Page 77 of Grace on the Rocks

Grace wanted to ask why it mattered if she came or not.

She wanted to ask if he was sorry he kissed her, or if he even still thought about it like she did?Shewanted to ask about the renovation, too.Wherewere the windows?Whatwas next after the floor?Washe angry she’d stopped helping him, or actually relieved?

And had he read any more of her book?Didhe like the ending?

When the emptiness filled up with her unasked questions, he said, “I’lllet you get back to it,” and lifted his tea in mock salute.

“Sorry,” she replied out of habit—for being in his space when he might wish to be alone, for not being a more interesting conversationalist if he didn’t, for everything that happened after last week’s kiss.

“You apologize too much,” he observed, frowning.

“Sorry,” she muttered automatically.

His scowl deepened, that deep chasm between his eyebrows popping out like a demanding cursor.

“I mean… suck it,MacNeil,” she corrected herself, and the man almost choked on his tea.

“Quite,” he agreed through fits of coughing before scurrying away.

* * *

WhenGraceawokethe next day, the first thingWesasked was whether she’d deign to drag herself away from the computer long enough to attend the ceilidh.

“I know you’re not here for vacation, but even high school kids go to formal dances, so in a way this would be hands-on research.Orhands-off, if you insist.I’dsay we could sneak around and spike the punch, but this isScotland.It’llalready be spiked.”

“That sounds like a gross generalization,”Gracelaughed.BecausedespiteWesley’svery cogent argument and puppy-dog eyes, it wasBryan’sgrumpy golden-retriever face that had already convinced her to take the evening off.

Running into him the night before hadn’t been as awkward as she’d feared.Maybethey had both silently agreed to move on from the kissing and everything else, sweeping it under his new radiant flooring, never to be spoken of again.Gracecouldn’t decide how to feel about that.

“Don’t make me go by myself,”Wesbegged. “Ihave no problem doing just about anything on my own—Orgasms?Agiven!Movies?Morepopcorn for me.Dinnerout?LiterallywhatWesleyWednesdayswere invented for.Butplease for the love of… whatever.Donot make me go to this dance alone.”

“Fine,I’llcome.Butonly becauseI’mthe world’s greatest friend.”

“I mean,Iwouldn’t go that far.Rebeccamade up with her terrible husbandjustsoIcould take her place on this trip.”

“Ugh,Marshall,”Graceagreed.

“ForgetMarshall, we have outfits to plan,”Wessaid, throwing open the closet and selecting a twirly, brown-plaid,A-line skirt.

“That’s… my skirt,”Gracesaid. “Thatwasn’t even in the bagIleft inGlasgow.Whydo you have my skirt?”

“Semper paratus,”Wessaid with a shrug, as though vague non-ChurchLatinwas any kind of answer, but at leastGracehad something to wear.

ChapterTwenty

Bryan absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred thousand percent did not want to attend the ceilidh with his family and hoards of neighbors bent out of shape over the renovation.

But his grandfather’s words,Ifyou’re going to be here, then be here, burned in his ears.Beinghere meant being a part of things like the end-of-festival ceilidh.Maybeif he wanted the town’s support, it was time to stop keeping them at arm’s length.Maybethe same could be said forGrace, and so he had begged her to come with him.Itwas a rash decision, but it had been late, and he was tired and thrown off guard by seeing her sitting in the window seat, a last-minute addition she’d inspired in his floor plan.

Miracle of miracles, she’d agreed, so now he had to go.Butold habits die hard.

Resenting the town for seeing him as a child who couldn’t talk—his father’s stammering mini-me who disappointed them all by eschewing politics—and for refusing to see him as a grown-up when perhaps he refused to act like one, it was all second nature.He’dcarried that chip on his shoulder so long he’d forgotten it was there, might actually miss it if he ever managed to dislodge it somehow.Butyou can’t just blow into town and build an industry if the town doesn’t want you.Heneeded their support.Morethan that, he wanted it.Nowwas the time to show them the man he’d grown into, occasional stress-induced stammer and all.

ThankChristGracehad agreed to come.

Polite hospitality for the sake of theAmericansmight not shieldBryanfrom the worst they could dish out, but if nothing else, havingGraceat his side might help him keep hisBarra-Bryantemper in check.

He took the oldMacNeilkilt from the back of his closet.Likethe closet, it smelled ofGrandad: of tobacco smoke and oiled leather and sycamore resin.Tearsclogged his throat as he breathed it all in and then closed it all back behind the door.

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