Heart 0f Mine (Secrets 0f Savannah Book 6) Page 6

  “Morning,” Hope murmured, feeling unsettled by Grayson’s chipper greeting. Why did he always act as if they were old friends rather than two people who were at odds over property?

  “This is Marisol Cantana. She’s our mediator,” Grayson said, gesturing across the table to the dark-haired woman with the great smile. Marisol nodded in her direction and they exchanged pleasantries.

  Grayson pulled out a chair for her and she quickly sat down, desperately trying to push away her anxiety. She turned toward Grayson, who seemed to be watching her like a hawk. Immediately her nerves skyrocketed. “Thank you,” she said with a nod.

  Grayson sat down in the seat next to her. She felt her eyes widening. Wasn’t he supposed to be sitting across from her?

  “I don’t think we need to sit across from each other like adversaries. Do you?” he asked. His blue-green eyes were like deep pools in the ocean. She looked away, fearful she might be pulled in like the effects of a whirlpool.

  “N-no, this is fine. I have to tell you that Callie was supposed to join us for the meeting but she’s too ill to attend,” Hope explained. Suddenly she wished one of the other co-owners had been available last minute. How in the world was she going to handle this by herself?

  “That’s fine,” Marisol said in a friendly voice. “So it’s just the three of us then. I think this serves as the perfect opportunity for the two sides to talk about what they hope to accomplish today.” She jutted her chin in Grayson’s direction. “Since you filed the action why don’t you go first.”

  Grayson splayed his fingers out in front of him. His hands were beautiful, much like the man himself. And as an artist, he used those powerful hands to create beautiful images.

  “I explored mediation because I came to the realization that a court case could get ugly and divisive and costly for everyone. I don’t want that. I didn’t file the suit for malice. I’m trying really hard to be a better man in my life. God wouldn’t want us to get embroiled in a nasty, bruising court case.” Grayson was staring straight at her as he spoke. Hope tried not to fidget or look away from him. There were so many ways this man made her feel ill at ease.

  “Well then what was it all for?” She blurted out. It had been the big, burning questions for months. Why had this man sought ownership of Savannah House? He must have an ulterior motive.

  “I filed the suit because I wanted to connect to my roots. My origins. Savannah House was created by my great-grandparents. It’s a legacy. A footprint of my ancestors and where I came from. I’ve never had that before.”

  “We still haven’t seen any proof of any actual ties to Miss Hattie.” Hope tried her best to make her voice measured and even. She didn’t want to disrupt the meeting by telling Grayson she thought his claims were as reasonable as a pig having the ability to fly.

  Grayson reached into his pocket and pulled out a document. He slid it across to Hope. She stared at the piece of paper. Shivers raced across her back. She didn’t know how to explain it, but she felt something was about to shift in her world. The words Hattie Alexander jumped out at her. Father—Samuel Blythewood. Baby Boy Patrick Alexander.

  Hope let out a cry. Seeing Miss Hattie’s name on the birth certificate was startling. She sucked in a deep breath, knowing that from this moment forward the narrative about Savannah House and Miss Hattie’s legacy would be forever altered.

  “Is this…does this belong to your father?” she asked, trying to keep her composure. “Did he give this to you?”

  “It came from him,” Grayson said, his expression shuttered. “He didn’t exactly give it to me.”

  “What does that mean?” Hope pressed. “Did you just take it?”

  Suddenly, his expression was sheepish. “My father doesn’t want me to go down this road. He hasn’t helped me very much in my pursuit of the truth.” He reached out and tapped the birth certificate. “So yes. I took it without getting permission.”

  Hope raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.”

  “I don’t consider it stealing,” he said in a curt voice. His posture became rigid. Hope could hear a defensive note in his voice. “I have every right to know who I am. Everyone has that right. My father only tracked down this version of his birth certificate a few years ago. Before then it was a mystery.”

  “How do I know your father is baby boy Alexander?”

