Damaged Memories

Part 22

It was the first Saturday in March when Grace swung out of bed with a feeling that it was going to be a great day, her step bouncier than usual. Perhaps it was because she and Patrick had spent the past two weeks making up for lost time after his memories had returned, deciding to spend another five blissful nights at the lighthouse before they'd returned home to LA and moved Grace and her belongings back into his house, where they belonged. When she hauled back the curtains in the bedroom the ocean sparkled like a mass of a million diamonds under a clear picture-perfect sky and she smiled to herself, thankful to be gazing out to that view once again.

"Morning," Patrick said, startling her from behind. She spun around to see him leaning up against the doorway wearing only black boxer shorts, his rippling muscles and smooth chest making Grace immediately breathless. "Did you sleep ok?"

She laughed. "If you can call it that," she said, before she headed to the walk in robe and grabbed her running gear from the drawer, willing herself to take her eyes off the exquisite creature that was lurking in the doorway. If she didn't, there was every possibility that she wouldn't even make it out of the bedroom.

"You heading out for a run?"

"Thought I better, it's been a while. Care to join me? We can walk if you like?"

"Ah, no not today. I've got a few things I need to do," he said, averting his eyes from Grace, looking awfully suspicious.

"Ok, suit yourself," she said as she pulled on her running tights and made her way over to the bed with her running shoes.

"Actually, I have a surprise for you when you get back," Patrick said casually.

Grace frowned, immediately locking eyes on him. "I hate surprises, you should know that by now."

Patrick rolled his eyes and relented, perhaps because he knew by now that she'd never give up until he told her what the surprise was. "Fine. I've booked you a day with Tracey and her team, so you can get pampered."

"Are you serious?!"

"Absolutely. You're meeting them at eleven in her studio and they'll do your hair, a manicure, pedicure, whatever it is you ladies like," he said, gesturing to her from head to toe.

"What's the occasion?" she asked suspiciously.

"No occasion," he said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "You deserve it that's all."

"Ok, well, thank you," she said as she made her way over to him and placed an appreciative kiss on his soft lips.

He immediately slid his arms around her waist and returned the gesture, lingering for a long time, as if he didn't want her to leave. She knew that lingering kiss normally preceded the moment when he swept her off her feet and carried her back to bed, but today he released her and smiled, like he was giving her the cue to leave. So she did, patting him gently on the chest as she wandered from the room.

When Grace returned to the house later that afternoon she felt completely overhauled. Her long hair had been trimmed, layered and freshly coloured a deep chocolate hue, her eyebrows and eyelashes had been tinted dark to compliment her hair and her fingernails were now sporting a polished French manicure. She'd spent the majority of her time in the salon catching up on the trashy magazine gossip, including a number of articles about her and Patrick reconciling after the accident. Thankfully there had been no mention of Charlie in the magazines, because despite how much Grace despised what he'd done, she'd wanted to put that drama behind her so she'd insisted that his admission remain between the three of them and her sister. Perhaps the truth would surface someday – it normally had a way of revealing itself, but until that day came Grace refused to give the subject, or Charlie, the time of day.