“There’s a face we don’t see here often,” he yelled over the music.
I slapped him on the back as he disappeared into the crowd. There were tables set up along the side, with white tablecloths and large pitchers of lemonade and water. I could’ve gone for something stronger, but that was my own problem. On the table was a framed picture of a smiling, gap-toothed little girl, the eight-year-old of a family I knew from church. She had some rare kind of leukemia, and the medical bills were crippling. Nights like this, put together for the benefit of someone we all knew, was one of the million reasons I loved living in a small town.
After the riot of thoughts bombarding me in the quiet of my home, this was what I needed. Familiar faces. Good music.
The only problem was in my own head, as I started watching everyone around me.
All I could see was happiness, and instead of buoying me to their level, it simply pointed a spotlight onto all the things I felt weighing me down.
I saw couples in love, dancing close and smiling wide.
I saw the Winstons on stage, sweaty and grinning and happy as they entertained the crowd doing something they loved.
My own life felt suspended, felt rooted in place. But not in the way I wanted it to be.
Roots were good, if you wanted to be planted solidly in that one spot.
But the way things felt for me, it was like quicksand.
I turned and froze.
And saw Grace Buchanan.
She was crouched down, camera pointed into the crowd, where a little boy and girl were twirling to the music. People moved around her as she snapped away, occasionally pulling the camera back to smile at whatever she could see on that screen.
I wanted to know what it was.
Wanted to know what she’d captured, the thing that caught her attention.
While I was staring at her, unabashedly soaking in the way her hair curled over her shoulders and the way her nose tilted up at the end, someone slung an arm around my shoulder.
“You never call, you never write,” Connor Buchanan said. “People say you’re still around, but I was starting to think it was a myth.”
I laughed, praying my face wasn’t bright red after he all but caught me gawking at his cousin like a love-struck teenager.
“Connor,” I greeted. “It’s been a while.”
“You missed the big day, man.”
I winced. “Yeah, sorry about that. I heard it was a beautiful wedding.”
Connor grinned over at where his new bride stood, sipping lemonade and swaying to the music. “Best day of my life.”
“I wish I had an exciting reason why I couldn’t make it,” I told him, raising my voice so he could hear me over the music, “but it was a conference in Knoxville about employment law.”
Connor laughed. “That sounds like the most boring way I could possibly think of to spend a weekend.”
“I would’ve much rather been at your wedding, trust me.” I sipped at my water and struggled not to stare openly at Grace as she stood, wincing slightly as she put weight on her ankle, and walked back over by Sylvia. It was probably a good thing that she hadn’t seen me yet, because I wasn’t sure I was in any frame of mind to talk to her.
A group of women passed Grace, frank appraisal clear on their faces, then the telltale whispering to each other as soon as they walked away. No, there were too many eyes in this place for me to have any sort of conversation with her.
I was too confused, it was too loud in that gym, and admitting to myself that I was attracted to her was too new in my head.
Sylvia waved at Connor, then gestured in our direction. Grace nodded, and I held my breath as she turned her face and saw us.
It would be impossible for her to ever hide what she felt, I realized.
Not when she was taken by surprise.
Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened when she saw me standing next to Connor, who was still talking happily about his wedding day.
Grace’s cheeks flushed pink, and when I felt a desperate tug to know why, I knew I had to leave.
Maybe that was stupid, because I was going to see her in the morning, and we’d be alone. Then I’d have to let myself feel stupid, because I was at my limit for what I could allow myself for one day.
If I stood next to her, I’d want to stand closer.
If I talked to her, I’d want to lean in so I could hear her better.
If I let myself, if I knew that no one was watching, I’d ask to her to dance just so that I could feel her in my arms.
And I would never do that to Magnolia.
“Connor, it was good talking to you,” I said, as the two women approached.
“Didn’t you just get here?” he asked. He wrapped an arm around Sylvia’s shoulders.
“Forgot about something I need to get wrapped up before tomorrow,” I told him, then nodded at Sylvia. “Belated congratulations, Mrs. Buchanan. I’m sorry I missed it.”
She smiled. “Good seeing you, Tucker.”
Grace was fidgeting with her camera when I finally gave myself permission to look at her.
Those slim shoulders raised as she took a deep, fortifying breath, and her eyes raised to mine.
“Grace,” I said.
“I’ll see you in the morning?”
By my estimation, I had less than twelve hours to get myself under control, so that I could manage a simple conversation with this person.
I nodded. “See you then.”
Less than fifteen minutes after I walked in the door, I walked back out again, accompanied this time by the realization that I couldn’t run away from a single one of my problems, no matter where I went.
Chapter 38
Tucker
She got there before I did, which surprised me, as I arrived at the empty fairgrounds ten minutes before nine. But when I pulled my truck into the spot next to her now-functioning car, I saw her sitting on the picnic table underneath the sprawling tree that I used to climb as a boy, no matter how often my mom told me not to. Seeing her underneath it, white shirt, jean shorts, and a messy knot of golden hair on top of her head, was a strange dichotomy—a split picture of the two versions of my life the last few days.
