Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
S omehow, despite tossing and turning in a broken, angry fluster for what seemed like hours, Grace was asleep before Wes ever came to bed, and she woke with a start to find her friend already dressed and tying her shoes the next morning.
“You’re up early,” Grace said.
“I’m always up early. I want to see the castle. Thought maybe we could pack a lunch and borrow a kayak.”
“Kayak?” Grace moaned. She was not a kayak kind of girl—not really an open water kind of girl, to be perfectly honest. She had 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, watching Sense and Sensibility on her phone.
“What do they call it then? A dinghy?” Wes asked, acting oblivious to Grace’s current mood.
“It looks really far away.”
“Thus my desire for a closer look,” she replied, slapping an orange University of Tennessee ball cap on her head.
Grace moaned again. “ Aren’t you exhausted? You were out so late.”
“I mean, I tried my best.”
“Finally hook up with your handsome Scot ?”
“Grace, he’s a priest!” Wes exclaimed, but her scandalized air seemed mostly put on for the only actual Catholic in the room.
“Wes,” Grace began, because someone was going to have to tell her she’d gotten it all wrong about Bryan’s cousin.
“I know,” Wes interrupted her. “ He’s only human. But he smells so good. We did, 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? But I guess he’s been one for long enough, because then his eyes went all wide and he ran away like a trauma-tized woodland creature.”
“I know the feeling,” Grace told her, guilt prickling down her back for doing the exact same thing to Bryan . Again .
“I stayed out as long as I could to give you every opportunity with your Stoic Scot , so imagine my surprise to find him despondent, drinking whisky alone, watching American soccer.”
Oh god, had Grace missed a game? She never missed a game. “ Did they win?”
“I have no idea.”
“Did he say anything?” she asked, hating herself for asking.
“Who, Diego ? I don’t know if he was playing.”
“Bryan. Did Bryan say anything?”
“I’m not fluent in moody man grunt, but I’m pretty sure he offered me a drink which I accepted, and we sat in wounded silence, sang some karaoke, and then he asked if I thought he was a slut.”
A twinge of envy and a whole heaping of regret slid down Grace’s throat and settled heavy in her gut. Had she gotten it all wrong last night?
She thought his pride was wounded because she wasn’t willing to sleep with him. Was it actually over her dumb comment about not being like him? She hadn’t meant anything by it! He was normal, like everyone else. She was the problem. That’s what she was trying to say. A slut? Come on. Wasn’t that 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. I handed you an empty house on a platter with a man whose face said he wanted to worship you for days without stopping. What the hell happened?”
“The same thing that always happens,” Grace hissed, 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. Blinking back the bright bathroom light, for a second she looked around in confusion. Like the living room, the floor was a mess and walls were tarped off. Was he trying to tear the whole house down around her while she slept?
When she emerged, there was Wes drinking tea in the kitchen with Bryan , whose perma-scowl was even deeper than it had been last night.
Grace eyed him and he eyed her, and Wes’s head 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. Of course getting together would never work, but damn, Mr . Bee .
“I really didn’t peg you for a spoil sport, Bryan MacNeil ,” Wes grumbled. “ What’s the point of having a castle if tourists can’t go and visit it?”
Oh. Right . The castle.
“You’re not familiar with the currents, nor the tides. The water is unforgiving, even in the bay.” He spoke to Wesley , but he never took his eyes off Grace .
“Then you and your cousin should come with us,” Wes pressed him, determined to be perky to the last.
This time he didn’t answer, though he continued his staring contest with Grace , like he was asking for permission.
“They’re busy,” she told her friend. “ Look at the state of things,” she added because it was starting to seem like there was more destruction than renovation happening, and she felt partially responsible, like her rejection of Bryan had turned him into a tempest.
He nodded grimly, but the encounter at the ceilidh last night had clearly taken the wind out of his sails. He didn’t look fired up to work—he looked like he could lie down and sleep for days.
“Lùc will be here at nine. We’ve got to get the windows in before the gale blows through.”
“Maybe Eòghann could go with us,” Grace suggested, since he was the cousin Wes had been referring to. She was willing to go toe-to-toe with her friend in the matchmaker department. Wesley deserved to have nice things even if Grace didn’t.
“He won’t,” Bryan growled.
“Why not let him speak for himself?” she demanded. Was this the end of everything then? She rejected him a second time and now he couldn’t even be cordial for Wesley’s sake?
It made her want to goad him more than ever before.
“He’s of the island, you said. He should know all about the water.”
“Aye, he’ll know to keep well clear of it ahead of a storm.”
Grace huffed. “ What storm? There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“Walk over to the bay. From the ferry dock you’ll get a fine view. Or call Elspeth . She’ll drive you to the docks.”
“There’s a ferry to the castle?” Grace asked.
“Not today,” he said, and left it at that.
“Of course not.”
“Go for a nice walk. There’ll be folk around with b-binoculars.” He didn’t seem to like the look Grace and Wesley shared, but he glanced at his watch. “ P — Will you promise me you won’t hire a… boat?” he demanded.
They exchanged another look.
“Rios,” he growled, and what was it about her surname when uttered with that angry Scottish burr? It kindled a fire in her belly against her will. “ Rios ?” This time he was begging.
“Fine!” she snapped. “ We’ll go for a walk.”
