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I go to the wall and remove the picture she wanted down. Rodney and Logan pick up paintbrushes and start to work on the far walls, touching up where the holes were patched.
She hands me the new picture she wants replaced and instructs me what to do next. Once we’re all busy, she starts talking.
“It’s really a silly story. Before I was born, my family was convinced I was a boy. Grandma was the only one who disagreed, so for the full pregnancy, she secretly prepped for a girl. My mom went into labor on the first day of the Peach Harvest. There were workers all over our property, and she sent Logan to find my dad. Well, he got sidetracked and forgot his mission. So Mom called down to my grandparents’ house. Grandma took charge and found my dad, grandpa, and eventually Logan.
“As the story goes, the minute I was born and announced as a girl, Grandma screamed ‘I knew it!’ She held me close and declared I would forever be her Peach Princess. Pretty soon, the name stuck and the entire town called me that.”
“Well, that and she resembled a peach. She was a fat, round little thing with fuzz all over her head,” Logan adds with a chuckle.
Grace’s face heats again, but instead of getting irritated, she starts to laugh. “That’s true. Not to mention, after all those months of Grandma stockpiling girl things, I was dressed in pink and peach the entire first year of my life. Grandma had strong faith in her beliefs on my gender.”
I watch her face for any sign of sadness at the mention of her grandmother. Instead, she beams, keeping her eyes on Logan as something passes between them.
The last few nights of research on the Monroe family may have given me an insight into their background, but it’s stories like this that will tell me about Grace. I hold in my laugh, thinking about her being known as the Peach Princess to everyone in her hometown.
Seeing her today in action has shown me a new side to Grace. She may be sweet, but she’s also a ball of fire. I like it. No… I more than like it.
Sweet Grace may just be my undoing.
I’m coming for you, Sweet Grace. And this time, you’re not getting away.
Chapter 7
Grace
This is not a date, Grace. Get your head on straight.
I pin my hair into a bun and check myself one last time in the mirror. Usually, during resets, I don’t put a lot of effort into my appearance, but when Nick announced last night he was picking me up and spending the morning helping me, I decided to change up my choice of outfits. Instead of ripped shorts and a t-shirt, I chose a comfortable romper.
It’s not quite as casual, but still appropriate for the labor involved in today’s work.
There’s a knock at the door, and I instantly feel the flapping in my stomach.
Nick’s here…
At my apartment…
To pick me up…
To spend the morning with me…
Nick Bennett… The Nick Bennett…
I swallow down my nerves and go to answer the door, hoping that by the time I get there, I can form a complete sentence without stuttering.
This doesn’t work because, when I open the door, he’s leaning against the frame with one hand holding a bottle of wine. He’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt, with his hair still damp from his shower. The smell of his cologne drifts in, and suddenly, I’m transported back to the night he picked me up for our first date. The same nerves assault me, sending my butterflies into a tailspin.
Speaking coherently flies out of my mind, and all I can squeak is a high-pitched, “Hi.”
His eyes rake up and down my body, leaving a trail of invisible heat on every inch of my skin. When he finally meets my eyes, I’m frozen in place, lost in the deep blue depths of his stare.
“Hi to you.”
It takes a few seconds for my brain to kick in, and I finally step back and signal for him to come in.
He walks past me into my living room and sets the bottle of wine on my coffee table.
“For your daily consumption,” he explains, remembering what I said when he brought the tea.
