Grace

 

I could barely move when I woke up. My ass felt like I’d taken a train, my pussy aching so bad as I got out of bed.

Brett was sleeping soundly. It was earlier than the alarm, the light a dull silver through the window as I stepped on over.

I felt different. Alive and raw and perfectly sore. But most of all, I felt loved. Maybe now more than ever.

I’d been loved my whole life, from my incredible parents to my awesome sister, through my gaggle of school friends to the man who’d love me since my teens. The idea of never having experienced love that could stand the test of time was a tragedy I couldn’t fathom, not for the life of me. The prospect of expecting nothing more than a life of self-serving coldness was enough to bring a shiver to my spine.

The toughest shells hide the softest creatures, and the smallest dogs often have the loudest barks.

The bark of Thomas Heath was pretty damn loud, especially with the boom of hard cash to back up its volume, but I couldn’t help thinking this was maybe deceptive. An illusion I was only just beginning to glimpse beyond.

Maybe he was one of those delicate souls in a bitter barricade. Maybe fate had brought him here to find help in the most unlikely of places, just like he’d offered it to us. A silver lining under a very ominous cloud.

Of course, there was the possibility that I was overthinking things and he really was just a selfish cunt, as Brett would say, but I couldn’t shake it off. I watched the sea crash along the shore outside, the life his dirty proposition had saved for us, and I couldn’t deny the urge to help him right back.

Sometimes help comes from the strangest directions. Hell knows, we’d discovered that for ourselves. Maybe he’d discover it too.

My husband woke with the alarm and reached across my empty side of the bed in his quest for me. He raised his head once he discovered my absence, and I greeted him with a smile from my place at the window.

“Hey,” I said.

“Morning, gorgeous,” his sleepy voice welcomed. “How are you feeling?”

My walk must have said it all when I crossed the room back to him. He pulled a grimace on my behalf as I fell into his arms, but I didn’t want his sympathy, I wanted his promise for more.

Just not today.

Today was about recovering. About a quiet hotel day with our happy guests and Thomas Heath.

I was humming all the way through my shower, soaping up Brett and giggling as he soaped me up right back with tickling fingers. My mood was light and easy, genuinely happy after months of tension, and so was his. It was in his eyes, his smile, his silly gestures. It was in the way he stared at me in the mirror while he brushed his teeth and I towelled down. It was in the way his hand took mine once we were dressed and heading through to the kitchen, his whistle bright as sunshine as he dug out the supplies for breakfast shift.

I liked all this. I liked it a lot.

And I especially liked Thomas Heath’s appearance at the breakfast table shortly before nine. He took a newspaper from the rack and set himself down at a window seat, spreading it out over the lap I’d ridden so thoroughly the night previous, and I approached with a confidence I’d never known in his presence, my smile bright and easy as I asked him for his order.

“What’s it going to be? You must have quite an appetite.”

His smirk was back on his face but not convincing. “Several of us have quite an appetite around here it seems.”

“Must be the sea air,” I said, choking back a ridiculous giggle. I wasn’t a giggler, not even in high school, not really, but the urge was intense, laughter threatening to spill loud and dumb through our breakfast room. I guess that’s what true happiness does to you.

He leaned toward me, his beautiful face cocked just right to catch the morning sunlight. “The sea air and one horny little pussy, Mrs Foster. I’m now well aware why your husband has been so keen to keep hold of you all these years.”

There it was again, the allusion to the past in his words. Nothing concrete, but still it was undeniable. My belly fluttered with a whole host of nervous vibes, but loudest amongst them all was that knowing, knowing that he knew us, just as Brett had said.

That’s what had me reaching for my mobile phone just as soon as I’d scribbled down his order for a full English and retreated into reception.

I opted for a text message, seeing as my sister was rarely on social media.

Any news on Polly Piper? Thomas Heath is back here. I need to know ASAP please xx.

I hadn’t so much as made it through to the kitchen with the order book for Brett when the buzz struck up in my jeans pocket.

He’s back?? Wow. I’m on it. Kids have been crazy and she wasn’t in the bakery last week. Sick or something. I’ll head down there this lunch and put her on the spot.

I loved my sister. The string of hearts and kisses in my response must have made that clear enough to her, too.

Maybe Polly Piper would lead to nothing, especially now they were no longer friends on social media. Sarah may draw a blank and we’d be back to the drawing board, but the tickle up my back dared to hope for more.

I shared the news with Brett when I handed Heath’s order over and he quirked a brow.

“Let’s hope she strikes gold. Her digging skills better be good.”

I nodded. “They run in the family.”

He smiled at that. “You’re in the wrong career. Fuck hotel management, you should retrain to be a detective.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said that. I waved him off like always, wondering afresh whether this was really the right gig for us. We were still doing shit on our search for a chef, our bookings picking up to steady, but still on the rocks with that shitty hotel opening down the road.

I guess I was still wondering about the finer details when I headed out to Heath with his morning coffee. His eyes ate me up as I placed his mug on the table, this time without the crappy little sachets of sugar he despised.

