Page 75 of Grace on the Rocks

Bryan shook his head. “Idunno, maybeIwas.”

“Is that why all the girls liked you?”

A server popped up just then with their pints and pies, savingBryanfrom having to answer that the girls probably felt sorry for him.

Their server was the same age asLùcas, who was actively not looking at him.

“All right,Lùc?” the other boy asked.

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah, all right,” the kid said, then nodded atBryanand left them to their food, asLùcfinally looked up to track him all the way back across the bar.

“He’s cute,”Bryansaid, taking a stab in the dark.

His cousin’s gaze flicked to him, instantly guarded. “Don’tbe a perv, you’re like forty.”

Bryan rolled his eyes and took a long drink of his ale.

“Is it true you like guys?”Lùcasasked hesitantly.

“Sometimes.”

“Is it easier liking girls?”

“Sometimes.”

Lùc chewed on that for a minute before turning the tables. “IstheAmericanone of those times?”

Bryan shot him a death stare. “Don’tbe a perv, you’re prac­tically in nappies,” he growled, and his cousin laughed, dark cloud finally chased away for the time being, as he dug into his pie.

ChapterNineteen

WhenGracecommitted to a new endeavor, it was always with her whole chest.Shewas nothing if not theA+ overachieving daughter of two overachieving parents, so avoidingBryan, with aB, for the next week was easy.Allshe had to do was adjust her schedule to stay up writing all night and then sleep through his pandemonium with liberal use of ear plugs, melatonin, and utter exhaustion.

She essentially reverted to her naturalTennesseebiorhythms, writing until she was too tired to see straight and then crawling into bed and passing out.Itmade for some interesting dreams.

BecauseCatholicguilt was real even for a reformedCatholicwho hadn’t been to church since her parents divorced, she apologized almost constantly for abandoningWesleyto her own devices, though she knew her friend would forgive her simply becauseWeswasWes.Asshe continued to remindGrace, rambling the island alone suited theWesleyTealaesthetic and was, in her words, “a small price to pay in exchange for getting the whole double bed to myself while you work yourself to the bone.Insteadof boning.”

Wes would always beWes.Justlike this trip was always meant to be a sabbatical for her and a work-a-thon forGrace.

And slowly, oh-so-painfully-slowly, but surely, the novel began to take shape.Itwas a truly terrible first draft because she allowed it to be.Atleast words were on the page.

When the house was deathly quiet,Gracewould creep out to raid the pantry or use the toilet and examine the guys’ progress.Ithad taken no time at all for them to frame out a new south-facing facade, and in contrast to the cavernous stone they’d knocked down,Bryanhad designed a whole wall of windows, which would open out to the porch and the gorgeous ocean vista beyond.Everythingwas still tarped to keep out the elements, but there was evidence of a future built-in window seat that gaveGrace’stummy a little twist of delight.

They had laid out heating coils along the stone floor and were beginning to cover them with more modern stone tiles, a sort of classic call-back to the original floors, but installed to efficiently warm the cold little cottage.Evenwith the floor unfinished and the wall still torn up,Gracecould see how cozy it was going to be.Thelighting alone would be a massive improvement over the previous space.

Bryan’s vision had opened the room significantly, allowing it to breathe as it was always meant to.Theprevious wall had been a sacrilege, blocking such a gorgeous view with dull, white-washed stone.Oncethe windows were installed, she was sure it would still be protected from the harshest gale, but brighter, even on the darkest winter day.

For now, twilight poured through the tarps like blue and brown stained glass, andGracecouldn’t help taking the risk of bumping into him and his forearm tattoo—she tucked herself into the in-progress window seat, right up next to the drafty tarps, and began typing away on her phone instead of her outlet-dependent laptop.

After all, wasn’t it every girl’s dream to write in a window seat by the sea?Howcould she not?

That was exactly howBryanfound her when he padded out to the kitchen, nothing but a pair of joggers slung low on his hips.Hefroze when he saw her, and she froze too, as though by not moving he wouldn’t notice her there, never mind he already had.

“The vampiress emerges,” he murmured.

“Sorry.DidIwake you?”

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