Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
G race 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 own Mr . Bee , she wondered if the same was true of him. He was certainly very hard on himself, focused on all the steps to achieve his goals, but a little sloppy sometimes in the execution. He seemed 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. She knew 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 and Grace could 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. Almost as much as I hate 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. How very rude.
As they walked, he pointed out the optimal tide pools for sighting crabs and the perfect spot to watch purple sandpipers forage mussels. Grace wasn’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 and Eòghann taught me, and later, Teàrlach , to a fly a kite right along here,” he confided. “ And then I taught Elspeth .”
“Is this the best beach in all of Barra for 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 brisk Hebridean breeze, their cheeks ruddy with chill and exercise—the same way Diego’s face would redden as he sprinted back and forth across the soccer field.
“I can’t believe he thought I cancelled my whole party because he couldn’t be there. He was training for the actual World Cup , for god’s sake. How self-centered does he think I am?”
“I don’t reckon he’d think you’d do it now.”
“He probably doesn’t think I’d invite him now. Tell me the truth, Ryan ,” she said, stopping him and grabbing his hand impulsively. He closed his eyes for a second like he wished she hadn’t touched him, so she dropped his hand but not the subject. “ Did it ruin the World Cup for him?”
He shook his head. “ He had a grand time. Except for the losing part.”
She chuckled. That pretty much summed up how the whole family had felt.
“Any regrets? About cancelling it?”
Grace didn’t have to think, though she wasn’t sure why she answered at all. “ The dress.”
He grinned. “ Really ?”
“It’s weird, I know. I was never much of a pretty dress kind of girl. Comfort over fashion, right?”
“Exactly how I feel about pretty dresses.”
She elbowed him in the ribs and he darted sideways, letting her catch his hand again before he got away and sliding his fingers between hers.
For a second, she couldn’t breathe. What had they been talking about?
“Were you Sssporty Spice ?” Mr . Bee teased.
Right. The dress. “ Not in the slightest. I tried to be. Up until D moved to Florida , all I wanted was to keep up with him and the boys. But I wasn’t fast, and I wasn’t coordinated. My soccer coaches probably assumed I was adopted. I think being bad at sports is what made me resent everything girly. Except for some reason that dress.”
He looked at her with a faraway gaze, like he was picturing it based on the description in her book. She’d never told anyone those bits of her novel were true. It was unsettling to realize how much of her he’d figured out.
Pulling her hand out of his, Grace sat down on a nearby rock and took off her shoes. She rolled up her leggings, allowing her toes to burrow into the soft white sand, grounding her. She was here, in Scotland , all grown up. She wasn’t fifteen years old navigating high school politics ahead of her quinceanera.
“I knew exactly what I wanted my dress to look like from the time I was eleven years old. I drew pictures of it obsessively, the same dress, over and over. Kids are weird.”
“Do you still have them? Your drawings?”
She shook her head. “ Part of me wishes I’d put one in the book, but I burned them all when I turned sixteen.”
He frowned, probably fretting over the carbon emissions of burning so many sheets of paper. “ It was the inspiration for Maya’s dress? In your novel?”
“Absolutely. I figured one of us ought to get to wear it, even if she was only fictional.”
That look came over his face again, the one that made her want to hold his hand and never let go.
“I hate you never got to wear it.”
Grace shrugged. “ It was a lifetime ago. Literally half my life. I’m fine, I’m over it.” She wasn’t, but fake it ’til you make it, right?
He frowned again, which was more like it. Frowning was safe. “ You’re not though, are you?”
“I want to be.”
He nodded like he understood and offered a hand to help her to her feet. When she took his palm once more, it was warm and strong, and she let go quickly. This was never going to happen.
“I caught my first newt behind that rock,” he said, shoving both hands in his pockets and nodding towards the boulder she’d just been sitting on, which looked very much like any other on the beach.
“What, that exact rock?”
“Obviously.”
“What did you do with it when you caught it?”
A mischievous grin spread across his face.
“Tell me.”
“And lose any progress I’ve made? Not a chance.”
“Progress?” she asked, teasing him by pronouncing it with a long- O sound as he did.
“Making you hate me less,” he said, striding off down the beach, hands still in his pockets, but relaxed and devil-may-care.
“You couldn’t possibly make me hate you less, so you might as well spill,” she called, running across the sand to catch up.
That earned her a sideways quarter smile.
“First, I wrestled it to the ground like I was the Crocodile Hunter and it was the most massive croc to ever live.”
“Of course you did. And then?”
“Then I left it in Caitriona’s bed.”
“You didn’t!”
He nodded sheepishly. “?’ Course I did.”
She shoved him a little. “ You monstrous little brat,” she said, shaking her head.
“To be fair, she more than deserved it.”
All Grace could do was shake her head some more.
“I made it up to her,” he protested.
“A croc in her bed? How could you possibly?”
“I collected enough shells out here to make a necklace. And a wind chime. And to absolutely cover a mermaid castle.”
“A mermaid castle?” Grace asked, delighted by the whimsy.
He nodded emphatically. “ I ferreted out the finest cardboard on the island. Not flimsy cereal cartons, mind, the good ones for mailing all sorts.”
“Of course.”
“I taped them all together and covered the outside in sand and shells. ’ Twas a right proper castle. Her Ariel doll lived there for years until the day wee Elspeth buried her at sea.”
“She threw her in the ocean?”
“Toilet.”
Grace burst out laughing. “ Okay maybe I’m glad I only had an older brother.”
* * *
Strolling along the beach with Bryan did wonders to clear Grace’s head. She managed to hammer out two thousand words that afternoon before Wes came looking for her.
“I know, I know, you’re behind schedule. But you do have to eat sometime,” Wes whined. “ And if you say, ‘ I’ll eat when I’m dead,’ I’ll …”
“What?” Grace teased.
“I don’t know. Kill you, probably.”
“Well then spare the government an extradition order, because I’m actually… not behind for once. Let’s eat.”
Wesley’s face brightened and then she gave Grace a sultry look. “ I knew this island was going to be good for you.”