Grace #2
The laugh Tucker sets free teeters on the edge of humorless. Roughing a hand across his short beard, he lets out a low whistle. “Damn, she’s good.”
“I’m surprised it took you so long to catch on.
You of all people should know how cunning she can be, Tucker John Beaumont.
” The use of his full name seems to startle us both.
His jaw drops, bottom lip separating from the top, and his eyes darken.
Barely, but enough for me to notice from several feet away.
Although he’s Tuck to most, he was always just Tucker to me. Except, of course, when he’d annoyed me or was being foolish, in which case he was Tucker John’d. The way we’ve just eased into bantering the way we once did catches me off guard.
For a moment I think I see a twinkling in his eye. But when I blink, it’s gone.
We might as well be in a shootout scene from an old western with the way we’re standing, just far enough away from each other that if we were to reach out our hands, our fingertips would barely graze.
Lightning strikes somewhere nearby, but it’s hard to tell if it’s from the sky or from the tension between us. I don’t get the chance to find out when the dark cloud overhead opens, large droplets of cold water plummeting down onto us.
I let out a shriek as I make a break for Tucker’s truck, which sits several hundred yards away. Tucker follows suit and quickly takes off ahead of me, his legs far longer than mine.
“You look like a drowned rat,” I call out ahead of me as I run.
The insult couldn’t have been timed better.
As the words leave my mouth, Tucker scrubs his hands through his hair, which currently resembles a mop.
He rounds the truck to the passenger side and opens the door for me, making me feel a little bad for comparing him to a rat just now.
“On the contrary,” he lowers his head toward mine, the rest of the sentence a whisper against my ear, “you’ve never looked better.
” His words alone are enough to draw a blush to my cheeks, but it’s the way he looks at me as he leans back that sends heat rolling through my entire body, inside and out.
He peers down at me through his thick lashes, a tiny smile pulling at the small scar above his lip.
The sincerity of what should’ve been a throwaway one liner instead feels stifling.
Head dipped low, I take in my appearance—my blue and white top now resembles Casper, and sticks to me like a second skin, while my jeans are two shades darker than they were this morning.
“I think I might look worse than you.” We lock eyes, bursting into a fit of laughter that rings out through the trees and out across the lake, the heavy downpour briefly forgotten.
The truck radio is playing softly as we scramble back inside.
As our laughter quiets, the lyrics become audible, the words making my stomach flip—it’s the song that we danced to at our junior prom when Tucker first told me he loved me.
He wasn’t much of a dancer back then, but he’d orchestrated a whole plan to tell me he loved me for the first time.
He knew how much I loved this song, and how I’d always wanted to slow dance to it like they did in all the classic romance movies, so he’d organized for the band to play it, and had spent hours on end learning to slow dance.
I don’t think I could name a single other seventeen-year-old boy who went to such lengths for his girlfriend.
It hurt too much to listen to it after I left, so I haven’t heard it since.
My gaze slides toward him, and I’m surprised to find him already looking at me. Does he remember the significance of the song too? I didn’t think guys remembered trivial things like that, but I’ve been wrong a time or two.
“May I have this dance, Gracie?” Tucker offers his hand expectantly across the center console.
It isn’t lost on me that he’s reverted back to the nickname I all but bit his head off about using last week, but I don’t feel the need to correct him this time.
I like the sound of it falling from his lips.
It takes me a moment to register that the words he just spoke are the exact same ones he said to me on junior prom night.
He does remember. There’s a glimmer in his eyes as he watches me realize.
I let out a soft chuckle, because surely he’s joking. “Oh, you’re funny.”
When Tucker doesn’t laugh and doesn’t move his outstretched hand, my level of surety drops significantly.
“You can’t be serious.” Gobsmacked, I gesture toward the rain, still slowing falling. “It’s still raining.”
“Barely. I’ll wait.” There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips as he remains perfectly still, waiting ever so patiently.
Fuck it.
I place my hand in his, feeling giddy and anxious all at once.
The moment we touch, electricity sparks between our palms. Tucker grins cheekily at me before he drops my hand, jumping out of the truck and running around to open my door.
The rain-soaked man stands before me, the boyish grin remaining on his face as he once again holds out his hand.
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me at how ridiculous this all seems, yet my chest heats as I place my hand in his once more, allowing him to help me out of the truck and onto my feet.
Despite the gentle rainfall, Tucker pulls me into his arms. He slides both hands around to the small of my back, his palms a welcome warmth against the damp fabric.
I wrap my arms around his neck as he begins to sway to the music coming from the truck, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Resting my cheek against his chest, we continue dancing long after the song has finished.
The beat of Tucker’s heart increases beneath my cheek.
Tipping my head up to find his face, once again I find him already looking down at me in awe.
His smile reaches his eyes as his thumb slips back and forth softly over the bridge of my nose.
I’m about to ask him what on Earth he’s doing when a memory hits me like a ton of bricks—this is what he did at prom, right before telling me he loved me for the first time.
Our gazes remain locked on one another, unbroken after having been separated for so long.
It’s easy to forget the heartbreak when he’s looking at me like this, like I could’ve been his whole world.
I barely notice that Tucker’s hand has slid from my face, now cradling my jaw.
I’ve yearned to feel his calloused hands against my skin.
I’ve ached to know what his lips feel like against mine after all these years, to taste his tongue along mine.
Time stands still as his face moves ever so slowly toward mine.
There’s a whisper of space between our lips now. Who’s going to close the—
Boom.
Thunder booms overhead, loud enough to break whatever spell we’ve found ourselves under. My heart races, but I can’t be sure whether it’s due to the fright or from the adrenaline rush of being a millisecond away from kissing the only man I’ve ever loved.
“We should head back,” I mumble.