Tucker the lawyer and the long-term boyfriend.
Tucker who ditched work to go on a hike.
Tucker who wore a tie tight around his neck.
Tucker who laughed out in the sunshine, fresh air in his lungs.
I shouldn't have felt the zing of excitement at the sight of her. That much I knew.
But I still did.
The ever-present boots were on her feet, dark black against the shiny green paint of the bench. Her elbows were propped on her knees, and her eyes were covered by sunglasses, so I couldn't tell if she was looking at me or not. If she noticed me, she didn't act like it. Her hands moved to the side of the table I couldn't see, and she lifted her black camera to her face and aimed it where the sun was lifting into the sky above the trees.
I took a deep breath and carefully picked up the beverage carrier holding our coffees from Daisy's Nut House. If she'd wanted something fancy, I probably would have gone out of my way to Donner Bakery, no matter what I told her in my text. I would've gotten one of those pretty ones, with caramel doodled on top of the mountain of whip cream, a red cherry perched at the peak.
And I damn well knew that it would've been a bad idea to do so.
The twelve hours had done absolutely nothing to lessen the mental war I had been waging.
"Morning," I said as I approached. Before she spoke, I wondered what version of Grace I'd get, because so far, I'd seen a few. The one last night, who threw away her ice cream and practically sprinted back to her daddy's truck, was a version of her I hadn't expected. But even if she'd looked unsure and unsteady, there had been no hate in her eyes, there or at the jam session, and I took that as a hopeful sign.
She smiled for me then, as she lowered the camera into her lap, just a small tilt of her lips. But no matter h
ow small it was, it was one of the first she'd ever voluntarily given me, and that flipped my stomach around.
Setting the coffee cups in between us, I sat on the table and took a deep breath.
"Smells good out here, doesn't it?"
It was pine needles and freshly cut grass, it was mountains and clean air.
She nodded, eyes trained across the open field at the groves of trees that provided shade on a hot summer afternoon at the festival. "We never had places that smelled like this in LA." Grace inhaled deeply. "I wish I could bottle it."
I glanced sideways at her. "That's the beauty of living in a place like this, isn't it? It's right here anytime you want it."
Instead of answering, she picked up one of the coffees and took a sip, humming appreciatively when she did. "Good coffee, thank you."
"Welcome." I took a sip of my own.
We sat in comfortable silence, letting the heat of the dark roast coffee wake us up a bit.
"I'd want to bottle it if I left," she said. Because she was still wearing her sunglasses, I couldn't see her eyes, but I felt her give me a sideways glance as she spoke.
I nodded. "That makes sense, I suppose." I set the coffee down and turned to the side, so I could face her. "But you just got here."
Grace pushed her sunglasses on top of her head into the mess of hair, but she kept her face stubbornly forward. There was no response to what I'd said, the question I'd asked, and I fought the impulse to ask again. The itch in my head to find out what she meant. I'd never met anyone whose thoughts I wanted to pry into more than this woman's, and that should have been one of the biggest warning lights of all.
"I did."
That's all she said. There was a ring of finality to it. Her fingers started tapping where they gripped the edge of the table. The rounded toe of her boots started bouncing in place.
I smiled into my coffee. "You packing up and leaving already, Angry Girl?"
She huffed, part laugh, part frustration. "That name," she said with a shake of her head. "And no. I don't know. I feel …" She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes darted to me, then away again, like she wasn't sure where they were supposed to rest.
"Grace," I corrected. "I'll call you Grace, if you want."
Her cheeks pinked up, and I tilted my head as I regarded her curiously.
"I don't … I don't mind the nickname, really." She blew out a breath. "I was pretty awful to you that first day, so you have every right to call me that."
I grinned. "Is this your way of apologizing?"
Suddenly, she looked nervous, and her eyes focused in on an invisible spot in front of her. "I guess so. I don't have any excuse for it." She shook her head. "Not that would make sense, anyway. But I am sorry I was so rude to you."
"Forgiven," I told her.
Her face lifted, and those golden eyes touched on my face slowly, searching for any hint that I didn't mean it. "Just like that?"
"Just like that." I stood and held out my hand, which she looked at warily. "Official restart. I'm Tucker Haywood, it's a pleasure to meet you."
Grace's eyes got huge in her face as she stared at my hand, and I almost pulled it back. She swallowed roughly and I caught the flicker in her eyes as she came to a decision. It was as if her brain was built with subtitles, because her facial expressions were so clear, so obvious, everything she was thinking played across that face as if someone was typing them in all-capped, bold letters.
Grace Buchanan was nervous to shake my hand, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why.
But she shored herself up, and slid her palm across mine, the cool strength in her fingers sent up a quick zap of lightning up my arm when she curled them around my own.
My skin wasn't smooth or soft, the palms rough and calloused, but hers was. And the difference between her skin and mine felt like a secret that I wasn't supposed to know.
Her mouth opened, and that sunrise-pink color stole up the finely carved features of her face. She wanted to tug her hand out of mine, but she didn't. It pulled away slowly, where she laid it carefully in her lap, her forehead furrowed slightly as she did.
