Chapter 32 Your Grace?
Your Grace?
Connor
Even though my suspension is lifted, and I’ve seen Maisie at practice regularly these past two weeks, I haven’t gone out of my way to see or talk to her outside of practice.
Seeing her again has been a form of sweet torture.
Two things can be true simultaneously. I can be absolutely terrified she is going to break my heart and miss her so goddamn much that the former doesn’t seem to matter.
I tried giving it time and space. Didn’t seem to take, so I’m onto trying something new now.
Doesn’t mean I didn’t take the past two weeks to ease in, though.
God, just seeing her again was an awakening experience.
The smell of her lavender shampoo, her legs in those tight sweats, and then when I overheard her phone call?
Well, apparently my protective instincts toward her are still very much intact.
Let’s get real: there is no easing in with Maisie.
She’s sunshine incarnate and beams into your life without warning.
Even though I’d been hiding from her light for the past month or so, it doesn’t mean her essence hasn’t slipped through the cracks of my heart.
And now here I am, standing outside her room, holding an herbal tea for her in one hand and my coffee in the other, working up the nerve to knock.
Turns out, I don’t need to make the decision, because her door swings open, and I’m greeted with a mop of blonde curls.
I pitch my eyes downward and meet Angie’s raging sea-colored ones.
“Uh, hey, Ang. I’m here to pick up Maize,” I say.
“I know what you’re doing here, Connor. What I need you to know is that I have my eye on you.” She hits me with the “I’m watching you” motion.
An awkward chuckle slips out. I don’t know what to do with that, so I just say, “And I’ll have my eye on the road. Betty, you ready in there?” I raise my voice around Angie, hoping to wrap up this awkward interaction pronto.
“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Maisie says in a huff, lugging a big red suitcase. The handle is holding on by a thread, and the color is faded. That thing certainly has seen better days. She makes it up to where Angie is currently blocking the door.
Maisie turns to her friend, and they embrace tightly. Seems these two have gotten even closer in my absence.
“Call me as soon as you land, promise?” Maisie says to Angie.
“Pinky swear, double, triple, slap back.”
They do some kind of handshake thing to accompany all of that, and I stand there patiently until they’re done.
Maisie squeezes Angie’s hand one more time and then steps out into the hallway, rolling her monstrosity alongside her.
I hand her the tea and then quickly swoop down and lift her suitcase by the precarious handle.
Maisie’s eyes widen in surprise, but then I’m met with one of her smiles.
My chest loosens. There is very little one of her smiles couldn’t fix.
Maisie starts walking, and Angie hits me with one more nonverbal “I’m watching you” warning. I salute in return, then shuffle to catch up with Maisie as we make our way to the front of her building.
“Where are you parked?” she asks as we step out into the sunshine. I swear, there hasn’t been a cloudy day since we got here.
“Just over there.” I motion toward my ten-year-old silver Honda Civic.
Grandpa bought it for me when I turned sixteen. He had been helping to drive me to and from work, so he said it was an investment in his sanity. Even though my brothers and I worked hard, Grandpa spoiled us every now and then. I smile at the memory.
We finish the walk to the car in silence.
I pop the trunk and haul in the elephant-sized bag.
My black duffel looks like a dwarf in comparison, but it’s a good thing because there’s little room for much else with her bag in there.
When I make my way to the driver’s side, Maisie is already in her seat, seat belt on, shoes off, tea in the cupholder, and the car’s music cord plugged into her phone.
The backpack she was wearing sits comfortably at her feet—a benefit of being short, I suppose. She starts to pull out a mini pillow, blanket, and her water bottle. I smirk.
When she gets settled, she turns to me expectantly and says, “Ready!”
“Well, as long as Her Majesty is ready, I guess we better get going.”
Her face twists at the remark, and her brow raises. “‘Her Majesty’?” she says with an indignant cough.
“Because you seem to have brought your entire castle for this carriage ride,” I respond with a laugh.
“Hey!” She thwaps my shoulder playfully.
“I like to be comfortable for long car rides. Don’t make fun of me!
” My stomach sinks thinking I might have actually hurt her feelings, but then her grin grows into a full-blown smile, and eventually she offers a laugh and says, “What does that make you? My royal chauffeur?”
“My Queen.” I bow as dramatically as sitting in a car will allow.
“On then, sir. Lest we be late,” she says in a truly horrible British accent.
I bark out a laugh but start the car per her command. “Yes, milady,” I say, reaching behind Maisie’s headrest as I back out of the parking spot. I think I hear her suck in a breath, but after I straighten out and look over, she’s looking down at her phone, blanket over her legs, nothing amiss.
“What music will you be bestowing upon us, Your Grace?”
“‘Your Grace’? So what, now I’m downgraded to a duchess? Do you even watch Bridgerton?”
My cheeks flame. I have, and I have to say, it was…
stimulating. Luckily, she changes the subject before we get on that topic of conversation.
Not that I don’t want to have those kinds of conversations with her.
It’s just that I need to focus on driving.
Getting her from point A to point B safely is my number one priority right now—number two being mending our friendship.
Number three is agonizingly hoping that there is more to us than just friendship.
I roll down the windows when we stop at the first light that takes us out of town. She puts on Taylor Swift—her debut album, Maisie informs me, and we let the words to “Tim McGraw” wash over us as we start our journey home. And hopefully, a bigger journey together.