  He reached in to his file and pulled out another document. “This came from the Home for foundlings. My father was adopted out of that foundling home. It’s the paperwork my father found at his adoptive parents’ home after they passed on. Look right here.” He moved his seat closer toward her and leaned in, tapping his finger against the paper. “Baby Boy Alexander’s adoption date from the home, along with his birth date and the name of his adoptive parents. Those are my grandparents—they raised my father. There’s no disputing that and I can provide evidence if you need it.”

  Hope’s heart sank. The documents appeared to be authentic. Grayson seemed self-assured and matter-of-fact. Grayson did have ties to Savannah House and Miss Hattie. It was too much of a coincidence that Grayson’s father possessed documents that shared so many similarities. Birth dates. Place of birth. Suddenly, everything appeared way more complicated in her world.

  “No,” she said in a soft voice. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” Her heart was beating like a jackhammer. Grayson wasn’t just some interloper trying to scam his way into Savannah House. More and more he was looking like the real deal.

  “Okay, let’s not get off track,” Marisol advised. “Grayson, those papers establish a possible link to Savannah House, but it doesn’t necessarily mean you are entitled to inherit a piece of it.”

  “I know that,” Grayson said. “And honestly, I’m not sure I even want that.”

  Hope felt as if her eyes might pop out of their sockets. Had she heard him right? “You don’t? What do you want then?”

  “For starters, I’d like someone to show me around the resort. I’d like to feel welcome there and to be told the history of the place. I want to know about Miss Hattie. What she was like? Does anyone know anything about my grandfather? Am I welcome to take a walk in the gardens of Savannah House without being given the boot?” Grayson locked gazes with her and raised his eyebrow in a pointed manner. She got the message loud and clear. He was referencing their run-in from the other day.

  “Hope,” Marisol said from across the table. “Does that sound reasonable to you? Would you be willing to meet Grayson halfway in order to resolve things amicably?”

  Hope bit her lip. Her mind was whirling with a hundred different thoughts. She felt a huge weight on her shoulders. She alone was serving as the sole representative of Savannah House during this meeting. So much hinged upon it. It would be a wonderful feeling to head back to Savannah House with good news. And squashing this lawsuit before it made headlines in Savannah was paramount to their continued success.

  She nodded her head at Marisol. “Yes, I’d be willing to explore things further and try to accommodate Mr. Holloway’s wishes.”

  “Grayson. Remember. We decided you were going to call me Grayson.” The rich timbre of Grayson’s voice caused her to swing her gaze back in his direction. She was almost sorry she had done so. His eyes seemed to bore straight through her.

  She nervously placed a stray strand of hair back in place, trying not to lose herself in Grayson’s gaze. “Yes, excuse me. I forgot. Grayson.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Marisol’s voice oozed with excitement. She pulled some papers from a file. “I’d like to get both of your signatures on these documents. It’s basically just agreeing to work through the mediation process rather than head to court.”

  Marisol pushed the papers in Grayson’s direction. For a few minutes he scanned the pages, then carefully placed his signature at the bottom. He slid them toward her, a smile gracing his lips. “Isn’t it nice we can be friends now?” he said in a teasing voice.

  Something about the way he said it—in a flir
tatious tone—made her cheeks feel flushed. Marisol was watching her carefully from across the table. Something flashed across her face. She seemed to be studying her reaction to Grayson. No doubt Marisol harbored an interest in Grayson. If things were different, perhaps she would too, Hope realized. Not that she was ready to head back into the dating pool. She was still too traumatized from her relationship with Ross. Some scars took years to heal. And some never completely went away.

  As Hope signed the paperwork as owner of Savannah House, Marisol gathered up the papers, stuffed them back in her file, then called the meeting to a close. She and Grayson would have to decide the next steps. Suddenly, in Marisol’s wake, the room felt way smaller than it was in actuality. Since he was sitting so close to her, Grayson’s arm hovered within inches of her own. Being alone with him made her feel vulnerable.

  Lord, please give me protection from these feelings Grayson stirs up inside me. The last time I had feelings like this it ended disastrously. I got my heart broken into a jillion little pieces. And I’m still broken from it, Lord. I don’t need another charmer to twist my heart into knots.

