Page 32 of Grace on the Rocks

“No,” she snapped, immediately on the defensive, but then she softened the tiniest bit. “Idon’t know.Thisis the first timeI’vebeen on a roof.”

“Lucky me.”Hemeant to say it as a joke, but it came out a growl, which was good because he didn’t need her to realize he actually did feel a bit lucky—Christknew why.Relief, perhaps?Ather offer of help?Whyhad she done it?

And why couldn’t she allow herself to just lie around on the beach like a normal person?Somepart of him wouldn’t mind exploring that with her.

“Lucky both of us,” she sassed, and he handed her a spare pair of work gloves. “WhatshouldIdo?”

“Can you hold the flashing down whileLùcscrews these in?” he asked, holding up the bolts for the stanchion posts.

Grace nodded, andBryandirected her further along the roof to where she should kneel.Theydidn’t technically need her help for this, but extra hands were better than idle fury, in theory.

“A little to the left,” he told her.Whenshe mirrored him, scooting the flashing to her right, he said, “Yourother left,” and she gave him a very annoyed eye roll that for some reason looked more cute than angry, as she moved the piece far too far to her left.

Bryan knelt opposite her, their faces close enough now he could discern the peach notes in her shampoo and count her eyelashes, spread out like a fan against her cheeks.Heplaced his gloved hands on either side of hers, unable to avoid cupping them as he guided the piece to where it needed to be.Despitetheir gloves, he could swear he felt a tremor when he touched her.

Lùc’s shadow fell across them andBryanscrambled back, sheepishly stepping out of the way to allow his cousin to finish the job.

“Hold real still, just like that.Perfect,”Lùcascrooned with a gentleness that surprisedBryancoming from the typically sullen teenager.Youngestof three, he was a late-in-life surprise forBryan’sUncleDàibhidhandAuntieFiona, whose second daughter,Jenny, was nearly out of school herself before weeLùcaswas born.Apparently, there was more to the lad than mere eagerness to escape the island or sing plaintive pop ballads like someone who’d had his heart broken every damn day of his young life.

Grace smiled at his encouragement and continued to hold the flashing just like he told her to.

Once the bolt was drilled into place, she moved on to the next stanchion they’d set out before the ladder had fallen.

“Don’t work too hard,” she teasedBryan, taking note of his loitering.Lùcassnorted.

“I’m s-s-supervising,”Bryanbit out, and she laughed at him, her lips pursed together, trying to keep from smiling at his hissing stammer.

When he looked away, she nudged him. “Comeon, supervising?”

Was she really going to give him a hard time about it?

“Isn’t that the oldest joke in the book?Howmany middle managers does it take to screw in a light bulb?Asmany as it takes to hire someone they can supervise doing the actual work.”

He huffed out a begrudging half laugh.Maybeshe’d been making fun of his words rather than his speech.Maybeshe really didn’t notice his troublesomeS’s.Ifshe was laughing at him for being an uptight micromanager, well… he could live with that.

“I’m not middle management,” he said as arrogantly as he possibly could. “Iown this operation.”

She rolled her eyes again and shook her head before turning back to the work.

Once the stanchions were all securely mounted,Bryanswitched places withGrace, allowing her to supervise as he andLùcasheaved the panels into place.Theyweren’t heavy, just awkward as all hell to maneuver while on your knees on a roof.

On your knees.Anunfortunate turn of thought while looking up at her with the sun lighting her from behind.

“A touch to the left,”Gracetold them, so they scooted the panel toBryan’sleft. “Yourotherleft,”Gracecorrected, just as he’d done to her earlier.Excepthis other left would be his right.Sowas she messing with him as payback?

“You meanyourleft, then?”Bryangrowled.

She blinked for a second and then laughed rather sheepishly. “That’swhyIwas anEnglishmajor—soIcould have an editor to catch things like that.PerhapsImeantstageleft?”

“Did you always want to be an author?” he asked, gesturing forLùcasto shift right.

“You’re an author?” the kid perked up. “Areyou rich and famous, then?”

Grace coughed. “Hardly.I’ma school librarian by day,” she told the boy, and then toBryanshe added, “Yes, always.Didyou always want to be a…” she trailed off, no doubt unsure what to say.

“No,”Bryananswered.

“What kind of books do you write?”Lùcasasked.

---