Page 113 of Calling the Shots

I let out a long, slow breath. I always loved my nana and she loved me. The real me. Mack, not Ulysses Fauntleroy McIntire III.

Just Mack.

My mother recognizing that Gracelyn deserves those earrings is huge.

Fucking monumental.

My heart cracks open a tiny little bit, just enough to see my mother for the first time in a very long time.

A mom wanting to reconnect with her son.

Even if that means coming down to Thunder Creek and meeting me on my level. A level she’s not comfortable with and never will be.

“Thanks.” I reach across the table and grab my mother’s hand. It’s warm and soft and smaller than I remember.

She lifts her eyes to mine, shiny beneath the pendant light above the table.

“I really am sorry, Ulysses. I hope this can be the beginning of something good. I’ve missed you.”

Squeezing my mom’s hand, I nod. I doubt we’ll ever be the matching PJ family, sitting around the kitchen table playing UNO until midnight.

But this feels like a pretty great start.

CHAPTER38

GRACELYN

Christmas is a week away. I have one last appointment before I hang up my stylist apron for the holiday break.

Of course, the appointment’s running late.

Dammit.

All I want to do is go home and take a nice hot shower, wash away the knots in my shoulders then snuggle on the couch with Mack. He promised he’d watch a cheesy holiday movie with me—his words, not mine—and I’msoready for it.

The door chimes and I check my watch. Fucker’s ten minutes late. I’m not even certain who’s showing up. My mom booked the appointment last minute, before she headed out the door for a White Elephant gift exchange with her book club.

“About damn time…” I mutter under my breath, spinning to face the tardy client.

And there’s Mack, in jeans and a button down, looking fine as hell.

“Well, hello there, handsome. You’re not my 6:30, are you?” I peek around his shoulders, trying to see if anyone else came in behind him.

“I am. But I don’t need a haircut. Close up shop—we have plans.” He shoots me a grin, all white teeth and gorgeousness, and heat unfurls in my belly.

I love this man.

Who would ever have thought my mom’s broody next-door neighbor would be hella romantic?

I hurry to close up, clicking off the lights and locking the door. Mack grabs my hand and together we walk down the steps.

“Where are we going? What are we doing?” I’m practically bouncing with excitement as we walk down the sidewalk to his truck. I love surprises.

“Thought it would be fun to catch the lights in town. See the Christmas tree. I know how much you love the holidays.”

He helps me into the truck, then we take off into the night. He turns on the radio, Parker McCollum singing about being my man, and I sink back into the comfy leather seat, happy and content. We drive through the neighborhood, every house lit up with holiday lights, a few lawns sporting those gigantic inflatable snow globes. Nobody does Christmas better than Thunder Creek.

Mack takes a left turn, then another left, until we’re in the center of town. He parks at the square and together we walk across the lawn toward the giant Christmas tree.

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