The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(58)
Author: Alice Clayton

We chatted and laughed and giggled and swore as we made our way through the Hills of Beverly and on up to my house. As we turned on to Laurel Canyon and the trees closed in around us, I was reminded why I loved this street so much. Growing up in the Midwest, it was easy to think of L.A. as a very cheesy, very plastic, very shiny place. And it was, in certain parts. There was definitely some cheese in this town. But I truly believe you see what you want to see. And if you looked past that, L.A. was beautiful. The pocket neighborhoods, the architectural mishmash, the palm-lined streets. And then there were the canyons: Coldwater, Topanga, Benedict, and finally Laurel. There was something mystical about Laurel Canyon: the way it wound around the mountain, the houses dug into the landscape, the ancient trees, the stillness at night.

And there was my bungalow. Cozy and warm. When we pulled in, I sighed contentedly.

“Happy?” Holly asked as she shut off the engine.

I heard birds chirping. I inhaled and smelled…lemons.

“Hell, yes,” I answered.

She helped me get everything inside, then paused when she saw the Post-it on my fridge next to the picture of Jack and me in Santa Barbara.

“You wrote yourself a welcome home note?” she asked, laughing.

“I sure did. I knew I’d be coming back,” I said, gazing at the picture of me and my Johnny Bite Down.

“Okay, fruitcake. I gotta head back to the office. There’s a war going on about who’s gonna play the lead in some remake. Can you believe this town? Adios, asshead!” she fired over her shoulder as she walked to the front door.

“Adios, dillweed,” I shot back, and began to plan which bag to unpack first.

“Hey, Grace?” she said

I looked up at her. “Yeah?”

“Glad you’re back.”

“Me too, dear.”

I smiled, and she showed me her middle finger as she left.

I looked around, and my eyes settled once more on the Post-it.

“Welcome home, Grace,” I said out loud with a smile, and then I went to work.

Well, actually, first I just walked around my house for a while, overwhelmed by everything I had to do. But then I sprang into action. Thankfully, the housekeeping service I’d hired before I left had kept ahead of the dust, and the house was basically clean. But having never been lived in, it was missing some essential items. I put my clothes away and made a list. The list to end all lists.

After list-guided trips to Target, The Container Store, and Ralph’s, I spent the rest of the day and most of the evening putting stuff away and arranging. My things from storage were arriving the next day, and I was anxious to start hanging pictures and personalizing. But even now, my home was beginning to look lived in. Clothes hung in the closets. There was soap in the soap dish and peanut butter in the pantry.

At ten-thirty that night I stood in the shower with my eyes closed and my hands braced against the wall. I was beat. The strain and ache of the day had taken its toll, and my brain was still partially on East Coast time. I stood under the water, letting it beat down and wash away some of the knots in my neck. I mentally planned everything I still had to do, everything I wanted to accomplish before Jack came home tomorrow. As I packed my tired ass into bed, I started another list. Included in the boxes coming from storage were all my Christmas decorations, which would need to be put up. I’d done some of my Christmas shopping in New York, but I still had a lot to do. Before I turned out the light, I reviewed my list from earlier today, crossing out what had been completed, and adding to it a bit. I still needed to get my Christmas tree and get my boughs decked with holly. Holly the greenery, not the best friend…

As I settled under the covers, I heard my phone beep. A text!

Dorothy,

Just waking up. No clue what time it is or where I am.

France, I think? I’m connecting thru Chicago

and should be there sometime late afternoon.

I’ll call when I land. Can I come straight to your house?

Love you, and I miss your body as well.

Please say you will let me be on top of it soon…

Stanley Zbornak

Okay, I’d officially made him watch too much Golden Girls if he knew Stanley’s name. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

Chapter 19

The next morning I was up and out before eight a.m. I zipped through Starbucks to grab a Venti Carmel Macchiato with three sugars (a drink Leslie had started me on—I would really miss that little shit) and ran all day. I got all my errands finished and even managed to pick out a fantastic Christmas tree. If you shopped for a tree on the right side of Doheny (which I did), they’d deliver it to you! I also picked up a new iPod for Nick. He’d left his at the gym a month ago, and every email I’d gotten from him since lamented the loss. I even got him a Hello Kitty case, because I was a bitch like that. And I knew he would secretly love it.

I got home just in time to sign for all the boxes delivered from storage, and I set to work immediately. By early afternoon, it was really starting to look like my house. Pictures were placed, although not hung yet. Books were back on the bookshelves, dishes were in the cupboards, and I was a mess. When I got the text from Jack saying he was getting ready to leave Chicago, I knew I only had a few hours left, so I kicked it up a notch.

I got all my Christmas decorations out and arranged them around the house. I probably owned more Christmas decorations than anything else—more than half the boxes from storage were marked XMAS. I raced around like a madwoman with my ass on fire, and I finally placed the last Santa mug on the kitchen counter and hung the last of the stockings by the chimney with care. I had added a new stocking this year, for the Brit.

I glanced at the clock and realized Jack’s plane was due to land any minute. I quickly prepped the dinner I’d planned by dicing vegetables for the salad and setting the table. I wanted to test out my new gas grill and make Jack play BBQ man for me. I set out the steaks to take the chill off and was frantically chopping shallots for the salad dressing when the phone rang. It was the Brit.

“Hey,” I said, running around the kitchen like an insane person. I still had potatoes to peel and asparagus to clean. I was panting.

“Hey yourself. Are you out for a run?” he asked.

“No, just finishing up a few things. Where are you?” I asked, trying to slow my breathing.

“Just got in a car, and I’m headed your way. I can’t wait to see you, Gracie,” he said, his voice low and full of intent.

My heart flipped—at both his voice and the realization that he was so close and I still hadn’t had a shower. Why the hell had I decided to cook tonight? I should have just ordered from Chin Chin’s.