Page 47 of Calling the Shots

“Oh. Yeah, that’s a tough one.” I sneak a quick glance at her, the apples of her cheeks rosy, a beam of sunlight dancing across her thigh.

“What?” She knocks me in the arm.

“Just admiring you.”

“St-op.” Gracelyn draws out the word, rolling her eyes and blushing. “What made you get into carpentry? Your love of drilling, pounding, and screwing?”

I chuckle. “Something like that. I always loved working with my hands and building stuff. I used to woodwork with my grandpa. Seemed like as good a job as any and I was pretty good at it.”

“I saw the bookshelf you built for Josh and Lindsey in their nursery the other day. It was lovely.”

“Thanks.” Pride fills my chest as I pull up to the curb, dropping her off directly in front of the salon. “I wanted the two of them to have something special. For the baby.”

She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “That’s so sweet, Mack.”

I shrug, playing down my emotions. “Don’t tell anyone. Can’t have my tough guy reputation getting tanked.” I wink as she hops out of the truck, slamming the door closed behind her. “How long you working today?”

She pauses on the sidewalk to check her calendar. “My last client’s at five. Should be done around seven.”

“I’ll call you after work then.”

In one quick step, she leans through the open window of the truck and kisses me on the mouth. She tastes like vanilla, her lips soft and warm.

“Have a great day, Mack,” she murmurs.

“You too, Firecracker.”

Then she sashays up the stairs and disappears into the salon, leaving me wanting more for the first time in as long as I can remember.

* * *

The weekend passes by in a blur of Gracelyn. We talk, watch television, eat some food. Mostly, though, we spend a lot of time kissing and naked in bed.

It’s the best weekend I can remember.

Monday rolls around and I feel like I have a Gracelyn hangover as I settle into the work week. I slog through the day, finally finishing the cabinets I’ve been working on for what feels like months. Then I go over to the high school for football practice. We’re wrapping things up when Carter asks Baker and me about our plans for the evening.

“You boys in for the game tonight?” Carter ties the mesh equipment bag and peers in our direction.

Nine times out of ten, at least one of us joins him for Monday night football. But hanging with the boys isn’t on my agenda this evening.

“I have tests to grade, sorry. Wish I could. See y’all later.” Baker jingles his keys and waves goodbye, not looking overly apologetic.

“Mack? You in?” Carter cuts his eyes at me, adjusting his ball cap.

“Can’t. I have to make a delivery after practice.” I scrub my hand over the back of my neck and avoid eye contact. Last thing I want here is an interrogation.

“That shouldn’t take too long. You could always head over once you’re done.” He shoves a hand in his pocket and waits.

Shuffling from foot to foot, I try to figure a way out of the situation. I don’t want to bring up Gracelyn yet—the whole thing’s too new, too fresh to be a topic of conversation. Not to mention I still feel weird dating the best friend of his daughter.

“May take a while.”

“Hmmm…” Carter presses his lips together, searching my face for answers.

I squirm under his intense stare, kick at a loose patch of grass with the toe of my sneaker.

“Where’s the delivery?”

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