but I guess the crazy person turned out to be me.”

There was no trace of humor. The set of his jaw, the impenetrable look that was still in those green eyes, and the way he naturally commanded attention made her body tighten all over again—not necessarily in a bad way. Her fingertips tingled and twitched. There was something primal about the way he looked at her, and animal attraction was part of the equation. A really, really strong part.
Dammit.

“You know I come from a long line of shipbuilders,” he said at length, finally glancing away again, but not releasing the tension between them. His legs were braced apart, the balance in his hips. His folded arms showcased the musculature of his shoulders, his chest, and the bunched-up curve of his biceps. “In my case, you could say the passion for what I do, for what I create, is in the blood. I don't know that it makes me or my ancestors any less crazy for pursuing our dream, but . . . I'm merely following the course they've already laid out for me, doing what I do best.” His gaze lifted, locked on hers again, and though his tone was casual, conversational, the flash in those green eyes felt anything but. “Is that how it is with you, Grace? Long line of innkeepers dotting your family tree and you're abandoning a law career to embrace your true nature?”

“I-I don't know, to be honest.” She hoped she didn't sound as breathless as he was so effortlessly making her feel. “I mean, yes, I'm giving up estate law to run an inn. But I don't know anything about what my relatives did or didn't do.”

Whatever answer he'd been expecting, that apparently hadn't been it; he looked surprised. “You said you had family here in Maine. So what is it they do, then?”

She paused for several long seconds, trying to decide what she wanted to tell him, but it was hard to think, hard to process the bigger picture with Brodie's penetrating gaze feeling as visceral as a physical touch.
What is really on your mind? Why have you really come to see me?

For the past two weeks, Grace hadn't heard a peep from anyone at the county municipal building, Sue at the bank, Cami, or anyone else on the town council regarding the sale, so she'd assumed all was well with her ownership. If Brodie had made a flap of any kind, it hadn't filtered down to her, so she'd decided to let sleeping dogs lie and focus on her own business.

Not that that had kept her from thinking about him. Thoughts of him, of their conversation, his sexy brogue, the mischievous glint in his eyes, and that knowing smile invaded her brain. The way he'd rubbed his thumb over her palm, those ridiculously thick eyelashes he'd peered through before kissing her hand . . . all of that had plagued her waking hours. She was more than a little ashamed to admit it had interrupted a fair share of her sleeping ones, as well. Given the hundreds of details she was trying to keep track of every day and the sheer exhaustion she'd felt when she'd fallen into bed at night, the frequency and manner in which he still dominated her thoughts should have been impossible.

Looking at him and feeling every fiber of her being respond to him as if he'd kept her on edge the entire time—maybe her constant thoughts of him had done just that—it was just as well he'd stayed away. Everyone in town knew about the sale of the boathouse. Once she'd hired the guys who were helping her do the preliminary assessment and clear out the unsalvageable, it hadn't been a full day before folks began stopping in to say hello and introduce themselves.
Get a peek at what the crazy lady from D.C. was up to,
she'd thought at first, but they'd all been polite and not overtly nosy. Mostly curious.

No one had asked if she and Brodie were working together or getting along. No one had commented on the two of them together in any way, for that matter, which was a relief, but also kind of odd considering she'd bought a piece of property that had never been out of Monaghan possession before. Maybe Mainers were so well mannered they kept their speculation private. She wasn't sure.

She'd done her own bit of poking and prodding, of course, trying to figure out how Brodie fit into the fabric of the town. At the moment, that was as unclear as it had been the day they'd met. Well, except if her visitors were female—age didn't matter—a certain wistful little look would pass through their eyes if she managed to find a way to inject his name into the conversation.

The silence between Grace and Brodie grew awkward, but she didn't want to talk about her family, such as it was, and she didn't know what else to say. Since her arrival, she'd done a bit of digging on Ford, mostly accessing county records, that kind of thing, but hadn't reached out to him yet. It turned out her brother didn't own a cell phone and there were no landlines on Sandpiper Island, where he was presently living and working. She knew it would be better to simply show up than try to contact him first and give him a chance to reject her straight out. Again. Given the location, showing up was going to take some doing.

Instead, she'd opted to get her project underway so he'd know she wasn't going anywhere and he'd have to deal with her at some point. He'd shut her out of his life completely for the past thirteen years. Longer, if she counted his time overseas. And she counted all of it. Every last day. He'd probably think her insane, making the leap into the unknown as she had. But to her mind, it wasn't any different from the one he'd made when he'd relocated and started his life completely over.

Maybe that was the other family trait they shared . . . impulsive, big-ass life changes. But, impulsive or not, he'd stuck by his choice and he'd find out she was going to stick by hers. And stick by him. Like it or not, he was damn well stuck with her. The sooner he accepted that, accepted her, the better off they'd both be. She firmly believed that. She had to. She'd just bet her entire future on it.