Page 72 of Calling the Shots

“What? Really? Is it serious?” Her voice tips up, intrigue traveling straight through the line.

“Yes, really. And we’re tracking that direction.”

“Who is she? What does she do? She’s not local, is she? Please tell me you didn’t meet her on some god forsaken dating app.”

I thrum the wheel, a tension headache brewing.

“No dating app. Gracelyn is a local, not that it matters. She’s pretty and smart and funny.”

“You must bring her to Thanksgiving, Ulysses.”

Oh no.Hot dread fills my gut, temple full-on throbbing now. The last thing I want to do is torture Gracelyn with my insufferable family.

There’s a reason I left Augusta. And that reason is them and what they represent.

Old money. Elitism. Exclusivity.

Everything I despise.

“I don’t know, Mother. It’s the holidays, she may already have plans.”

“You haven’t discussed the holidays? You absolutely must negotiate logistics if you’re serious about this Grace girl. I deserve to spend the holidays with my son as much as she does.”

For fuck’s sake.My mother’s getting up in arms about the division of holidays and she hasn’t even met Gracelyn yet.

Maybe if I take her home with me, rip off the Band-aid, we’ll start the relationship with my family on the right foot.

“Fine. I’ll ask her. But no promises. Like I said—I’m not sure if she already has plans.”

“Please let me know by Wednesday, Ulysses. I need to tell the chef how much turkey to prepare.”

I roll my eyes, grateful I’m not on Facetime.

“Of course. I’ll ask her and get back to you ASAP.”

“Wonderful. I very much look forward to meeting Grace.”

“Her name’s Gracelyn.”

“Right. Grace-lyn.” She puts heavy emphasis on the ending. “I do hope to see both of you soon. Have a good night, Ulysses.”

And with that, she clicks off, leaving me sitting speechless in the dark.

Oh shit.

Now I need to convince Gracelyn to come home to Augusta with me for Thanksgiving, otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it from my mother and the relationship will be damaged before she’s even met my family.

Holy hell.

I debate calling her right now, but this is probably a convo best had in person. Then I spot Baker and Carter walking into Mustang’s—I’ll have to chat with Gracelyn later.

Shoving into the bar, I immediately notice it’s a lot less crowded than the last time we were here. To be fair, it is a Monday night.

Carter and Baker have seats at the bar and beers already in hand. I sidle up, taking the spot next to Baker.

“Hey, boys.”

“I was wondering if you were punking us.” Baker glances over his shoulder, beer bottle raised. “Thought you weren’t gonna show.”

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