tracing the crumpled edges of the sign she’d turned over years ago when it had been her job to help Aunt Louise open up and close. Just a sign. A battered, old, faded sign. And suddenly, it meant the world to her because it was part of her life with Aunt Louise.
“Grace?” Louise said.
“Sorry.” Grace sniffed. “I was making sure the lock was open.” She wiped away her tear.
“Sarah and the kids will be here anytime now. It’s Annie’s birthday, so they’ll want some of my newest creations.”
Louise moved her walker over to the chair she’d pulled up to the counter, where the old cash register still sat. It was a monster antique with tabs that would make a muscle-builder’s biceps flex, yet her aunt had refused to give up the old thing.
“I see you’re not computerized yet.” Grace chuckled.
Louise swatted the air with her palm and slapped her thigh as she eased into the chair. “Good heavens, of course I am. In the office. But out here, everyone likes reminders of a bygone era. They come here for this old register. That and the pumpkin-spice and gingerbread-nut ice cream I make every autumn.”
Grace’s heels clacked against the century-old walnut floorboards. She took off her jacket and hung it on a peg next to the wide window with the gold lettering announcing the seasonal offerings.
“I hate to have to thrust you right into work, Grace,” Louise said. “But it couldn’t be helped. Sarah and the kids...”
“Please, don’t apologize, Aunt Louise. I’ll be fine.” She shoved the sleeves of her black sweater to her elbows, revealing at least nine bracelets on each arm. She went to the sink and washed her hands. Under the counter glass was a group of photographs of the sundaes. “Let me study these for a sec.”
“It’s the Monster Mash they love. I serve it in those big round dishes. Six scoops of ice cream slathered in hot fudge with whipped cream piled eight inches high. It feeds four.”
“Thank goodness!” Grace laughed as the front door opened and nearly a dozen children rushed in. Maddie held the door as Sarah Jensen Bosworth walked in behind them. The kids raced to their favorite tables and picked up the menus, challenging each other as to who could eat the most ice cream.
Grace hugged Sarah and as much as she wanted to catch up, the kids were shouting out their orders and Maddie said she had to rush to get Louise to her rehab appointment.
“I’d better get to work,” Grace said.
“You haven’t had a chance to take a breath,” Maddie said. “Not even change or freshen up.” Maddie’s eyes traveled from Grace’s seven strings of pearls, crystals and gold ropes around the banded neckline of the black knit sweater, to her houndstooth wool pencil skirt and fringed black boots. “I wish I knew how to put something together like that.”
“Thanks,” Grace replied, basking in the twinkle of appreciation. “That means a lot to me. A lot.”
Maddie hugged her, then tilted her head toward Annie and Timmy Bosworth and Danny Sullivan, who were waving huge spoons up in the air. “They look like they’re about to revolt.”
“I’m on it.” Grace smiled and went straight to work scooping six kinds of ice cream into Monster Mash dishes.
After serving up over half a dozen massive concoctions, her hands sticky and nearly frozen, she lost track of time. She was halfway into the refrigerated bin, trying to dig out the last of the pumpkin-spice ice cream when she felt the counter reverberate.
“Where’s Louise?” a raw, deep male voice asked.
“She’s at the doctor.” Grace lifted her head and looked into the Mediterranean-blue eyes she’d never forgotten. Mica. Her heart stopped. She was staring, but she couldn’t help it. “Rehab. Her back...”
“I heard,” he said sharply. He peered at her, taking inventory. “You’re new here.”
He didn’t recognize her. She should have figured that one. Why would he remember her? She had changed a lot in twelve years. A whole lot.
With the force of a tsunami, the memory of the pool party at the Barzonni villa hit her. The “gang” had all been there...Sarah Jensen, Maddie Strong and all the Barzonni brothers—football star Gabe, horse-lover Rafe and Nate, who only had eyes for Maddie.
And then there was Mica. The most handsome of all the blue-eyed, black-haired, sun-bronzed boys.
Mica had exuded the kind of perfection Grace had been trying her whole life to achieve. He was strong, quiet and arrestingly handsome.
And after a game of swimming-pool volleyball, Mica had kissed her. She remembered the chlorine smell mixed with suntan lotion, the warmth of his lips on hers. It was a quick kiss. One without passion or longing, and yet, to this day, she’d never forgotten it.
Nor had she forgotten his disdain of her pageant life and his dismissal of her interest in fashion. He hadn’t been cruel, but he’d made it clear he thought her pursuits were worthless.
She hadn’t known how to stand up to him back then. He was three years older and as much as she had wanted to rebuke him, she’d felt there was truth to his arguments. He and his brothers worked from dawn to dusk on the farm. There was always back-breaking work to do and they did it gladly. Mica considered it a privilege to be a part of his father’s legacy.
At Parsons and later in Paris, Grace had learned that Mica was right about one thing: determination and perseverance were everything.
Mica Barzonni had changed her life back then, though he didn’t know that. Several times over the years, she’d thought about writing to thank him. But now she saw how truly inconsequential she’d been in his life. Obviously, he didn’t remember her in the least. He was a Barzonni, after all. He already had everything.
Even now, her heart hammered in her chest. Suddenly she was that teenage girl again, crushing on the boy in the pool. She hadn’t been in love; she’d been too young for love, hadn’t she? Mica had given her no indication that she was anything to him other than a pest. Except for that one kiss. She was only a girl he’d met one summer...a long time ago.
She stared back at him. He wore dusty jeans, a faded plaid shirt, an old wool vest that she would have trashed and scuffed boots with dirt clods clinging to the heels. There was an oil smudge on his forehead. He looked like he’d walked right out of the fields. His hand rested on the counter, where he’d dumped a big canvas sack.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Pie pumpkins for Louise. My mother said she called and needed them ASAP.”
“She didn’t tell me.” Grace added a final scoop to the sundae she’d been working on, but the dish was overloaded and another scoop fell out. She shoveled it back in and patted it down.
“You need some help there?” He smirked.
Grace stared at him. “I’m fine.” She plunged the dipper into the hot fudge and drizzled it over the ice cream. Glancing at the photo of the Monster Mash, she took a can of whipped cream from the under-the-counter refrigerator and pulled off the cap.
“You’re supposed to shake it up first,” Mica said.
“I know what I’m doing,” she snapped. Grace pressed the top and sprayed whipped cream all over the ice cream, the counter and onto Mica’s plaid shirt.
He groaned. “Yeah, right.”
“Sorry,” Grace said sheepishly, handing him a dish towel.
“You should’ve shaken the can,” he growled. “I would have thought Louise would hire someone with skills.”
Under Mica’s judgmental gaze, Grace felt as if she was fifteen again. Back when she’d just lost the crown and had felt terribly insecure. She’d given her heart away to Mica and he hadn’t known the first thing about