A Home by the Sea. Christina Skye

Grace. I can’t tell you or my family or my friends. That’s the bottom line. And if that bothers you too much—”

      “It does.” She looked up at him. “But I can live with it.”

      Noah’s eyebrow rose. “Don’t look now, but we might actually be making some progress.”

      Grace couldn’t help smiling as Noah reached behind her and turned up her collar. Snow drifted down and swirled around them and somehow the normal, average night felt a little magical.

      “Could be,” she whispered.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      WITHOUT A WORD Noah took her hand and tugged her down the street. He stopped at a window filled with cupcakes, pastry, ice cream and brightly colored gelato. Grace was mortified when her stomach growled loudly. “Here? For dessert? But I haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

      “Tonight, why not live dangerously? Have dessert first. I take you for a pistachio with chocolate sprinkles kind of girl.” One eyebrow rose. “Am I right?”

      It ruffled Grace’s feathers that he had pegged her perfectly. “Why?”

      “Pistachios because they are rich but subtle and have an unusual color. Chocolate—well, because you’re alive and it’s there.”

      She couldn’t let him be smug. “Maybe. But not tonight. I’ll try cappuccino fudge raisin. Or maybe a lemon gelato.”

      “Sounds tempting.” Noah frowned as she shivered. “Is it too cold out here?”

      “No. I love this. I’ve missed snow. Come to think of it, I really miss the water, too.” She felt a little tug at her heart, remembering foggy dawns gathering driftwood with her grandmother and sunset camp-fires roasting marshmallows on the beach. Growing up in Oregon, there were things she had hated about Summer Island. But now, as an adult, Grace saw just how special her childhood had been, perched on a quiet island beside the ocean. Not that it was perfect. Not given the mother who usually had no clue that Grace existed, drifting from bar to bar in an alcoholic haze.