Page 2 of Grace on the Rocks

His scowl deepened, like two birds retreating into the cliffs of his auburn brow, letting her know she, too, had voiced her inside thoughts.

The day had finally broken her—he had finally broken her.

From the moment she’d gotten out of bed, however long ago that was, after countless delays and missed connections, she andWesleyhad both been dead on their feet when they arrived before a gate agent who informed the girls they wouldn’t be allowed to check two small suitcases apiece on the chartered flight to their island getaway.

“Och, it’s a tiny wee plane,” the agent had said in a thickGlaswegianaccentGracecould barely understand. “Picturethe smallest plane you ever saw in your life, and then go smaller,” she’d added, moving her hands closer and closer together to demonstrate.

Grace had nearly burst into tears.

“I knew booking the last two seats out ofGlasgowwas too good to be true,” she had groused toWesas they made their way out of the terminal and hastily repacked one bag each with only the essentials. “I’msorryIconned you into this trip.”

“Umm, this is my first vacation in three years.I’llgo naked if that’s what it takes,”Weshad replied before they stored the extra two bags for an exorbitant rate thatGracewould surely regret when her credit card bill arrived, and then raced back to security where she spilled the entire contents of her laptop bag all over the floor in her helter-skelter frenzy.

“Deep breath,”Wessuggested.

“I just need to pop into that bookstore real quick,”Gracehad begged. “Grabsome snacks.”Maybecry for a sec.

“Ooh, get me a trashy magazine, would you?”Weshad asked before hurrying back to their gate alone.

Honestly, was it any wonder that after holding it in all day when she would have preferred to scream,Gracehad finally said the quiet part out loud?

Now the guy was staring at her like he couldn’t quite believe she’d done it.

“Sorry,Ididn’t mean…”Shefinished her sentence with a shrug because what even were words?Shehadmeant it.Shejust hadn’t meant him to hear it.

“I only meant…” he tried.

“What?”

“It’s… decadence, innit?Areall those really going to be taken home and read?Andthen what?It’sterrible for the environment,” he said.Thenhe snapped his mouth closed, pressing his lips together in a self-censoring sort of way.

“You’re in an airport, bro,” she snapped, cringing at how much she sounded like one of her students. “Youthink books are worse for the environment than the jet fuel about to carry your—”Shewasgoingto saypretentious ass, but she stopped when he raised one eyebrow, daring her to speak any louder.Itwas distracting, that raised eyebrow.Madeher forget what she’d been about to call him. “Isuppose you’ve carbon-offset your trip?” she asked instead.

His frown deepened. “You’reright.Iought to have taken the ferry.”

Grace was surprised by the admission.She, too, should have taken a ferry, but the flight delays meant she missed the last one, and now here they were.Sheallowed herself a tiny nod of vindication anyway.

“You are also in an airport,” he said, stroking his ginger beard. “Guessthat makes us even.”

“I wouldn’t say so,”Graceargued, although from his accent he was obviouslyScottish, so she had likely used far more jet fuel than he had today. “Ipersonally would have preferred to ride a humpback whale, butIunderstand they have an aversion to passengers.”

His mouth flattened again, like he didn’t want to appreciate the joke but was fighting to make his face comply.

Grace shook her head to snap out of it.

“How many trees do you reckon were razed to write down all those words?” he asked, nodding at the bookshelves, his artfully mussy hair just a bit too short to move with the motion.Heasked the question nonchalantly, like he was making casual conversation rather than being a complete ass.Wouldhe say all this if he knew she was a writer?

“Is it these books specifically you have a problem with?”Gracespluttered. “Youthink just because something’s beloved by teen girls it’s somehow less valuable, is that it?”

“No…” he said, looking a bit perplexed.

“The books they adore are just as important as your”—she sized him up, his effortlessly casual waffle-knit henley, in a hunter green that he had to know made his eyes pop, tablet under his arm, sleeves pushed up just so: a too-cool-for-school tech bro if ever she’d seen one and he probably never read for pleasure a day in his life—“SixSigmabullshit,” she settled on.

He blinked and jerked his head back in surprise.Good.

“These readers write gorgeous letters to their favorite authors about how allthose wordschanged their lives.Storiesare what separate humans from animals!Theability to record our thoughts and history, to communicate.”

“Any animal can communicate…” he snorted but trailed off.

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