Page 28 of Grace on the Rocks

Hell of an assist,Manof theMatch

Wait did you watch fromScotland?!

Of course

Then why aren’tYOUasleep?

Loud hotel.Andjet lag

Why not tell him she was staying at his friend’s house and his friend was a terrible, noise-monster of a host?He’deither think it was hilarious, or be on the first flight out to kick someScottishass.

A surge of affection tightened her chest.

I miss you

Come visit when you’re back

She smiled.

Or you could come home…

A bubble appeared indicating he was typing, then went away again.Finally, he sent another message.

We play inNashvilleat the end ofAugust

Meet me halfway?

Grace laughed.AsifNashvillewere anything close to halfway betweenKnoxvilleandLA.

Deal

SoScotland?Andyou just happened to run into the guys?

One of those crazy, randomIt’ssuch aSmallWorldyou wouldn’t believe it things,Iguess

The earsplitting din grew louder, metal on metal.Theworld was maybe a little too small sometimes.

BRB, gotta kill a guy.

GrumpyGracie:(

No killing.Ican’t afford international bail

Imagine the press!

My life flashed before my eyes

See you inNashville

Grace tossedher phone on the dressing table and tiptoed out into the kitchen to investigate the noise and wrangle up a cup of tea.Caithad left an assortment next to the kettle, along with something called tablet that looked a lot like fudge.Itwould make a nice little treat for writing a couple thousand words before lunch—if she was able to silence whatever the hell was going on outside with her headphones.Twothousand words wouldn’t put much of dent in her manuscript, like three percent, but baby steps, right?

While she waited for her water to boil,Gracewandered around the small kitchen, which opened into the living room.Shestood on tiptoe to peek through the patio door’s small window at a disgustingly perfect view of the beach.Itwas a shame the whole room didn’t share that view, but the stone and plaster walls closed it off like a cave against the elements.Itwasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing, but probably very snug in winter.

Maybe there was an outlet she could use on the porch to soak in some island air while she worked—once the hammering stopped, of course.Ifshe couldn’t write with a view like this, she might as well hang up her keyboard, because she wouldn’t find a more perfect spot anywhere in the world.StupidNPR, honoring her stupid request to turn the prize into her own stupid writing retreat.Betterget to work.

With absolutely no enthusiasm to open her laptop and stare down the blinking cursor,Gracereturned to the bedroom with a steaming mug ofScottishbreakfast tea.Twothousand words should be easy.Inundergrad, it might have taken an entireSaturdayof pulling teeth, but she was a professional now.She’ddrafted her first novel in stolen snatches between grad school classes and student teaching.Twothousand words shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours.

Shouldn’t.

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