32. Tucker
Tucker
One Day until the Rodeo
If you’d told me eight weeks ago that I’d be driving the two hour round trip to Nashville to collect a ridiculously expensive—and even more ridiculously sized—bouquet of irises to surprise the girl I let slip through my fingers twelve years ago, I probably would’ve laughed in your face or asked what game you were playing at.
Yet here I am.
When Rhett called me earlier to see if I wanted to go out on a ride with him, I swear he almost fell off a chair when I told him what I was doing.
He definitely would’ve rolled his eyes until they hurt, and maybe even cursed under his breath.
I can’t really blame him for not understanding though; poor guy has never been in love.
Except for maybe whatever crush he has on Carson.
I look over at the bouquet I carefully strapped in before leaving Nashville.
I know they’re just flowers, and they’ll be dead in a few days, but it’s the thought that counts, right?
That’s what I’ve been telling myself for the past two hours, anyway.
I just wanted to do something nice for Gracie.
I could never thank her enough for all the hard work and endless effort she’s put in to get tomorrow’s event to where it is right now, but I’m hoping that a massive bouquet of her favorite flowers is a good start.
When I pull up outside Randy’s place, Gracie’s car is thankfully nowhere to be seen. I’d hoped to time it right so that she’d still be at the grounds with Whit, getting all the stall holders checked in and set up, but I’m running slightly behind thanks to a traffic jam on I-65.
I pluck the small envelope from the plastic stake and write a small message on the card.
You should be so proud of yourself, my Gracie girl. I know I am.
Yours always,
Tucker
After I slip it back into the flowers, I walk up to the porch with the level of caution you’d expect from someone holding a newborn, not a bunch of flowers.
A couple of minutes—and a lot of fidgeting—later, the flowers are stabilized between a pair of boots and one of the porch bench seats.
Snapping a picture for good measure, I head back to my truck and send the photo to Rhett. He replies almost immediately.
Rhett
You’re so whipped.
IIt’s not until several hours later that I get a message from Gracie.
Part of me had hoped the flowers would give her a reason to call me—I’ve barely heard her voice this week, and I miss it.
But I’ll take a text from her over a call from anyone else any day.
When I read her message, it’s like she’s read my mind.
Sweetheart
I wanted to call you to thank you, but I burst into tears when I read the card and I feared I’d start crying again if I heard your voice.
Me
You can cry to me anytime, on the phone or in person
Sweetheart
I appreciate that more than you know, but can’t risk having puffy eyes for the big day tomorrow
Me
You’d be the prettiest puffy-eyed girl in the arena
Sweetheart
I’d rather not find out
Um, this card says Nashville?
Me
Does it? Can’t say I noticed
Sweetheart
Tucker John
That two-word text immediately screams busted. It’s not that I didn’t want her to know I’d gone all that way for flowers, but I also didn’t really want her to find out. Maybe Rhett’s right—maybe I am whipped.
Sweetheart
Tell me you didn’t go all the way to Nashville to get me flowers
Me
Ok, I didn’t go all the way to Nashville to get you flowers
Sweetheart
…
Me
…
Sweetheart
You really are something else, Tucker Beaumont. I hope you know that.
Complimentary.
I laugh out loud at that, grateful for the clarification.
Sweetheart
Thank you <3
Me
Get some sleep, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow