Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
D ancing with Teàrlach was the most fun Grace had had in years. His enthusiasm was contagious, and he was an excellent teacher. And in a way, his chair had made it possible for her to feel okay not being perfect. They couldn’t do every step exactly like the people around them, so it didn’t matter that she hadn’t mastered any of the steps at all. It was just joyous, messy fun, like dancing ought to be. For a moment, she’d forgotten about the stress of her second book and the merry-go-round of emotions she was having over Bryan . She’d been able to relax and give herself over to the movement and music, to the thrill of being surrounded by laughter and Scottish accents and people loving life.
And then the music had changed, and the air along with it, and angry voices infiltrated her happy bubble.
When a tickle ran down her spine, she’d looked up, searching the room for Bryan , only to find him surrounded by an angry crowd of family and neighbors, his cheeks stained scarlet, his eyes downcast.
She must have faltered, because Teàrlach turned his gaze to follow hers.
“Perhaps sit this one out,” he murmured.
“Yes, I could use a drink,” she had agreed before they made their way over to Bryan and his audience, which appeared to have tormented him into a stammer as he tried to explain his plans for the distillery.
Grace hadn’t meant to step in, only it seemed like he was drowning—desperately in need of a minute to catch his breath—and A + Grace had always been good at stepping in whether she was needed or not. Besides , she’d been the one to encourage him to explain his plans.
When that asshole started with the schoolyard slurs that probably still haunted his worst days, she physically couldn’t stay quiet any longer. The teacher in her had pulled out a lecture, and once Grace started yelling at them, she’d been unable to stop.
He had stood stock still the entire time she was speaking, an all-to-familiar stance, as though he were the one in trouble, and a tiny voice in her head kept telling her to stop, but it turned out she had quite a lot to say. When she was finally finished, she looked each of them in the eye until she was confident of their shame. Bryan might drive her up a wall when he wasn’t setting her nerve endings on fire, but he was also passionate and achingly kind, and he didn’t deserve any of the bullshit they were hurling his way.
It made for an awkward walk back to his house, though, as the silence stretched between them. Just like after a long day of writing, Grace felt spent, like she’d used up all her words, but she also knew something more needed to be said because he hadn’t asked for her help, and like the family dinner, he probably wished she hadn’t been there at all.
“I’m sorry,” she finally blurted out. “ If that was out of line. It was out of line. Really , I’m just… sorry.”
He was silent a moment longer. “ What did we say about apolog-izing?”
“I know, but seriously. It feels like maybe that was the worst thing I could have done right then. I just can’t stand the way they’ve been attacking you. But I know you don’t need me to speak for you or over you.”
“It didn’t feel like that’s what you were doing.”
“Oh.”
“It felt like you were on my ssside. And in my head. In my mouth, even.” He grimaced. “ Not like that.”
“Oh. Yikes ,” she teased.
“Tell me about it,” he agreed. “ And thank you. For s-saying what I couldn’t,” he added in a small voice that kind of broke her heart a little.
“You could have,” she assured him, and he snorted.
“Clearly.”
She resisted the urge to repeat the empty-sounding platitudes running through her head. “ You have. You’ve said all of that to me. More or less.”
“I didn’t have a conflict with Diego’s wedding,” he told her suddenly.
“No?” she asked, confused. Had he been there after all? Had collage-aged Gracie been mean to him? Oh god, had she unknowingly teased him about his stutter?
“He asked me to be his b-best man. It was always meant to be Teàrlach , but Mathilda wasn’t happy with the optics. Afraid his chair would ruin the aesthetic or pull focus or s-something.”
Grace shook her head. That sounded just like Mathilda . “ And Diego didn’t drop her right then? I don’t get it, man. I don’t blame you for standing up for Teàrlach , though.”
“Aye, well. Much as I wish it were, Teàrlach wasn’t the only reason. I couldn’t face having to make a s-s-speech.”
Suddenly Grace understood a lot more about her brother and the tensions surrounding his special day. He’d seemed distracted, annoyed with Mathilda , a little bit sad. Grace had always thought he’d been having second thoughts. “ God , I hate her.”
“My cowardice wasn’t Mathilda’s fault.”
“Please. You never would have been in that situation if she wasn’t such a conniving narcissist.”
“That bad?”
“The only good things to ever come out of that woman were my niece and nephew.”
Bryan laughed out loud, which after tonight, felt like a win.
“Seriously. You know she’s the reason he goes by Sandy in the press? She even anglicized our last name for herself and the kids. Rivers …” Grace rolled her eyes. “ She thinks she’s so clever.”
“Can’t help who you love?” Bryan suggested.
“Maybe. Also can’t help who secretly stops taking birth control…”
“Ah.”
Way to make it awkward again, Gracie . “ Anyway . We can just agree that one was all her fault. Do you know she wanted me to go on a diet before the wedding? For the photos? First time in my life I gained weight on purpose.”
That surprised another laugh out of Bryan , and it was such an adrenaline rush to pull one out of the Stoic Scot .
“Thanks for coming tonight. Even if it was another unmitigated disaster,” he said, his voice a warm rumble that reached deep into Grace’s belly like a long sip of whisky.
“Up until the yelling, it was a real nice party,” she quipped, and he grinned at her sideways, and god, how was that bearded smile so devastating? He was her brother’s friend! She wasn’t supposed to have a thing for him. Diego would never allow it—not that he had any say, but still.
“Fancy another fire? I’ve got a new biochar. I don’t think it will reek like the wrong end of a donkey this time.”
Now it was Grace’s turn to burst out laughing. “ Well then I’m definitely in.”
He grinned at her.
“There’s your new slogan. You won ’ t hate it, and it’s better than the wrong end of a donkey. Does that mean there’s a right end?”
He laughed.
“Got any marshmallows?” she asked.
“Don’t think I do. You really want to roast them?”
“Hell yes, I want to roast them! And then nestle them between graham crackers and chocolate.”
“And you ingest this concoction?”
“Proudly,” Grace said with a laugh. “ Have you really never heard of s’mores?”
“Do I look like a Boy Scout ?”
She took in his kilt and turned up cuffs. “ Maybe a Scottish one. I can’t believe you never heard of s’mores.”
“Of course I’ve heard of them,” he protested a little grumpily, and that, too, did things to her belly.
But, his pantry was one for three, so Grace had to settle for splitting a Cadbury . Luckily , however, the new biochar did have a nice, lightly smoky scent, and Bryan poured her a dram of his special reserved Rionnagach .
A deep contentment settled over her, as they sat in companionable silence on the loveseat, looking out across the ocean.
“Thank you for dancing with Teàrlach ,” he said after a while, even though she could tell from his face that thank you wasn’t quite what he meant. “ When you live in the town where you grew up, around all the folk you grew up with, they don’t always see you the way you see yourself,” he tried to explain. “ Your entire history can haunt you.”
And perhaps he was talking about his own relationship with the island, not just Teàrlach’s .
In a way, Grace could relate. “ It can be lonely when no one really sees you,” she said.
“Aye,” he agreed. “ The fear is you’ll be even more ashamed and lonely once they do see you.” As if realizing what he’d said, how desperately sad it sounded, he added, “ The trouble with growing up on a tiny island with your whole family is not learning how to ingratiate yourself to folk who don’t have to love you no matter what.”
He said it with a laugh, but she could hear the loneliness underneath.
Grace tried to think of something encouraging to say, but like a first draft, she was lost for words. “ You seem to be doing okay,” she finally murmured.
Bryan walked out to stoke the fire, more from a restless energy than being cold as far as she could tell. But when he retook his seat, he was very close, his body heat warming her far more than the fire as his words rattled in her head.
The fear is you ’ ll be even more ashamed and alone once they do.
“If you’re embarrassed about earlier, you needn’t be,” she said, nudging his shoulder.
“I completely melted down tonight.”
“People from your childhood have a way of making you feel like a child,” she told him. “ I don’t associate with literally anyone from my pre-college days. I decline reunions and retirement parties and wedding invitations. Like , a part of me still expects someone to walk up and whisper Gordita Gracie in my ear.”
“You must think I’m ridiculous for coming home,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “ I hope I made it pretty clear I think they’re the ridiculous ones.”
He rolled his head sideways to look at her, and he was so close she could count the freckles sprinkled across his nose. She expected him to say something sarcastic, but he just stared into her eyes until her breath hitched.
“Thank you for tonight,” he whispered.
Then their lips crashed together. Grace couldn’t have said if she leaned in or he did, more like they were two magnets unable to resist each other’s pull.
And god, it was hot. She had always loved kissing, it was only what came after that ruined everything. If they could draw the line at kissing forever, she’d be just fine.
She batted those thoughts away, losing herself in the scent of his cologne mixed with the smoky fire and tinged with salty sea air. She focused on his hands, one cupping her face, the other around her shoulders, as he nibbled her lips and tangled his tongue against hers.
This was the only reference to tangle-tongue she would ever allow.
The muscles of his biceps rippled beneath her hands as he ran his own up and down her arms, her back, her thighs, pulling her into his lap.
She felt a heat growing at her core, a heat that made her want but also made her panic, yanking her out of the moment.
When she pulled back, so did he. Panting for breath, he pressed his forehead to hers.
“All right?”
Yes. No . She wanted him, and she wanted to get far away from him.
When she didn’t answer, he leaned back further, studying her, and ran a thumb down her cheek.
God, she wanted to grab him by the vest and drag him to her bedroom and make him make good on every desire she read in the heat of those eyes.
“All right?” he whispered again.