  She could feel Grayson staring at her. “So, are you hungry?” he asked.

  “Not really,” Hope fibbed. Right at that moment her stomach groaned loudly, eliciting a wide grin from Grayson. His pearly whites were now on full display. Perfect straight white teeth. It wasn’t fair. This man had been blessed with looks for days.

  “I think your stomach disagrees with you,” Grayson said. “How about we head out to grab some coffee or an early lunch.”

  “I can’t,” she said quickly. “I have to get back to Savannah House.”

  Grayson frowned and looked at this watch. “It’s only eleven-thirty. This meeting was really quick, so I’m sure the girls aren’t expecting you. You can tell me your favorite restaurant and I’ll take you there. My treat.”

  Hope was famished. Once again she’d forgotten to eat in her zest to get ready for this meeting. Knowing Grayson would be in attendance had created a desire within her to look as attractive as possible.

  More grumbling noises emanated from her stomach. Grayson tried in vain to hide his laughter behind his hand. He looked like a little kid up to mischief.

  “Okay. We can go grab something for lunch.” She rubbed her belly. “I am really starving.”

  The look of happiness etched on Grayson’s face made Hope feel ten feet tall. “You just made my day!” he said in an excited voice. He stood up from the table and grinned down at her. Grayson held out his hand. “Shall we?”

  **

  Hope agreeing to have lunch with him felt like he’d made a touchdown at the Superbowl. He hadn’t given himself the best odds at accomplishing the seemingly impossible task. Hope seemed very skeptical about him, but earlier at the mediation meeting he’d seen signs of her thawing out. Perhaps it had been the moment he’d shown his cards and revealed he had no interest in claiming the resort.

  Hope offered to drive them over to her favorite lunch destination. When they pulled up to an establishment in the historic district, Grayson drank it all in. The sign out front read “Heavenly Soul.” The medium-sized red house with the wraparound porch was inviting. It reminded Grayson of a wonderful house right by the water in Oak Bluffs. It had plenty of appeal.

  “What kind of food do they serve?” he asked, his appetite suddenly going into overdrive. All he’d eaten this morning was a bowl of cereal and a banana. Normally he ate a full breakfast of eggs, sausage, toast and bacon.

  “Soul food,” Hope said.

  He chuckled. “Guess that was a stupid question, huh? I suppose the name says it all.”

  Hope closed her eyes and let out a moan. “Soul food that makes you want to do a little dance it’s so good. I can almost taste it on my lips.”

  “Wow. That’s resounding praise,” Grayson said. “I have to admit, I’ve never had soul food before.”

  Hope’s jaw dropped. “Stop it. Seriously. That’s not even funny.” She studied his expression carefully. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you? You’re a soul food novice.”

  “Yes,” Grayson said with a nod. “I am.”

  “Extraordinary. Don’t they have soul food in Massachusetts?” Hope said in a teasing tone. He could tell she was having a little fun at his expense, but he didn’t mind. It was nice seeing her more relaxed in his company. And the way her face lit up when she laughed. It made him want to sketch her—to create a masterpiece with just a little charcoal and his sketch pad.

  Grayson laughed. “I’m sure they do, but I just haven’t had the opportunity.”

  “Well come on then,” Hope said, beckoning him toward the restaurant. “You can thank me later. Your world is about to be rocked.”

  “That’s a pretty serious promise,” Grayson said, holding the door of the restaurant open for her. Hope walked past the threshold and greeted the waitress by name. The vibe inside was down-home and intimate. It had the flavor of one of those old roadside cafes. Delectable aromas wafted in the air. The place was packed with guests, even though it wasn’t even noon yet.

  “Sit wherever you like, Hope,” the waitress said. She winked at Grayson when Hope wasn’t looking, letting him know she found him appealing.

