Grace
When I pull up at the Biscuit, I’m surprised I made it in one piece.
It’s not a long drive by any means—nothing in Beaumont Ridge is more than a ten-minute trip—but every single second of it was spent in a daze, thinking about the life Tucker and I could’ve had.
What would things look like in a life where we worked out?
For the first time in forever, I find myself desperately wanting to know the answer.
“Oh my god, Whit, I am so sorry,” I practically yell across the café as I fling the door open, unintentionally drawing far too much attention to myself.
Whitney stands as I approach, giving me a quick squeeze. She waves a hand as we sit down. “Don’t sweat it, hon, but you best have a good reason,” she says matter-of-factly.
The blush rises almost immediately, and I curse the powers that be for letting me blush so easily. I hold my breath as I watch her begin to scrutinize my reddening cheeks. Her gaze flicks down and back up, and immediately back down again—honing in on my shirt.
Tucker’s shirt.
I feel the exact moment my heart rate spikes. The discomfort of being caught—and not just by anyone, but by his sister no less—has me reaching up and toying with my earring, a loose strand of hair, the collar of Tucker’s shirt—anything my fingertips can latch onto.
The look on Whitney’s face as she slowly meets my gaze again is both scandalized and downright wicked. “Oh my sweet heavens. Grace Clark, you devious little devil!” She smacks her hands down on the tabletop and I jump. “Is that Tuck’s shirt?”
My eyes dart around the room and I let out a sigh of relief that nobody is staring. “Please keep your voice down,” I whisper-shout. “You know what this town is like.” My whole body slumps back against the chair.
She just gapes at me, wide eyed. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times, mimicking a fish out of water. “I might just be lost for words, which is a real rarity for me.”
I can’t help but laugh, because she’s not wrong. Whit always has something to say; it doesn’t matter if her commentary is wanted or not. So to know I, of all people, have rendered her speechless is an achievement—I’m just not sure if it’s one I’m proud of, or one that slightly disturbs me.
“I’m still kind of processing it myself, if that makes you feel any better.”
Her eyes bug out a little. “And what exactly is there to process, Miss Clark? Without the scandalous details, please. This is my brother we’re talking about after all.” She fakes a shudder.
I don’t answer immediately, because honestly, I don’t really have the words to explain Tucker and I—what we are, what we’re doing, what it all means.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready or you don’t want to,” Whit offers after a moment, shaking her head and blinking slowly. “I can’t imagine I’m the first person you’d want to talk to about this.”
I sigh. “It’s not that, Whit, it’s just that I’ve barely had a moment to process it myself. I ran straight here when I realized how late I was.”
“You’re not ready,” she says simply, giving me a knowing smile.
I huff out a laugh. “I’m really not.” I don’t know what the hell all of this means, and I sure as shit don’t know where my head’s at with any of it. I’d rather have a little more clarity, and perhaps a conversation with Tucker himself, before divulging my thoughts and feelings with his baby sister.
“I know you have Carson, but if you need anyone in the flesh when you’re ready, I’m here.” Whit reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. “I’m always here for you, G.”
“I know you are, and likewise.” I return her smile before putting on my business face.
“Speaking of Carson, she’s here this weekend, so I think we should organize a meet up between her, Rhett, Tucker, and the two of us.
We’re a month out, which means we have half that time, if we’re lucky, to do a final push for ticket sales and get final numbers locked in so the vendors can prep accordingly. ”
Whitney nods along as she furiously scribbles notes down in her notebook.
“Sales are up 250% compared to before we started this campaign, but I really do think we can get that number even higher. We just need to create more of a buzz and encourage FOMO. There’s nothing people in this town hate more than thinking they’re missing out on something fun.”
“Except maybe the latest piece of town gossip,” Whitney says with a smirk, and I laugh in response.
“I have kind of a crazy idea, but I want you to hear me out, okay?”
“Okay…” I respond cautiously, without a clue where this might lead.
“What if we did a bit of a social media competition, and in order to be eligible, you’d have to show proof of a ticket purchase, and refer a friend who also has to purchase a ticket?
We could even get Carson in on it, too, say they have to pre-save her album for a bonus entry.
And we could incorporate merch or a signed vinyl or something into the prize?
I haven’t thought too much about the logistics of it yet, just the main gist.”
“I definitely don’t hate it, and you could be onto something, but you’d need a pretty big prize to make it worth people’s while. Call me a pessimist, but they ain’t going to do all of that for a hamper.”
A wicked grin pulls at Whit’s lips and she rubs her hands together like some sort of mad scientist. “I have a couple of ideas, they just might need a little convincing.”
“I’m scared to ask.”
“We offer up meet and greets with the cowboys of Beaumont Ridge, and the future queen of country music herself. I might even be able to talk some of the boys into dates.”
“Rhett’s the biggest cowboy name, but there ain’t no way in hell that grump will agree to any of that.”
“G, I’m his baby sister. Look at this face,” she says, framing her chin with the backs of her fingertips and smiling sweetly, batting her eyelashes. “He can’t say no to this face.”
I raise my brows. “I think you overestimate your sisterly abilities.”
“You remember those pictures on Mom’s mantel of the boys dressed up in princess costumes on my eighth birthday?”
“As if I could forget the sight of all three Beaumont boys in blonde wigs—that’s engrained in my mind forever.”
“I had a costume party for my eighteenth, and they all dressed up the same way. Even Hudson, who was at the peak of teenage boy attitude at fifteen. Why? Because I asked them to. They might act tough, but it’s a front.
They’ll do anything for me. Kind of like the way one of them would do anything for you, too.
” She raises her brows, her forehead creasing.
“I feel like there’s a significant difference between dressing up for your sister’s birthday and offering yourself up on a silver platter to the highest bidder for a date.”
“Bidder? Now that’s a great idea.”
“Uh-uh,” I say with a shake of my head. “That was not me giving you an idea.”
“That’s fine, I’ll take the credit.” When I continue shaking my head, Whit goes on.
“Think about it G! You’d have to have a ticket to the rodeo to participate, and if we have Rhett’s name connected to it, there’s no way the buckle bunnies wouldn’t flock from Nashville.
And we can convince Rhett because the money raised from the auctioning could be used for the rodeo school, or to sponsor local junior athletes.
My brothers are suckers for helping out kids who wanna make a life out of rodeo. ”
I bite my thumb nail, letting her words stew. “Do you really think they’ll go for it?”
Whitney smirks. “Once I’m done spinning my pitch, they’ll be begging for a spot in that lineup.”
“Where are we fitting this into the run sheet?”
“I’m gonna leave that ball in your court.” She points at me with a wink. “You find a spot for it, and I’ll sort the rest.”
“This is kind of insane,” I say with a laugh, still kind of baffled that we’re actually going ahead with this bidding war idea.
“It’s completely insane, but that’s why it’s brilliant, if I do say so myself. Just you wait, G. With this cowboy auction addition, we’re going to make this anniversary one for the books.”