Tucker who wore a tie tight around his neck.
Tucker who laughed out in the sunshine, fresh air in his lungs.
I shouldn't have felt the zing of excitement at the sight of her. That much I knew.
But I still did.
The ever-present boots were on her feet, dark black against the shiny green paint of the bench. Her elbows were propped on her knees, and her eyes were covered by sunglasses, so I couldn't tell if she was looking at me or not. If she noticed me, she didn't act like it. Her hands moved to the side of the table I couldn't see, and she lifted her black camera to her face and aimed it where the sun was lifting into the sky above the trees.
I took a deep breath and carefully picked up the beverage carrier holding our coffees from Daisy's Nut House. If she'd wanted something fancy, I probably would have gone out of my way to Donner Bakery, no matter what I told her in my text. I would've gotten one of those pretty ones, with caramel doodled on top of the mountain of whip cream, a red cherry perched at the peak.
And I damn well knew that it would've been a bad idea to do so.
The twelve hours had done absolutely nothing to lessen the mental war I had been waging.
"Morning," I said as I approached. Before she spoke, I wondered what version of Grace I'd get, because so far, I'd seen a few. The one last night, who threw away her ice cream and practically sprinted back to her daddy's truck, was a version of her I hadn't expected. But even if she'd looked unsure and unsteady, there had been no hate in her eyes, there or at the jam session, and I took that as a hopeful sign.
She smiled for me then, as she lowered the camera into her lap, just a small tilt of her lips. But no matter how small it was, it was one of the first she'd ever voluntarily given me, and that flipped my stomach around.
Setting the coffee cups in between us, I sat on the table and took a deep breath.
"Smells good out here, doesn't it?"
It was pine needles and freshly cut grass, it was mountains and clean air.
She nodded, eyes trained across the open field at the groves of trees that provided shade on a hot summer afternoon at the festival. "We never had places that smelled like this in LA." Grace inhaled deeply. "I wish I could bottle it."
I glanced sideways at her. "That's the beauty of living in a place like this, isn't it? It's right here anytime you want it."
Instead of answering, she picked up one of the coffees and took a sip, humming appreciatively when she did. "Good coffee, thank you."
"Welcome." I took a sip of my own.
We sat in comfortable silence, letting the heat of the dark roast coffee wake us up a bit.
"I'd want to bottle it if I left," she said. Because she was still wearing her sunglasses, I couldn't see her eyes, but I felt her give me a sideways glance as she spoke.
I nodded. "That makes sense, I suppose." I set the coffee down and turned to the side, so I could face her. "But you just got here."
Grace pushed her sunglasses on top of her head into the mess of hair, but she kept her face stubbornly forward. There was no response to what I'd said, the question I'd asked, and I fought the impulse to ask again. The itch in my head to find out what she meant. I'd never met anyone whose thoughts I wanted to pry into more than this woman's, and that should have been one of the biggest warning lights of all.
"I did."
That's all she said. There was a ring of finality to it. Her fingers started tapping where they gripped the edge of the table. The rounded toe of her boots started bouncing in place.
I smiled into my coffee. "You packing up and leaving already, Angry Girl?"
She huffed, part laugh, part frustration. "That name," she said with a shake of her head. "And no. I don't know. I feel …" She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes darted to me, then away again, like she wasn't sure where they were supposed to rest.
"Grace," I corrected. "I'll call you Grace, if you want."
Her cheeks pinked up, and I tilted my head as I regarded her curiously.
"I don't … I don't mind the nickname, really." She blew out a breath. "I was pretty awful to you that first day, so you have every right to call me that."
I grinned. "Is this your way of apologizing?"
Suddenly, she looked nervous, and her eyes focused in on an invisible spot in front of her. "I guess so. I don't have any excuse for it." She shook her head. "Not that would make sense, anyway. But I am sorry I was so rude to you."
"Forgiven," I told her.
Her face lifted, and those golden eyes touched on my face slowly, searching for any hint that I didn't mean it. "Just like that?"
"Just like that." I stood and held out my hand, which she looked at warily. "Official restart. I'm Tucker Haywood, it's a pleasure to meet you."
Grace's eyes got huge in her face as she stared at my hand, and I almost pulled it back. She swallowed roughly and I caught the flicker in her eyes as she came to a decision. It was as if her brain was built with subtitles, because her facial expressions were so clear, so obvious, everything she was thinking played across that face as if someone was typing them in all-capped, bold letters.
Grace Buchanan was nervous to shake my hand, and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why.
But she shored herself up, and slid her palm across mine, the cool strength in her fingers sent up a quick zap of lightning up my arm when she curled