"I think I made a mistake moving here," she said quietly.
I clenched my jaw at what those words did to my insides. "What makes you say that?"
She glanced up at the tree above us, the sprawling limbs coated with thick, green leaves. For a long moment, she didn't say anything, just let those wheels turn in her head as she studied the sky.
"Don't you ever just … feel the truth of something? Even if it doesn't make sense when you try to say it out loud?"
A surprised laugh came out underneath my breath. What she said wasn't funny, but it rang true and clear, the gong of a perfectly shaped bell. "Every single day."
Her face lit with surprise. "Really?"
Slowly, I took a seat on the table next to her, on the other side though, where our shoulders almost touched. "Are we keeping this conversation protected by the sanctity of the festival planning committee bond?"
Grace rolled her lips over her teeth, instantly smothering a real, true smile. I couldn't mourn the fact that I didn't see it, because her eyes twinkled happily as she nodded. My fingers itched to take the camera from her lap, just to see if a box made of plastic and metal and glass would capture the way that happiness made them glow golden and bright.
"You laugh, but it's serious. This is stronger than attorney-client privilege, and that's a rule that is one of the driving forces of my entire life," I explained.
"I heard you tell Grady you were a lawyer," she said. “You know, above the crippling pain of a twisted ankle.”
I nodded, charmed beyond words when she set her chin in her hand and watched me. She looked younger and softer when she did it, another side of her that I hadn't seen yet. "Just like my father is, and his dad was before him."
"Family business."
This time, I nodded more slowly, the weight of those two words settling like another rock tossed onto my back. "Oldest law firm in Green Valley. Not a day goes by where I don’t understand the importance of carrying on that tradition."
Grace remained quiet as she processed what I’d just said.
"You hate it," she observed.
The certainty in her words knocked the breath from my lungs. I hung my hands between my legs and let my chin drop to my chest. "I do."
For a few seconds, she was quiet. When she spoke, it was clear that she was choosing her words before she said them out loud. "Am I not supposed to know that? You look …" her voice trailed off. "You look surprised."
I ran a hand over my face and sighed heavily, even though there was a huge part of me that wanted to laugh in relief. "Surprised. Yeah, a little bit."
"Why?"
One word that held so much behind it. Suddenly, I felt like if I could properly explain to her why I felt like I was sitting naked in front of her, why her perceptiveness was completely terrifying, somehow I'd be able to unload some of what was weighing me down.
"Surprised because …" I paused and let out a slow breath. "Because not a single person in my life has ever picked up on it. Not one." I glanced over at her, heart thrashing erratically. "I'm not sure how I should feel about that, Grace."
Something about what I said didn't sit well with her, because her face lost a little bit of its color and she turned forward again. On the ground in front of us, a chipmunk darted out from the base of the tree to inspect the hollowed-out shell of a black walnut. Grace picked up her camera, carefully turned the lens and snapped a picture with a decisive click. The chipmunk disappeared with the shell.
"What would you do instead? If you weren't a lawyer."
Part of me was glad she didn't acknowledge what I'd said, because I wasn't even sure what to do about it. There was a strange cloud, a fog hanging over the picnic table, separating Grace and I from everything that waited for us outside of this small space. And neither one of us moved to leave it.
"There's a hundred things I'd rat
her do." The honesty came off my lips so easily, it was hard to believe. I'd stuffed it down for so long, for fear of disappointing my parents, or upsetting the path that my life had been since the day I was born. And it wasn't hard to stuff down, because no one in my life seemed to care enough to ask, or even see how unhappy I was in the first place. "I hate being trapped at that desk, in that office." I looked around us, and only stopped when her face came into view again. "Sitting out here, feeling the sun on my face, smelling the mountains, I want something that gives me this right here. It's the kind of peace I don't feel anywhere else in my life."
"And you don't think your family would understand? If you wanted to do something else?"
Unfortunately, I didn't have to think or question the answer to that. "No, they wouldn't."
Grace hummed. It was thoughtful humming, and just a little sad.
"I know my mom thinks Grady and I are a little nuts for moving here. But she wants us to be happy, more than anything, even if she doesn't understand it."
"I think my parents rate duty, responsibility much higher than happiness." I took a sip of my coffee. "Who knows, maybe they're right and I'm just being selfish."
"Selfish for wanting something that brings you peace?"
"Yeah, I suppose."
She tilted her head toward me as I answered, but still didn't look in my direction. Grace opened her mouth once, then twice, a battle playing over that face as clear as day. Her chest expanded on a deep breath, and she let the words slip out when she exhaled. "If I could bottle that for you, Tucker, that feeling you're searching for, I would."
If there was a sound that accompanied what she said, and the corresponding feeling it gave me, I never would've been able to give it a name. How did you find a word that described the realization that your life just shifted irrevocably, like the key turning—smoothly and unimpeded—in a lock that nobody had been able to find before that exact moment?
I spoke without thinking. "Where have you been hiding, Grace?"
She was up from the table in a flash, legs eating up the ground just shy of a run, only the slightest limp clear from our hike. "I should go."
The Love at First Sight Box Set Page 32