Page 46 of Grace on the Rocks

“So you’re just, what,Ryan?Readingmy novel—which is for young adults, by the way—so you can justify hating it on a more personal level?”

“Rios…”

She lifted her chin. “Goon then.Tellme everything that’s wrong and immature about it.”

“You’re wrong and immature about it,” he blurted in frustration.

“What?”

What?

He shook his head. “Rios…I’mreading it ’causeIwanted to know…”

“Know…?”

He gestured at her.Hewanted to know her. “Whatmoves kids to write letters,” he tried again.Shelooked completely confused.Hewasn’t making any sense. “Ithink it’s… bloody brilliant,” he admitted, hating the way he stumbled over his words.

She took another step back, away from him, waiting for thebut, because he’d really done a number on her with his careless words in the airport.

“What happened tobooks are terrible for the environment?Whathappened toYAis for adults who don’t want to grow up?”

Christ, he’d been an arrogant douche, but he didn’t think he’d said that. “Ididn’t?—”

“You insinuated it.”

“It’s an ebook,” he answered feebly. “Notrees were harmed in the making.”

She just kept staring at him with this look of betrayal, like she couldn’t quite decide whether to stab him or cry.

He sighed. “Youought to know by nowI’mfull of… shite.Imean,Ido care about the environment, obviously, but…Iwas stressed.”

“So wasI.”

“I was in fight or flight, and…Ichose fight.Ididn’t know you were a damn author whenIlashed out with the first words to enter my mind.”

Say you’re sorry, he told himself, and for some reason he could hear it in his mother’s voice from his childhood.Sayyou’re sorry, except thoseS’snever had come easily.

“Does it help?” she asked, throwing him off balance once more. “Thedyslexic font?”

Bryan felt the color drain from his face, right down into his stomach, her words like a record scratch across his brain.

She must have noticed because she scrambled to explain. “I’vethought about asking for a line in my contract requiring a dyslexic font print edition, butIwasn’t sure how much it really helped.”

He swallowed.Hestarted to say,Sometimes, and then he started to say,Abit,but he settled for, “Aye.”

No one knew about his dyslexia, except apparently his cousin the librarian,Lùc’ssisterJenny.Growingup, most of his family and teachers had assumed he was slow at best, lazy at worst.Itwasn’t until an acting coach on the mainland casually mentioned the connection between dyslexia and stammering that he had any kind of name for his condition, and what good was validation when it came a lifetime too late?

“Aye,” he repeated, his throat thick and tight. “Ithelps.”

She nodded, but the awkwardness had fully settled over them, like a cat, unwilling to be shifted.Andsomehow it felt up toBryanto shift it.

“It’s lovely, by the way.You’reinsanely talented?—”

“Insane, maybe.”

“Talented.I’mno great reader—obviously—never was.MaybeifI’dhad this as a kid,Iwould’ve been.”

She swallowed, her eyes going a little bit soft, and he needed them to stay hard and wary because the softness did funny things to his chest.

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