Page 89 of Grace on the Rocks

“I’m always up early.Iwant to see the castle.Thoughtmaybe we could pack a lunch and borrow a kayak.”

“Kayak?”Gracemoaned.Shewas not a kayak kind of girl—not really an open water kind of girl, to be perfectly honest.Shehad cramps and despite thinking she was all cried out last night, she just wanted to lie in bed today, curled up with the fuzzy hot water bottle, watchingSenseandSensibilityon her phone.

“What do they call it then?Adinghy?”Wesasked, acting oblivious toGrace’scurrent mood.

“It looks really far away.”

“Thus my desire for a closer look,” she replied, slapping an orangeUniversityofTennesseeball cap on her head.

Grace moaned again. “Aren’tyou exhausted?Youwere out so late.”

“I mean,Itried my best.”

“Finally hook up with your handsomeScot?”

“Grace, he’s a priest!”Wesexclaimed, but her scandalized air seemed mostly put on for the only actualCatholicin the room.

“Wes,”Gracebegan, because someone was going to have to tell her she’d gotten it all wrong aboutBryan’scousin.

“I know,”Wesinterrupted her. “He’sonly human.Buthe smells so good.Wedid, in fact, share a kiss, and he was surprisingly excellent at it—like, sinfully good, like—how?Like, frankly he has no business kissing like that, but obviously he wasn’t born a priest, you know?ButIguess he’s been one for long enough, because then his eyes went all wide and he ran away like a trauma­tized woodland creature.”

“I know the feeling,”Gracetold her, guilt prickling down her back for doing the exact same thing toBryan.Again.

“I stayed out as long asIcould to give you every opportunity withyourStoicScot, so imagine my surprise to find him despondent, drinking whisky alone, watchingAmericansoccer.”

Oh god, hadGracemissed a game?Shenever missed a game. “Didthey win?”

“I have no idea.”

“Did he say anything?” she asked, hating herself for asking.

“Who,Diego?Idon’t know if he was playing.”

“Bryan.DidBryansay anything?”

“I’m not fluent in moody man grunt, butI’mpretty sure he offered me a drink whichIaccepted, and we sat in wounded silence, sang some karaoke, and then he asked ifIthought he was a slut.”

A twinge of envy and a whole heaping of regret slid downGrace’sthroat and settled heavy in her gut.Hadshe gotten it all wrong last night?

She thought his pride was wounded because she wasn’t willing to sleep with him.Wasit actually over her dumb comment about not being like him?Shehadn’t meant anything by it!Hewas normal, like everyone else.Shewas the problem.That’swhat she was trying to say.Aslut?Comeon.Wasn’tthat some point of pride for most guys anyway?

He was probably just upset she found a reason to leave.

Right?

“Don’t look at me like that.Ihanded you an empty house on a platter with a man whose face said he wanted to worship you for days without stopping.Whatthe hell happened?”

“The same thing that always happens,”Gracehissed, getting up to hide in the bathroom and feeling a little bit proud and a little bit disgusted with herself for not letting either door slam behind her.Blinkingback the bright bathroom light, for a second she looked around in confusion.Likethe living room, the floor was a mess and walls were tarped off.Washe trying to tear the whole house down around her while she slept?

When she emerged, there wasWesdrinking tea in the kitchen withBryan, whose perma-scowl was even deeper than it had been last night.

Grace eyed him and he eyed her, andWes’shead jerked up from her phone like the icy tension was palpable.

“I hope you told her it was a terrible idea,” he growled, and her stomach sank to hear him admit it out loud.Ofcourse getting together would never work, but damn,Mr.Bee.

“I really didn’t peg you for a spoil sport,BryanMacNeil,”Wesgrumbled. “What’sthe point of having a castle if tourists can’t go and visit it?”

Oh.Right.Thecastle.

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