“Penny for them?” he asked, and I met his gaze before deciding he sounded genuine.

“Just a penny?” I replied, a smile on my face as I dropped into the seat opposite. I was done with the cruddy barriers and suspicions between us. He was him and I was me, on home turf, struggling to keep this place on its feet and done with dancing around the fire of his crazy games.

I took a breath before I answered him, watching his well sculpted fingers as he took his mug and lifted it to his lips.

“Your money helped, but this place still needs work.”

He swallowed his first sip of coffee, avoiding his grumble at the quality. “This place is doomed with the hotel opening down the coast,” he told me, and my stomach tightened. “You’ll waste money trying to save it. You’ll waste time trying to hang on. Not just you, but everyone else in this village alongside you.”

“You don’t know–” I began, but he carried on talking.

“I do know,” he said. “I’ve been dissembling other businesses for years. First that rival hotel will open and bring bargain seekers flooding in. The chain stores will follow, lapping up the new trade and choking out the established businesses. You’ll have cheap arcades and ice cream vendors. Chain grocery stores and budget boozers. This place has numbered days ahead, I’d be making the most of them if I were you, with one eye on the exit.”

“There is no exit,” I told him, and my voice was much huskier than I intended. “We’ll never sell this place for what we bought it for, even if we wanted to, which we don’t.”

He tipped his head. “Then get out as quickly as you can.”

I shook my head. “Brett would never leave.” I paused, deciding whether I should really spill this stuff to someone who seemingly wanted to destroy us. I opted to carry on, unsure what difference it could possibly make. “The inheritance from his dad paid for it. His dad was…” I tried to weigh up the words.

“Was what?” he asked, shifting forward in his seat with more interest than I’d have anticipated.

His eyes were wide and focused. His stance attentive in a way I’d never seen.

Maybe he wasn’t all that bad. Not really.

Maybe I could tell him. Should tell him.

Maybe he’d be able to help me unravel all this sorry shit and wade through to safer turf.

“His dad was demanding,” I finished. “That won’t come as much of a surprise, I’m sure. I mean, you’ve seen Brett. He’s competitive to the max. Always trying to be a winner, no matter what the odds.”

“Competitive is one word for it,” he said. “I have plenty of others.”

“That’s rich coming from the guy who offered us obscene money to destroy our life.”

“Not your life,” he replied. “Just your marriage.”

My eyes were wide and focused right back on his. “That is our life.”

Something moved in his eyes before he looked away. He stared through the window at the waves, and I stared at him. Something was happening, to the man who’d rocked up on our doorstep with a proposition of filthy insanity. Maybe to us too, but definitely to him. I couldn’t put my finger on what that something was, or what it meant, but it was there, skirting at the edges of whatever messed-up connection we were developing here.

Moving figures took my attention. Two boys running along the railings with their buckets and spades swinging wide. I couldn’t hold back the smile as their poor mother dashed along after them.

That should be me one day, chasing after our children, right here, in this place we loved so much.

“That’s what you want, is it?” Thomas asked, clearly reading my thoughts. “A perfect little family in this perfect little cove?”

“No family is ever perfect,” I told him, which was certainly true. “But I want my own little imperfect family in this perfect little cove, yes.”

He didn’t say a word, so I continued with mine.

“My sister has two girls, they love it here. Seeing the magic in their eyes as they shape their dreams out of sand down there is one of my greatest treasures. They’re amazing. Their imaginations are amazing. I hope we get our own slice of the same incredible cake one day.”

Still he said nothing. Again I continued, this time with a question.

“What about your family? What are they like?”

I waited for his answer, still smiling as the boys disappeared from view.

“I don’t have a family,” he said finally.

I felt it like a shard of glass in my chest, his words clipped and curt. Dead.

“Not anyone?”

He shook his head. “A mother who doesn’t count for much.”

“No father?” I asked, and he shot me a glare.

“A string of potentials. Nobody who gave a shit enough to stick around.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it.

Our moment was disturbed by Brett’s heavy footsteps. The full English in his grip was stacked high today. I couldn’t help but notice the extra rashers of bacon and the double helping of toast.

“Thought you might be hungry,” my husband announced as he placed it in front of our guest with a thump.

I could’ve hugged him so hard, thanking my lucky stars that I was blessed with such goodness in my world. Brett caught my expression and matched it with a smile of his own.

“You two dirty kids having fun plotting the rerun?”

I laughed, but Thomas didn’t.

“No,” I said. “We were talking about families.”

“And you’d better leave our guest to enjoy his food,” Brett told me, and held out his hand.

I glanced at the other man before I accepted, but his eyes were still on the front outside, staring into nothing. Distant.

He was still staring into nothing as we stepped away, and again as I poked my head around the kitchen doorway amidst loading the dishwasher with Brett.

It was only when I stepped out to fetch his breakfast plate that I registered he’d disappeared, no sight of him anywhere in the dining room or reception as I headed back to his table.

He was gone, but his breakfast wasn’t.

His food had barely been touched.

Just like his black-hearted soul.