* * *
As they strolled down the beach under a cloudless cerulean sky, Grace grew more and more angry, as well as disappointed on Wesley’s behalf. She’d felt badly about possibly hurting Bryan’s feelings, but his anger just pissed her off. What right did he have to be so angry? They had kissed, that’s all, and if he expected more—well, life was full of disappointment!
“Eòghann did say he had some work to do around the church. Maybe tomorrow they’ll go with us,” Wes suggested glumly.
“I don’t want to go with him anyway,” Grace snapped, and they both knew she meant Mr . Bee .
“Well… I suppose we only promised we wouldn’t hire a boat,” Wes said, mischief glinting in her eyes. “ Auntie Eilidh offered to lend us one.”
“Did she? That’s interesting,” Grace agreed, though she doubted Bryan would see it that way, but what right did he really have to tell them what to do anyway?
And it wasn’t as though she’d said the words, I promise not to get in a boat today. She had said they’d go for a walk, and they did.
They walked right down the beach to Auntie Eilidh’s house and asked to borrow her inflatable dinghy.
It was a beautiful day. It wasn’t going to rain. He was just trying to ruin her fun because she ruined his last night when she ran off to her bedroom.
“Don’t venture too far out,” the old lady warned them. “ Skies can turn on a dime,” she added with a laugh before offering cheese and pickle sandwiches and two bottles of Irn - Bru , which they accepted gratefully, before heading down to the water dragging the little boat between them.
“We’ll stay close to the shore,” Wes said, unconvincingly. “ If the tides drift us over to the castle, what can we do?”
“Use the motor?” Grace muttered.
“It’s the perfect day for an adventure,” Wes replied sunnily, and they shoved the dinghy into the water. “ Nothing like a little excitement to help your writing process.”
Wesley’s determination to enjoy herself proved contagious, despite Grace’s bad mood. How could she focus on her annoyance with Bryan while enjoying the endless sunshine and the brisk morning air? It was a good reminder to get up from her keyboard and look around now and then.
“Bryan probably didn’t know we meant to take a boat with a motor,” Wes said, getting that mischievous glint in her eye once again. “ He probably thought we were going to try and row ourselves out to the castle.” She scoffed. “ Paddles are for chumps!”
Grinning, Grace tugged the cord to start the engine. They could be there and back before anyone was the wiser. At the second yank it fired right up, and they headed out towards the middle of the bay.
After half an hour, though, the castle was still very far away, much further than it had seemed. They had made it about halfway, and now they didn’t seem to be getting any closer. The engine sputtered hard against the current, and a few clouds had blown in, beginning to obscure the azure sky.
“We probably should have launched from the ferry dock where Bryan mentioned the view,” she called over the little coughing motor.
“Probably,” Wes yelled. “ I guess we can let him gloat about it while we pick out a new place to stay.”
Grace’s stomach dropped. “ What do you mean?”
“The festival’s over. Rooms will be opening up. You two clearly hate each other too much to get over it and get it on, so I figured…”
“Oh.”
“Do you not want to?” Wes asked.
No. Grace was finally writing again. Bryan had become a part of the background noise, even something of a muse. Like not shaving a playoff beard or changing your lucky socks, you don’t mess with a streak.
“Oh my god, then why don’t you two just bone already?” Wes demanded, and Grace cringed at the crude description of doing exactly what she’d been trying not to fantasize about for days.
“It’s not like that,” she argued feebly. “ I’m not like you.”
“So you think I’m a slut too?” Wes demanded, a lot more pissed off than Grace would’ve expected—despite Bryan’s similar reaction after she said basically the exact same thing to him.
“I never said you’re a slut.”
“You definitely implied it.”
“I’m really not trying to insult you here.”
“It kind of sounded like you were, though.”
“It’s a statement of fact. I’m not judging. I just can’t have no strings, no emotions— I can’t even with strings and emotions!”
“Just so we’re clear, though, this thing with Bryan would def-initely be a case of the former, no emotions at all whatsoever?” Wes shouted sarcastically.
“There’s not,” Grace protested.
“Excuse me, I was in the room this morning. I literally needed a shower to wash off all the pheromones you two were spewing at each other.”
“That is absolutely not true. He’s still furious with me for turning him down last night, and honestly, I’m still pretty pissed at him.”
“Since when do the two have to be mutually exclusive? Given the slightest encouragement, that man would have climbed you like a fireman’s pole.”
“I don’t think they climb?—”
“You know what I mean, Gray . If you don’t want to bang him, what possible excuse do you have to stay? It’s his house. He’s making an ever-loving racket. You are a thousand percent in his way, and you both have deadlines.”
“But I’m also finally writing. It’s a delicate process. I don’t want to rock the boat?—”
Speaking of rocking the boat, the tide or waves or what-have-you seemed to be rocking theirs quite a lot as the sky grew dark and the air charged and chilly.
Then a foghorn blared, and Grace looked over her shoulder to see a much larger vessel bearing down on them. “ Oh shit.”
“What is it?” Wesley squinted.
“A ferry.”
“I thought there wasn’t one.”
“Heading to the mainland, I guess.”
“What should we do?”
“I would say paddle like hell but…”
“Paddles are for chumps,” Wes whimpered.
Grace tried to turn the little boat out of the ferry’s path and choke more speed from the already weary motor as the sea battered and tossed them and the ferry horn blared once more.
“Not how I pictured my own death,” Wes muttered.
Grace was still trying to think of a snappy retort when a wave from the ferry’s wake smacked the side of their dinghy and she went overboard.