Page 13 of Grace on the Rocks

She didn’t want to ask for help.Sheshouldn’tneedto ask for help, for goodness’ sake, it was a faucet.She’dearned two master’s degrees and taught children life skills for a living, and he was a smug, self-righteousScotwith interesting forearms.Ifshe asked for help, he’d probably lecture her on the evils of wasting water.

Ultimately, though, her desire to drown herself under a hot waterfall outweighed her pride, and she opened the door to find him seated on a barstool in the kitchen poring over his tablet.

“Can you?” she asked, losing her train of thought when he turned those green eyes on her. “Thewater.Yourfaucet is weird and confusing.”

He stood and followed her back to the bathroom, glowering. “It’snot weird.Letme just…”Ashe attempted to squeeze past her in the tiny space, his arm brushed lightly across her breasts and she squished herself against the door of a linen closet, its knob jabbing into her ribs.Whyhadn’t she waited for him to go in first?

“Apologies,” he murmured as the back of his neck flushed and he fiddled with the faucet. “It’sa wee bit temperamental, is all,” he said.

Grace wanted to retort,Notunlike its owner, but suddenly the lack of a window or any ventilation in the small room made her feel trapped.Herheart was racing and she couldn’t breathe.Whywould she cram into a bathroom with a strange man?Notfor nothing, the bath was her sanctuary.Therewas no place for men in her sanctuary.She’dfeel better if she just stepped out into the hallway, but a dizziness overtook her, turning the edges of her vision black.

Finally, he got it running, andGracehad no idea how he’d done it, so she’d better enjoy this shower because she couldn’t bring herself to ask for help a second time.

Her host flicked the water off his hand and waved towards the faucet muttering something about how to adjust the heat.Sheblinked back the cloudiness and tried to focus on his words.Unableto maintain eye contact himself, he slid his gaze heavenward and pushed past her once more, shutting her inside the bathroom alone.

Grace gasped in a breath.Herskin was clammy.Shewanted to lie down.Whatwas wrong with her?

As a young college student, any boy with a mere hint of an accent—English,Irish,Australian…Cuteor not, the accent alone would make her practically hyperventilate while her stomach did cartwheels and her face flushed ruby red.Thiswasn’t that.Shewas definitely not doing cartwheels over his accent.Itwas a lot more like fight or flight.

Still damned inconvenient though.Shehad work to do.Firstthing tomorrow, they would have to figure out a planB.

ChapterFour

After helping his guest with the tricky faucet,Bryanreturned to his barstool perch, unable to concentrate on the business plan before him.She’dbeen pale as a ghost, and he half feared she might keel over right there in the shower.Shemust be exhausted and more stressed than she let on about the living arrangements.

He couldn’t blame her.Ofcourse he’d never chuck them out with nowhere to go, but coming home, fixing the place up—it was a lot, even without theAmericanInvasion.Heought to have climbed straight back aboardTeàrlach’splane the moment he sawCaitstanding there with her chauffeur sign.

Should it make him feel a smidge better knowing his sister had gotten her guest’s name wrong too?Ofcourse not, but did it?Well.Bryanwas only human, and it bound him toGracein a strange sort of solidarity, whether she realized it or not.

Fate sure had a fickle sense of humor though.Youaccidentally insult one stranger in an airport, and suddenly you’re saddled with them as a house guest for the better part of a month.

On second thought, maybe it wasn’t a joke.MaybeFatehad his mother’s sense of justice.Thesame way she used to tie his andCait’swrists together with a bandana until they could stop fighting and work together, wasFatenow shackling him toGraceuntil they could exist in the same space without sniping at each other?

They’d declared a truce, but how long would peace take when she instinctively knew just how to needle right under his windswept, freckled, clearly-not-so-thick-as-he-once-thought skin?

She had nice skin, he’d noticed.Figurativelyno thicker than his own, given how easily he’d upset her, but her actual skin was flawless and dewy.Danger,WillRobinson,he reminded himself, taking a long drink of cool water to stop those kinds of thoughts in their tracks.

But then she scurried out of the loo wearing nothing but a towel and a messy pile of curly brown hair, and he couldn’t clear out of his own house fast enough.

He snatched up his tablet and left to meetTeàrlachat the pub, still choking on the water he’d been drinking.Thepub might be loud and chaotic, but he would have zero peace knowingGracewas getting dressed on the other side of his guest room door.

* * *

The littleBarralibrary was still open for the day whenBryanwalked past.Whatpossessed him to step inside for maybe the second time in his life, he couldn’t say, and he almost instantly regretted it.

“RyanMacNeil.Heardyou were back,” the librarian,Jenny, anotherBuchanancousin, said warmly.

He grimaced at her greeting. “Newstravels fast.”

“Well, now that our mothers can text instead of having to ring up after tea, none of us stand a chance.”Sherolled her eyes ruefully. “HowcanIhelp?”

“Ehh…Iwas looking for a novel by…” he stopped to think. “GracielaRios?”

“GracieRios?Theyoung adult writer?” she asked, a little surprised, no doubt, hearing him ask for any book at all, let alone fiction for kids.

“You know her?”

“She won thePrintzAwardwith her debut novel.Iwouldn’t be much of a librarian ifIdidn’t,” she replied.

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