  Grayson shook his head. He wasn’t one who enjoyed being chased by women. He liked to do the chasing, which had always been a bad habit of his. He usually found himself bored when the thrill was gone. It wasn’t something he felt proud about. In fact, he knew he’d hurt a lot of people with his behavior. Even himself. Recently, he’d made a promise to God to change his ways. He yearned for something more meaningful, something that could sustain him for the rest of his days. A woman who could kneel beside him in prayer and make spaghetti and meatballs with him on a Friday night. He was tired of feeling alone.

  The waitress handed them menus then took their drink orders—a root beer and a cream soda. As soon as she walked away, Hope began to giggle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Myrtle. Our waitress.” She jutted her chin in Myrtle’s direction. “She was a little bit obvious toward you. I think she was making goo goo eyes at you.”

  Grayson wrinkled his nose. “I noticed. She wasn’t very subtle. And she’s not my type.”

  “Poor Myrtle,” Hope said, still laughing.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me what my type is?” Grayson lobbed the question at Hope.

  Hope buried her nose in the menu, studiously ignoring him. “It’s none of my business.”

  Grayson leaned across the table. “I like dark-haired women with feisty personalities and deep brown eyes. Ideally she’d be average height with a nice personality and gorgeous bone structure.” Slowly, the menu came down so he could now see Hope’s face.

  She scowled at him. “Is this your version of flirting with me?”

  “It’s my way of telling you I find you very lovely. From the first moment I saw you I felt an attraction.”

  Hope’s cheeks appeared flushed. He knew he was putting her on the spot, but life was too short to play games. He wanted Hope to know he was interested in her. Now that things weren’t so tense about Savannah House, perhaps she could relax in his presence.

  She ran a hand through her long hair, then locked gazes with him. “Grayson, I don’t really know to respond to that. I’m flattered, but—”

  Hearing the word “but” made him feel a little bit deflated. “But what? You don’t find me attractive? I’m not your type?”

  Hope let out an unintelligible sound. “Do I find you attractive? Did the sun rise this morning? You’re the most eye catching, jaw droppingly handsome man I’ve ever seen. Bar none. I think a blind person would find you attractive.” Hope let out a little laugh.

  “Now you’re going to make me blush,” Grayson said, his heart swelling to a gigantic size inside his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman’s compliment had affected him in such a ridiculous way. He felt like he could soar if he spread out his arms and flap
ped them around a bit.

  Hope rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve heard it a million times.”

  “But not from you, which makes it all the more special,” Grayson said.

  Myrtle suddenly appeared at the table with their drinks. After placing them down on the table, she pulled out her pen and pad. “Ready to order? We have some specials today. Seafood gumbo. Shrimp and grits. And the fried chicken with collard greens. All the lunch specials come with cornbread and one of our sides.”

  “Mmm. Everything looks good,” Hope said as she continued to eyeball the menu. She closed her menu. “I think I’m going to order the fried chicken and collard greens with a side of rice and beans. Two pieces of cornbread.”

  Grayson nodded approvingly. He loved women who had healthy appetites and could order food with zest. Hope fell into that category.

  Myrtle turned to him. “And what about you, handsome? What are you having?”

  He closed his menu. “I’ll have what she’s having. The lady knows soul food.”

  Grayson wasn’t entirely sure, but Myrtle looked a tad disappointed as she turned away from their table and walked toward the kitchen. Hope’s expression was bemused.

  “So can I take you out sometime? Dinner? A little jazz music? Dancing?”

  Hope twiddled her fingers. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Give me one decent reason,” he said in a blunt tone. If he was going down in flames, he was going to put up his dukes and fight it.

  Hope opened her mouth, then quickly closed it. Her brow was furrowed. She seemed to be trying to come up with some excuse to not go out with him. “I think we should keep a professional distance. Nothing has been resolved about the lawsuit.” She bit her lip. “No one would understand if I suddenly went out on a date with you. I can’t jeopardize my friendships and my standing at Savannah House.”

  “We’ve just agreed to handle things amicably. Neither side wants a lawsuit. I just want some insight into the Alexander family and their legacy.”

  “So are you saying you filed the lawsuit for that reason?” Hope pressed.