Page 45 of Grace on the Rocks

He hadn’t expected to be welcomed home with open arms, but he supposed maybe he’d hurt the whole community, leaving theMacNeilsto fret over yet another faraway son, leaving his mother to worry, his little sister to grow up without a brother.Leavinghis father to bury his grandfather, then inheriting the old house despite not being there to say goodbye.

The thing was, before he left,Bryandidn’t think the island particularly wanted him or would miss him in the slightest when he was gone.Asa whole, they’d rejected what little he had to offer.Inturn, he’d rejected all of them too, never looking back at the neighbor whose yard work would be left undone withoutBryanthere to trim the hedges or water the plants, never pausing to consider the recycling project he’d started in primary school and maintained through graduation or the younger cousins he wasn’t around to lead on adventures asAlecandEòghannhad done for him.

TheMacNeilsandBuchananswere knit into the fabric of the community like the weaving of tartan orEòghann’sold, worn sweater.Thefamily might forgive, but the town apparently wouldn’t be so quick to forget.Theyprobably wouldn’t rally behind anything he did now he was home.

“That’s the price for leavingIguess.”

“Nah,”Lùcasdisagreed. “It’sthe price for coming back,” and if that wasn’t the most astute thingBryanhad ever heard, he didn’t know what was.

They fell into a companionable silence after that, working quickly and efficiently to mount the remaining panels.He’dbe lying if he said he wasn’t a little disappointedGracestayed inside writing all morning instead of coming out to complain about the noise or threaten to shove a hammer up his arse.

“What’s next?”Lùcasasked when they finished up in the early afternoon without having stopped for a break.

“NextIwatch a lot of instructional videos about connecting the wiring and transferring the electrical,”Bryanreplied.

His cousin’s eyes went wide.

“Joking.Iapprenticed with a guy inGlasgowbeforeIslay.Comeback next week with a s-sledgehammer.”

“Aye?” the boy asked, breaking into a grin.

“Looks good,” a voice said, and they both turned to findWesleyTealstanding behind them, squinting up at the roof a safe distance from the ladder, tall and willowy and perpetually windswept.

“You think?”Lùcasasked hopefully, and she laughed.

“I don’t know.Iimagine so.”

She was still wearingEòghann’sjumper with the hole in the sleeve.

“MyGreatAuntieEilidhcould likely mend that,”Bryantold her.Hell, for all he knew, she’d been the one who knit it forEòghannin the first place.He’dreceived a similar cream-colored jumper in the mail his firstChristmasinGlasgow.

“I’ll take you to her house,”Lùcasoffered. “It’snot far.Seeyou next week then, cuz?”

“Don’t be late, orI’lldock your wage.”

“You’re not paying me,” the lad shouted back, leadingWesleyoff toGreatAuntieEilidh’swithout a backward glance.

* * *

After a quick shower,Bryanemerged feeling almost human, only to find his humanity alive and well and stirring itself to attention at the sight ofGraceleaning against the kitchen counter wearing leggings and a t-shirt withLibrariansHaveTighterBunsemblazoned on the back.Hefroze in the doorway, and she must have sensed him watching her, because she prac­tically jumped back a step with a guilty expression on her face.

On the counter before her lay his open tablet.Hishumanity instantly shrank to nothing, as his heart rate sped up like it might explode.

“You left it open,” she said, clearing a rasp from her throat.

“DidI?”Sincehe hadn’t taken it to bed with him, he’d continued reading her novel this morning with his coffee and porridge.Thenhe’d gone to pour coffee in a travel mug forWesley’sramble, andLùcashad tapped on the back door, and he’d been itching to read more ever since.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.Couldhe explain it away?Turnit into some kind of joke?

“Why?” she asked, looking genuinely perplexed. “Youdon’t even like me.Youhate books.”

She said the last part as though a person disliking books was far less fathomable than a person disliking her, and it made him sort of want to beat the living daylights out of whomever had made her feel that way—including himself.

“You won a…Printz,” he said weakly.

“Do you even know what aPrintzis?”

“Googled it.”

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