If he thanked her again—
“Thanks.”
She found his suit jacket, her hands shaking. “Get out.”
He frowned. “Why are you so upset? I thought you wanted this—”
“Get out!”
“Wow. Okay, fine. Way to turn a good time into something creepy.”
Her eyes burned even as she opened her door to him.
Owen strode past her. “Welcome to Deep Haven. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
She followed him to the front door, nearly slammed it, and locked it behind him.
Clearly she’d read Owen—and his family—completely wrong. If she never saw another Christiansen man again, it would be too soon.
The thought of sandy beaches should not produce a panic attack. Nor should it make a gal tangle herself in her quilt, staring at the ceiling fan all night.
As if she were slated for execution in the morning.
Now Grace could hear them—the voices of her family drifting up the stairs to the second-floor bedroom she shared with Eden and Amelia—but the thought of turning down their gift kept her glued to her bed.
She was ten again, on the eve of summer camp.
She would simply tell them . . . no. No, she couldn’t go, didn’t want to go. Thank you, but no.
Grace listened to the shower in the bathroom at the end of the hall turn off, waited until the door whined open, then propelled herself out of bed.
When all the Christiansens decided to return home, the lineup could take hours. And she had to get this over with.
By the time she grabbed her bathrobe, however, someone else had commandeered the room. She sat in the hallway until the door opened again. Casper walked out, looking freshly shaved, his dark hair in wet curls, wearing a gray Go Fishing or Go Home T-shirt over cargo shorts. “All yours.”
Grace grabbed a clean towel and emerged twenty minutes later from the small upstairs bathroom. She should get her own apartment, but her parents hadn’t exactly kicked her out. And she’d appreciated the opportunity to save for culinary school.
Ha.
She pulled on yoga pants and a T-shirt and padded downstairs. Her mother stood at the granite island counter dressed in a pretty yellow shirt, chopping up an apple, orange slices, and fresh pineapple. She’d shoved almond milk, spinach, and kale into a blender.
“What are you doing?” Grace asked, going around her in search of coffee. She found dregs, still warm, in the bottom of the twelve-cup pot. Glanced at the clock. Apparently the frenzied week before the wedding had finally crept up on her.
“Making a green smoothie. I read about it online.”
Grace watched as Ingrid dumped the fruit in on top of the vegetables. “A green smoothie?”
Ingrid slid the lid on, held it, turned the blender on high. Raised her voice. “Yep. I think it’s time for us to expand our palates. And eat more whole foods.”
Grace pulled out the coffee filters, lifted out the old, and inserted a new one, then measured a new batch of coffee grounds. She spotted Amelia and Eden on the deck. Took a breath. She had to tell them now, before everyone dispersed for the day.
Her mother poured a glass of horrid-looking lime-green froth.
“Mom, no,” Grace said as Ingrid handed it to her. “Absolutely not.”
“Just try it. Live dangerously.”
“I like safe.” She turned back to the counter. “Where’s the toaster?”
“I put it away to make room for my Vitamix.”
“But I like my morning toast.”
Ingrid threw more fruit in with a couple handfuls of spinach. “No more toast. We’re going green.”
“I miss my donuts,” Grace said.
“You’ll thank me someday.”
She followed her mother outside, where the wind meandered through the trees, adding a pine scent to the morning. The promise of blue skies suggested a triumphant Memorial Day. A year ago, the resort would’ve been full—or maybe Grace should think back further, to the days of her childhood when the parking lot would start filling up every Friday night, to the big bonfires down at the lake, to her mother’s chocolate chip cookies and s’mores by the fire.
Now the place seemed almost barren, dormant as new plants struggled for life after last summer’s fire. Darek and Casper had managed to construct seven new cabins over the course of this year, and the redolence of sawdust hung in the air. Thankfully, the forest fire had spared the lodge; she wasn’t sure where she might have landed if God had taken that from her.
At the picnic table on the deck, Eden paged through a bridal magazine, Amelia looking over her shoulder.
“I like this one—look at that train,” Amelia said.
Grace slid onto the bench beside them, glanced at the picture. “Too much tulle.”