Page 48 of Grace on the Rocks

Bryan shrugged.

“I need to call him.”

“Don’t—”

“I have to.”

“Please don’t.It’ssix a.m.”

“Fuck,” she said again, and this time she didn’t apologize. “Ithad nothing to do with him.”

“It was a long time ago.I’msure he knows that now.”

She shook her head.

“Do you want a drink?” he offered, because she looked like she could use one, but she shook her head.

“It’s early.Notsix a.m., but early.Forme.”

“A walk then?Justdown the coast?I’llpoint out all the thingsIhated leaving behind, thingsIcame back for.”

She smiled at him then, a sad, watery sort of smile that felt like the sun peeking out after a storm to make a rainbow.Christ, she was going to be trouble.

“Views will be worth it, even though you hate me.”

“I do, it’s true.”Shenodded in solemn agreement. “ButIsupposeIcan put up with you for a nice walk and a good view.”

And for the first time,Bryandidn’t mind being hated.

ChapterThirteen

Grace once read an article about how honeybees were obsessive perfectionists at the micro level but not the macro level, and as she walked down the beach with her ownMr.Bee, she wondered if the same was true of him.Hewas certainly very hard on himself, focused on all the steps to achieve his goals, but a little sloppy sometimes in the execution.Heseemed genuinely upset over his sharp words at the airport, and if she was being honest, she’d behaved just as thoughtlessly, and it ate at her.Sheknew a thing or two about being a perfectionist.

Now he was doing his best to rein it in, ignoring the angry glares from his neighbors and shaking off the bitter criticisms, until they reached a long stretch of quiet wilderness where he andGracecould pretend they were pirate castaways, alone and safe from the big wide world.

“It’s disgustingly beautiful here,” she sighed.

“Do you hate disgustingly beautiful places?” he asked.

“Absolutely.Almostas much asIhate disgustingly beautiful whisky distillers.”

She peeked up at him to see his head kind of jerk to the side as he realized she was complimenting him, and she had to fight to smother a giggle that threatened to erupt.

It was unforgivably charming.Howvery rude.

As they walked, he pointed out the optimal tide pools for sighting crabs and the perfect spot to watch purple sandpipers forage mussels.Gracewasn’t fussed about seeing crabs, and she wouldn’t know a purple sandpiper if it pooped on her favorite sweater, but she liked the way his eyes lit up and his words flowed more freely when he talked about them.

“Alec andEòghanntaught me, and later,Teàrlach, to a fly a kite right along here,” he confided. “AndthenItaughtElspeth.”

“Is this the best beach in all ofBarrafor kite flying?”

“The very one.”

Grace could well imagine them all as children, running wild and free, trying to coax a homemade kite to stay aloft in the briskHebrideanbreeze, their cheeks ruddy with chill and exercise—the same wayDiego’sface would redden as he sprinted back and forth across the soccer field.

“I can’t believe he thoughtIcancelled my whole party because he couldn’t be there.Hewas training for the actualWorldCup, for god’s sake.Howself-centered does he thinkIam?”

“I don’t reckon he’d think you’d do it now.”

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