Page 1 of Grace on the Rocks

ChapterOne

As someone who once took comfort in books,Gracehad never realized staring at a whole wall of them could be so overwhelming.Thespines were lined up taunting her like a class of skeptical eighth graders on the last day before spring break.Shetook a deep breath, trying to center herself in the first calm moment she’d had all day, and twisted the oval-shaped stone in her pocket.Sheran her thumb over the ridges of variegated color, rubbing away the travel delays and looming deadline which had led her to this moment.

Books had always beenGrace’ssolace—bookstores, her ultimate comfort zone—until now.Shestood there, frozen in front of theYAsection, after stumbling upon her own debut novel stacked six deep on the shelf,GracieRiosemblazoned on the front in glittery gold letters advertising the most ridiculous imposter to ever live, a one-hit wonder for the ages.Onceupon a time, it had been her dream to happen across a display of her own titles in a random airport bookstore halfway around the world.Shewould whip out a fountain pen and stealth sign them with glee like she was somebody.Now, the sight of her debut sitting there taking up space in between the likes ofAliceOsemanandAngieThomasleftGracebreaking out in a cold sweat.

Her phone buzzed for what felt like the tenth time in the past hour, and if her agent was trying this hard to connect, she probably shouldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Hey,Maryanne,”Graceanswered, her voice high and a little shaky. “SorryImissed your call…s—calls.I’m… at a writing retreat.”

It was only half a lie.Bytonight she’d be tucked up in her bed-and-breakfast on theIsleofBarra, ready for the writing frenzy to begin.

“A retreat?Good,Gracie, that’s good.Iwas worried when you asked for another extension.”

“Worried—?”Graceforced a laugh.

“They said no, by the way.Ibelieve the exact quote was, ‘Yourreaders are notPeterPan.Theywon’t be teens forever.’So.Wedeliver the draft in four weeks, or we return your advance.”

Grace was going to throw up—actually throw up, right here in the middle ofWHSmithlike a travel-sick five-year-old.

“But hey, we don’t have to worry about that, right?Becauseyou’ve got this?”

“Of courseIdo…”

“Of course you do.Honestly,I’ma little bit insulted.I’veliterally never been asked to have an author return an advance.Ican’t believe they would even go there.”

“Just dotting their i’s and crossing their t’sIguess,”Gracewhispered.

“Sure, sure.Hey, we’ve all got bills to pay.Evenme.Butit’s not going to be an issue, right? ’Causeyou’re a rockstar!”

“I am…”

“And when you’re a rockstar,I’ma rockstar.”

Her voice was heavy with meaning.IfGracedropped the ball on this again,Maryannewould be forced to dropGrace.

“I’m nearly finished,”Gracelied.

“That’s my rockstar,”Maryanneagreed. “Fourweeks,” she added one last reminder, before hanging up the call.

Grace stared at the rows and rows of books, their covers starting to swim at the edges of her vision.Shewasn’t close tonearly finished.Sooneveryone would know her debut was a fluke and she, a complete fraud.EvenCharlotteatBetweentheCoverswould rescind her invitation forGraceto speak to theYABookClub.Howcould she not?

Behind her someone cleared their throat.

She could feel them hovering impatiently, wanting to yell at her for taking too long, just like her agent.Justlike the security guard who shouted at her to move along when she had paused to pick up the shiny flat stone she now twisted compulsively in her pocket.

How long had she been standing here, blocking the already cramped aisle with her suitcase and laptop bag?

The hoverer cleared their throat once more, andGraceshot a glance over her shoulder.Tall.White.Auburn.Hisstrong bearded jaw and stormy green eyes were probably always set in that angry scowl.

“You’re… in the way,” he said in a slow, deep growl, as if she was the sum of all his exasperation in the entire world but he was too polite to saymove your overstuffed suitcase and your overstuffedAmericanarse.WhenGracedidn’t answer, he added, “Maybeyou can’t decide ’cause you’ve outgrown this lot?”Henodded at the big sign that screamedYoungAdult.

Was he calling her old?Shameand anger, two sides of the same coin, flamed upGrace’scheeks.Noteven the delicious burr of his accent could soften the sting with her thirtieth birthday barreling closer every day.

“Are you the reading police?Booksin this section happen to be quite layered,” she sniffed, turning to face him and crossing her arms in defiance.

“Wasteful, innit?” he mumbled, rolling his eyes at the wall of words.

“I’m sorry?”Maybeshe hadn’t heard him correctly.Books?Werewasteful? “Whatkind ofNeanderthalwould actually say that out loud?”

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