“I’m on my period!” she protested, scrambling off his lap, and his brow creased.
“All this time? Is that… healthy?”
“Rude,” she huffed, leaning away from him and crossing her arms as she did the math.
He looked so sad and confused and after everything he’d been through tonight, how could she be anything but honest with him?
“I wasn’t. Before . But I am now. I think.” When he scowled at her she explained, “ It’s a defense mechanism.”
His whole hairline shifted backwards as his face broke out in saucy relief. “ What , like a lizard sheds its tail?”
“Are you serious?”
“Are you?”
He figured out pretty fast she was and sobered.
“Defense against what, Grace ? There’s lots of other ways?—”
Grace put her hand on his chest to stop him. She was pretty sure her face could not be a darker shade of red if she’d eaten a hundred Atomic Fireballs in a row. “ I get that you can bang anyone and everyone,” she said, and the mischievous gleam was instantly replaced by a troubled one. “ I’m like, the complete opposite of that,” she tried to explain. But how do you explain that you want nothing to do with something everyone else seems to be obsessed with?
He gave her one curt nod, clearly pissed off, and shifted away from her, a whoosh of cold air replacing his body heat.
“It’s not you, okay? It’s me,” she tried again, but her words sounded sharp and trite even though she meant them sincerely. It was her. She was the problem.
He glared at her.
“I really have to go,” she muttered and scurried into the house, straight to her bedroom where she could spend the night alone, hating herself, wishing she were more like him, more like Wesley , who was probably having causal island sex with a handsome Scot who was definitely not a priest right this very minute.
But that wasn’t Grace . It had never been Grace . And she knew it never would be.
* * *
Safe inside her bedroom, she leaned back against the door.
She wasn’t going to cry—not because she’d wrecked the kissing and definitely not because he was angry at her for pushing him away. Better he be angry now than later. Somehow a guy being pissed at you when you still had your clothes on didn’t sting quite as much.
And honestly, what right did he have to be mad?
Did he think she was leading him on when she succumbed to his kisses? Was he out there right now calling her a cocktease? Because fuck that. At least she hadn’t accidentally groped him this time. Was it her fault he looked irresistible in a kilt? Was she supposed to resist him anyway if she had no intention of putting out?
Sister Mary Agnes would say yes.
Sister Mary Agnes would say she should have resisted every temptation so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea, and maybe she should have, but damn. Did that mean the only reason he begged her to go to the ceilidh at all was so he could get in her pants later? Was she not allowed to have any fun ever because of the strings that might be attached?
She racked her memory, trying to decide who had leaned in first. If it was her, then it was her fault for leading him on, and if it was him, then it was her fault for not running away sooner, according to Sister Mary Agnes .
Grace had never liked Sister Mary Agnes .
“You’re spiraling,” she told herself. “ This is not helpful.”
But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to stop.
So what if he had expectations? She had consented to kissing and nothing else. His hurt feelings were not her responsibility. Right ?
She could barely look him in the eye when she stopped him, her hand on his chest like she hadn’t just been contemplating ripping his whole shirt off, as she confessed to lying about her period before. Then , when she tried to explain how she wasn’t like everyone else, and he got so quiet, she had allowed herself one quick glance, hoping for a sign he understood. Only she didn’t see empathy and understanding. He didn’t look angry yet either, no—in that split second when his expression changed from mischievous to completely closed off, what she saw looked more like a flicker of pain, and she had put it there on his beautiful face.
He had tried to hide it immediately, but she knew.
He was disappointed by her change of heart, and honestly, maybe it was unfair, but she was disappointed in him for feeling that way.
Of course, the rejection must have stung his ego, especially tonight on the heels of being spurned by his neighbors and family. But this wasn’t about him. It was never about them.
God, what terrible timing.
What an absolute mess.
Why couldn’t she be brave enough, find better words to explain? Would it have made any difference if she had?
She’d known from the start it was a mistake to have any level of involvement with this guy. She had known, and she’d done it anyway, and the worst part of it was she didn’t just like him. She’d allowed him to become a friend—a real one—someone to keep in touch with for years to come, but now it was Justin Everett all over again.
Even the flash of pain in his eyes reminded her of the look Justin gave her in ninth grade when she had told him she was sorry the other boys were picking on him but she couldn’t possibly send him a naked photo of herself. She had expected understanding that time, too, even an apology for asking. Instead , her refusal had been the lever that started the unraveling of an almost ten-year friendship.
Justin was her first best friend. He was her first partner in crime, first crush, first heartbreak.
In the end, though, when she wouldn’t do what he wanted, none of the rest of it mattered. But that look of pain and disappointment in his eyes, like he was the one who’d been hurt while she was trying to pretend away the betrayal—that look still haunted her, and it mirrored what she saw on Bryan’s face tonight, and quite honestly, fuck both of them to the moon.