Page 37 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
“Good catch.”
Things do work out in the end for Charlie Brown, like always, andGrace and I watch it happen quietly. The credits roll, and I say, “Okay, your turn.”
“My turn to what?”
“How’d you and Tim meet?”
She’s quiet for a moment, remembering.
“Also work,” she says. “Back when I was head bartender. I was working. He was drinking. Sparks flew.”
“Wait, hitting on female bartenders actually works?” I ask.
“He didn’thit on mehit on me. He…he was nice. He was with some friends watching a Ravens game, and he kept trying to talk to me even though we were slammed.”
I walk to the fridge for another Jack and Diet Dr Pepper.
“Guys were always trying to talk to me,” she says. “Occupational hazard. I was good at brushing them off, and I brushed him off at first, but then I realized how sweet he was. When the game was over, he lingered while he settled his tab. He told me his name, even though I already knew it because I had his credit card. When I told him my name, he said that it made sense because I was a thing of grace.”
“Damn,” I say. “Better than my line.”
“Yeah, it was pretty good,” she says. “I mean I’m not, obviously. You know, graceful. It’s like my parents were going for irony when they named me. It was nice to hear, though, so I gave him the look.”
I’m back on the couch now. Amazon Prime is asking if I want to watchIt’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. “The look?”
“Yeah,” she says. “It’s this look I used to give guys when I was interested, sort of a green-light-to-engage kinda thing.”
“Really? What was it? I mean, what did it…entail?”
“Combination of things,” she says. “Slight lip bite, half smile, exactly one second of full, devastating eye contact.”
“Oh. Interesting. It worked then, I take it?”
She scoffs. “It never didn’t, Henry.”
“Can…” I stop, shy suddenly. “I’m curious now.”
“You wanna see it, don’t you?”
“Well…”
She sighs. “Ugh, fine. If this has been one long ruse, though, I’m not showing you my boobs.”
“Duly noted,” I say.
“Okay, here, I’ll FaceTime you. Warning, I’m dressed like a lady who’s about to fall asleep at a bus station.”
My phone makes a sound I don’t recognize because no one ever FaceTimes me, and then I see Grace. Her hair is pulled up into a roundish mass at the top of her head. Her eyes are a little puffy, like maybe she cried earlier.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hi.”
Harry Styles is asleep beside her, which is when I realize where she is. “Oh,” I say, “you’re in…”
“What?” she asks. “Bed? True. This is where I sleep, you know, when I’m not out fighting crime.”
I suffer another wave of shyness—I’m seeing Grace in bed. She sits up, though, like it’s nothing. “You ready?” she asks.
