If I was fortunate enough, I'd be able to have her in both of those places very, very soon.
Her phone started ringing on the island, and she glanced over, forehead bunching in confusion. "What on earth?"
"Who is it?"
She lifted up the screen and showed it to me. "Maxine Barton is FaceTiming me."
I laughed, holding my hands up. "I'll stay out of sight if you want to answer it."
Grace chewed on her lip, then hit the button. "Hi, Maxine."
"Young lady, I didn't catch you in the middle of anything, did I?"
Her eyes zipped to me. "Nope."
I grinned.
"Mmmhmm," Maxine hummed. "I don't believe that for a second, but anytime a young person doesn't make me feel like a burden, I'm inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt. I have a business proposition for you."
Grace's eyebrows popped up. "What kind?"
"Pictures. I see you lugging that camera everywhere, and since it looks more expensive than my car, I figure you know how to use it."
She smiled. "I do. What kind of pictures do you need?"
"I've got a family reunion a couple Saturdays from now, and I figure we might as well get some pictures taken. First time all these derelicts have been in one place in ten years."
I stifled a laugh, and Grace gave me a warning look over the edge of the phone.
"Miss Barton, I'd love to do it." She held up a hand. "But, I can't guarantee how good I'll be at family photos. Normally I take nature shots, candids, things like that."
Maxine huffed. "I don't care if you give us warning for fake smiles and fake poses, young lady. Can you take nice pictures or not?"
"I can."
"Then you're hired. How much will you charge me?"
Grace rubbed her lips together as she thought. "How about five hundred for two hours? Maybe a few informally posed shots? All the files will be high quality for prints, and I'll edit everything I send you."
"That five hundred better include takin' off my wrinkles, young lady. I don't want to look like a haggard old woman."
"You'll look like a queen," Grace promised gravely.
"Well, then you've got yourself a deal."
"Great." Grace smiled happily. "Thank you for thinking of me."
"Don't thank me yet. You haven't met my grandsons," she warned before disconnecting the call.
Grace squealed, flinging herself for me. I wrapped her in my arms and kissed the top of her head.
"See, you might find that photographer job after all." I tilted her chin up with my thumb. "Congratulations, Pretty Girl."
Her eyes darkened, her hands running greedily over my chest.
"Take me to your place to celebrate?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
She ran to throw some clothes in a bag, and I started those multiplication tables again.
Chapter 46 Grace
Tucker, like the closet sadist he was, drove just under the speed limit the entire way to his house. I followed behind him in my car and fought against the irrational urge to plow into the back of his truck to see if I could push this train along a bit more quickly.
At first, I couldn't understand why I didn't just ride with him, but as we drove through town, about a dozen people waved at him. Probably more. And he greeted them with a lazy lift of his arm that was hanging out of the drivers' side window.
Me? Their eyes slid right past, something they would not have done if I was in the passenger seat of his truck.
He said something on our date about the rhythm of a small town, and if it didn't fit you perfectly, Green Valley would never feel like home. I couldn't stop thinking about that with each person that looked through me with a blank expression, not a single flicker of recognition.
I liked the ebb and flow of Green Valley, but whether it liked me was a different matter entirely.
One person, a little old man wearing a green plaid shirt and a John Deere hat, hunched over on a bench in front of the MMA studio, lifted a crunched-up, arthritic hand in my direction, and I gave him a sunny smile. See? He liked me.
Then his hand moved up to his hat so that he could shuffle it on his head, and I slumped dejectedly in my seat.
Tucker flipped on his right turn signal, for my benefit, no doubt, and I followed as he left the downtown area. The houses got a little farther apart, and the trees filled in along the streets. I caught a glimpse of the Smokies as the road curved, and the tree-tipped mountains made me smile.
His truck slowed, then he pulled it into a dirt driveway that ended at a small white house connected to a two-stall garage by a breezeway, something that had gone by the wayside somewhere around the eighties.
It was clean and simple, no frilly landscaping, with shiny black shutters and a red front door. The lawn was short and lush and well-tended, and the backyard was all trees. He waved me into the empty garage stall, and I sighed as I pulled my car in. Maybe next time I'd dress as a ninja and paint my face, sneak in under the cover of darkness.
He was stretching next to his truck when I got out. On the drive over, he'd unbuttoned his dress shirt and yanked off his dark blue tie, and my brief frustration at the necessity of hiding my vehicle fled at the sight of the sliver of skin on his chest.
It was slightly tan and the crisp hair stretching over his skin was the same shade of brown on his head. I wanted to press my nose in it and inhale. Everything about him always smelled so good, clean and masculine, and I could only imagine that that one patch of skin would be the same.
"I like your house," I told him, doing exactly what I imagined, dropping a kiss right in that opening of the unbuttoned shirt.
He slid a
