Page 79 of Drop the Mitts

Jenna gasped, hand going to her chest, and immediately burst into delighted squealing. “Delia!”

She nearly climbed over the table to hug her, and in seconds Grace was at her side, asking questions and offering congratulations with a wide, dazzling smile that made André’s heart flip in his chest.

Because while the others buzzed with excitement, his gaze slid to the corner of the room where Country stood with one arm around Jenna’s empty chair, the other hand on Hope’s buggy.

Country smiled. A real, full smile. André felt like someone had taken a crowbar to his ribs. How? How did Jenna and Country keep doing this? How did they keep smiling when they didn’t know what was going to happen in two weeks? When everything they loved could be yanked away with a court ruling?

He looked at Hope, tiny and perfect in her sleepy snuggle. They were superhuman, that was the only explanation. Becausethe idea of Grace walking away right now made his ribs tighten until his chest ached, and he didn’t even have her yet.

“Yes! Come! It’s tonight at Dusty Rose!” Jenna clasped Delia’s hands in hers. André frowned. What was at Dusty Rose?

Delia laughed. “Can I do girl’s night incognito?”

Jenna’s eyes sparkled. “I’m thinking a wig and glasses. You’ll be the mysterious cousin from Vancouver. I’ll make a backstory and everything. No one will suspect a thing.”

Delia gave a mock bow. “I’m honoured.”

André glanced over, and right on cue, Country met his eye across the table. And there it was—a glint in his eye, a flick of his brow.

He grinned to himself. Yeah. The girls were going out tonight. But they weren’t going alone.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

Grace

The bar was hummingwhen they walked in. Musicians warmed up in the corner, and the air was thick with the scent of wood shavings and whiskey. She’d only been to The Dusty Rose a few times since landing in Calgary. It was a dive, but the place had major heart.

Grace pulled her coat tighter as they slipped past the host, heading for the long high-top their group had reserved near the stage. Country music played at a low pulse, but it was early still. The real chaos would start when the house band kicked off.

She gaped when she saw Delia. Her disguise was shockingly good. A dark auburn wig—soft bangs, layered waves. Oversized rose-tinted sunglasses. A denim jacket pulled over a vintage Johnny Cash tee, tucked into slouchy black trousers and paired with boots, she looked like someone who drank mezcal and wrote moody lyrics in leatherbound journals.

Grace leaned over to Jenna. “How the hell did you pull this off?”

Jenna laughed. “This is all her.”

Delia leaned in and whispered, “I’m regretting the wig. It itches.”

The waitress dropped off a pitcher of beer and glasses. Grace didn’t anticipate drinking tonight, so she asked for a pitcher of water as well. The last thing she needed was a migraine in the morning.

She slung her coat over the chair and adjusted her halter top. She’d gone through ten outfits before landing on this one, then figured what the hell? She was out with the girls, so why not be a little slutty?

If she was being honest, a small part of that decision was catalyzed by dropping through the tube of death on that waterslide. That moment had unlocked something within her. It was as if she hadn’t understood all the possibilities before that robotic voice counted down.

She could break the rules and do something reckless, and the world wouldn’t end because of it. Grace had put butter and jam on her English muffin that morning. She’d left the dishes in the sink, not loading them as she typically would. And now she wore a halter top with high-waisted jeans like she was twenty-eight instead of in her mid-thirties.

And the world kept on spinning.

“Damn, girl! You look—” Jenna froze, her brow pinching as she looked past her shoulder. “Oh, I am going to kill him.”

Grace turned toward the entrance. The Snowballs filed in one after the other, not even trying to be subtle. Brett first, already waving. Then Tyler, Sean, Ryan, and?—

Her hands tensed.

André.

He wore a heather-grey T-shirt that clung to his chest and a backward ball cap. Casual. Effortless. Unfair.

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