Grace
Five Weeks and Five Days until the Rodeo
Whitney
Leaving now, but stopping by Biscuit’s. You want anything?
Me
I might love you forever if you bring me a donut.
Whitney
As if you wouldn’t love me forever anyway.
Me
The donut would guarantee it.
Twenty minutes later with donuts in hand, we’re pulling into the gravel driveway of what used to be the run-down barn on the edge of town.
It’s barely recognizable now though—it’s got a crisp white paint job, fresh timber accents on the windows, and huge brown oak barn doors.
It looks like a second story extension has been added as well, intriguing me as to how it’s being utilized on the inside.
Honestly, the whole exterior is kind of beautiful.
“It’s pretty impressive, right?” Whit glances over from the driver’s seat, grinning from ear to ear.
“It’s certainly something. Tucker really did all this?”
“Sure did. I mean, he had a bit of help from Hayes, but the ideas were all him. C’mon.” Whit slides out her door, grabbing the hat from the dashboard. “If you like the exterior this much, I can’t wait to see what you think of inside.”
“Hayes? As in Declan?” I ask somewhat incredulously as I follow suit, jumping out the car and following Whit toward the barn doors.
“The one and only.” Whit smiles over her shoulder.
“I know, who would’ve thought those two high school nemeses would end up working together?
The craziest thing though,” she says, tugging on the barn door and ushering me ahead, “is that they’re best buds now.
Those two, Rhett, and Sonny are basically inseparable. ”
“Who’d have thought?” I muse, but my attention is stolen.
Walking inside, it’s an effort not to let my jaw drop in a cartoon-like way—this place is incredible.
If I hadn’t known the barn in its previous form, there’s no way in hell I’d believe that this is what it looks like now.
It almost resembles a gymnasium—that is if they also had miniature mechanical bulls and artificial, saddled horse mid-sections instead of pommel horses.
Thick, protective mats cover most of the floor, and championship banners and flags hang proudly off the exposed beams. To the left of the barn doors is a staircase, leading to a loft-looking area—that explains the extension.
Right in the middle of the main section atop the smallest mechanical bull I’ve ever seen, sits a little boy.
But it’s the person beside him who demands every ounce of my attention.
His ears must’ve been ringing because he looks over suddenly, locking eyes with me, and that familiar dipping sensation swoops through my stomach.
For a moment we just stare, and then he smiles, his eyes twinkling in that familiar way, and I feel like a teenager again.
How can just one look, from one person, have such a profound impact?
“Ah!” the little boy cries out, breaking whatever spell was cast over us.
Thank God for Tucker’s lightning-fast reflexes and the fact he was a mere foot away, because little man was seconds from plummeting to the ground. The mats would’ve broken his fall, but he can’t be more than three. Nobody wants to see a three-year-old eat mat.
“Woah there, bud. I’ve got you.”
I’m embarrassed by the way my cheeks heat at his words of encouragement.
One look at Whitney’s shit-eating grin is all it takes to know she can see right through the blush.
I’m equal parts unease and cautious optimism seeing how she lights up about us.
Scratch that—about Tucker and I. We haven’t been an us for a long time.
It feels impossible to look away from him right now.
Despite the success and accolades he received during his bull riding prime, Tucker never seemed fully satisfied.
But witnessing him in his element like this, it’s clear he’s found his calling.
My heart aches for him just thinking about what he went through to get here.
It almost cracks thinking how proud his dad would be if he were here to see it.
“You mind if we head upstairs?” Whit asks her brother. “I want to show G around.”
When Whit calls me G, Tucker gives me a funny look.
He’s clearly recalling our interaction around nicknames.
He smirks before responding, “Of course, Whit. Feel free to give G the grand tour.” The sarcasm drips off the nickname, sounding foreign in his voice.
I’d give anything to hear him say Gracie again.
No. No more Gracie.
Without another word, Tucker turns back to the child with a smile, clapping him gently on his tiny shoulder. “Let’s have a drink break, alright bud?”
We head up the staircase and step into an office that Pinterest would envy.
But it’s not the beautiful furniture or the perfectly refurbished exposed beams that catch my eye; it’s the picture frames lining the walls.
Each Beaumont sibling is featured several times, ages and appearances varying throughout.
It acts as a visual timeline of their childhoods. And it’s beautiful.
“Tucker’s kind of obsessed with us,” Whit says with a laugh, her arms gesturing to the images.
“Dad used to have these hung in his office, so I guess in a way, Tucker has him here with him, too.” Her voice has a solemn feel to it, her lips turned up ever so slightly.
“Anyway, this is pretty much the grand tour.”
“Tucker never struck me as the office type.”
“You and me both, but he kind of suits it. You should see him when he rolls in wearing his fancy shirt and his good jeans. He really looks the part then.”
Images of Tucker at senior prom flash across my mind.
He looked so handsome; dressed to the nines in a suit he’d spent months saving for, perched in the truck he’d recently bought and fixed up with his dad.
I can’t help but wonder what the grown up, man version of Tucker would look like in a suit.
Just the thought of it has my knees weakening; I don’t think I’d survive the real thing.
“Now that I’d like to see.”
“Stick around, and you will.” Whit gives me a wink and motions for me to follow her. “Let’s head back downstairs.”
Back on the floor, Tucker’s waving goodbye to his student. Our footsteps announcing our return, he walks our way with his arms splayed. “Enjoy the tour?”
“Oh I’d put money on it being the best tour Beaumont Ridge has to offer.”
Tucker chuckles. “And you’d lose that money. But that checks out; you never had great luck with odds.”
I slap his arm with the back of my hand, laughing. “Hey, that’s not fair. Not my fault I had a gambling extraordinaire for a boyfriend.” It’s hard to ignore the rock of bicep beneath the back of my hand. I wonder how it would feel to be wrapped in that strength.
Excuse me? Yes, hi. Remember me? I’m your pride and self-control, and you’re about to drop me.
“No, I was just a real lucky boy.”
For a moment, it’s just the two of us. Several feet apart, but somehow closer than we’ve been in years. Just two people, standing in a barn, smiling like idiots at one another.
“Oh shoot.” Reminding us she’s in the room, too, Whit continues. “I’m such a scatterbrain, I totally forgot I have an appointment in the city in an hour.” She’s running out the door before either of us form a response. “I’ll text you later, G!”
“Uh… bye!” I yell toward the door, but it’s pointless—she’s gone.
I turn back to Tucker, noticing he’s already looking at me. His face is suddenly harder to read. “So…” he says, trailing off.
“So…” I parrot back to him. Why am I suddenly lost for words? It’s not like we haven’t been alone together since I’ve been back. I suppose this is a little different to our first run in at the store and hanging flyers though. Should I leave? Does he want me to leave? “I should probably head off.”
“Oh, uh, you don’t have to. You can stay a while, I mean, if you want.” He’s avoiding looking me in the eyes, his gaze directed toward the floor as he scrubs a hand across the back of his neck. Is he… nervous? “I’m just gonna grab a water, want one?”
“Oh,” I reply, internally screaming at how foolish we sound trying to talk to each other. “Yes, please.”
He smiles then. “Be right back.”