I step into the barn to see my mamas running around the space like chickens with their heads cut off.
“You got the candles?” Gwen calls, spearing stems of lilies into a crystal glass.
“Have ’em right here,” Mama huffs, setting a cardboard box down on the table in the middle of the room. “Flowers’re looking mighty sexy.”
“Thanks, honey.” Gwen turns to kiss Mama. “So are you.”
“All this romance in the air got me in some kinda mood, I’ll say that much.”
“Think we got time for a quickie—”
“No,” I say, my ridiculous riding boots making a racket as I move toward my mamas. “Nope. No quickies. Not until everything is perfect, y’all hear me?”
Mama’s face lights up when she turns to look at me.
“My, my. Aren’t you a vision!”
“Who’re you supposed to be again?” Gwen asks, adjusting her glasses. “Paul Revere? King George? That hunk from Outlander—what’s his name?”
“Jamie Frasier. Sam Heughan. Same thing in my mind.” Mama beams at me. “You’re just as handsome, Luke. Who knew my boy looked so good in a cravat?”
I tug at the garment in question, clearing my throat. “I’m supposed to be Maximilian John Lockley, the fourth Duke of Haverford, from Olivia’s book—My Deal With the Duke. Not sure if I’m really pullin’ it off, though. I feel more like an idiot than I do a Duke.”
“Coulda fooled me,” Mama says, kissing my cheek. “Gracie is gonna love it.”
I set down the plates I carried over from the house. Let out a breath. I’m so nervous my hands are shaking a little.
“That’s the hope. I need to pull out all the stops, Mama. I gotta get this girl back.”
“You will,” she replies, matter-of-factly. “No one can resist you. Whether you’re dressed as a farmer or a very fetching aristocrat.”
“Easy for you to say,” I shoot back. “Think it’s safe to say you’re biased.”
“Course I am! But even so. I know you better than anyone, Luke. Flesh and blood aside—you’re a good man by any standard. You work hard and love harder. Look around you.” Mama gestures to the barn I’ve labored day and night to turn into a Regency restaurant-slash-dreamscape-slash-ballroom-slash-bar. “You’ll go to great lengths to make the people you care about feel loved. Feel seen. Gracie loves Regency romance, so you’re bringing a scene from one of her favorite books to life. Costumes and candles and all. If that’s not good love, I don’t know what is. The rest will fall into place.”
I swallow the tightness in my throat. “Thanks, Mama.”
Let’s hope she’s right.
“Doesn’t hurt that you’re so handsome,” she adds.
“You got good, girthy produce, too,” Gwen says. “Don’t forget that important detail.”
I laugh.
Needed that.
“So we’ll set the table. Get the flowers and the candles ready.” Gwen looks up from her vase. “What else can we do?”
I reach down, wanting to slide my hands into my pockets. Only my breeches don’t have pockets, so I dig my pocket watch out of my waistcoat instead. Overkill? Yes. But like I said, I need to pull out all the stops here. I’m going for one hundred percent authenticity. Right down to the candles and the coffee I ground by hand.
Although I guess the grits, the beer, and the instrumental Trisha Yearwood I found on iTunes didn’t exactly exist in Max the Duke’s time.
Going for ninety percent authenticity, then.
I look down at the watch. It’s quarter to five. Two solid hours before Gracie arrives.
“Elijah is deliverin’ the food here in a bit here. Marie is bringing dessert. Otherwise, I think we’re set. Thank y’all for your help. There’s no way I could’ve done it without you. I appreciate it, Mama.”
Mama smiles. “We’re happy to help. You know we love Gracie. I can’t wait for y’all to make up so you can live happily ever after and make me some grandbabies.”
My heart skips a beat. I don’t want to get my hopes up too high. There’s no guarantee Gracie will accept my apology and take me back.
But if she does—
We got a future of tractor rides and good food and good people and, yeah, hopefully some babies ahead of us.
Damn do I like the sound of that.
Gracie
I’m surprised to see my brother’s truck pulled up outside Luke’s house.
I’m even more surprised to see Olivia leaning against it, a small smile on her lips as she watches me approach.
Heart beating loudly in my ears, I roll down my window.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
I pull into the spot beside her. Turn off the engine.
Olivia just smiles, pushing off the truck. Making my heart beat faster.
“You’ll see. C’mon.” She tilts her head toward the house. “Let’s go inside so you can change.”
“Change?” I’m so confused. “Into what?”
“Luke has something he wants you to wear.”
What in the world? Does he, like, want me to wear a negligee or something? A bathing suit? Are we going swimming?
What is going on?
Olivia slips her arm through mine, and together we head up the front steps and into the house.
I’m immediately hit by the scent of coffee. Freshly brewed from the smell of it.
We pass by the kitchen and I see my brother at the stove. Shirtless, of course. A towel thrown over his shoulder as he shimmies a sauté pan back and forth over a burner.
“Eli?” I say.
Now I’m really confused.
He glances over his shoulder. “Don’t mind me. Go with Olivia and get dressed.”
“What are—”
“You’ll know soon enough. Get dressed, Gracie.”
I feel lightheaded as Olivia leads me to a back bedroom on the first floor.
There’s a beautiful white dress laid out on the bed, along with a pair of the cutest nude-colored ballet flats.
I stare at it. Wanting to smile. Cry. Ask a million questions because I am even more mystified now than I was when I pulled up to the house.
Instead, I let Olivia help me into the dress. It’s got a low neckline and an empire waist. These sweet little sleeves that pucker out at the ends.
“Almost looks like something one of your heroines would wear,” I say, smoothing the pristine fabric over my stomach.
“It’s a little big,” Olivia remarks. “We didn’t have a ton of time to put this together. But I still think it looks fabulous on you.”
“This was Luke’s idea?”
“This was all Luke. Yes.”
I turn to see her smiling. That knowing smile she wears whenever I mention Luke. Whenever we’re together.
She tugs the zipper up my back. “Feel okay?”
“Feels great. Just wish I knew what it was for.”
“Put on your shoes,” she says, dropping them at my feet. “Then I’m driving you to the barn.”
This time I don’t even ask about the barn, because I know I won’t get an answer.
I’m brimming with anticipation as Olivia guides Elijah’s gigantic pickup down the driveway. Sun setting behind us, casting the world in a pink-orange glow. The air is warm but not humid tonight. Cool enough to have the windows down.
When the barn comes into sight, it looks just like it did the other day.
I furrow my brow. Why, then, do I get the feeling something about it is different?
Why do I get the feeling everything is about to be different?
Olivia pulls up to the side of the barn and puts the truck in park. She points at the large barn door in front of us, painted wooden beams marking an x across it.
“Go in there,” she says, looking at me. “Don’t be afraid to give the door some muscle.”
I look at her. Look at the door.
I put my hand on the truck door, my fingers working nervously over the cool leather. Look back at Olivia.
“I don’t know what you’re doing. But if you’re doing it to help Luke—help us—then thank you. Thank you for everything, Olivia. If you hadn’t written Max and Jane’s story—if you hadn’t been there to help convince my brother that me hooking up with Luke was a good idea—I wouldn’t have fallen in love with him. And even we don’t end up working out, I’m glad I got to be with Luke. At least for a little while.” I manage a smile. “I’m so glad I have you. Eli is stupid lucky to have literally almost run you over.”
She laughs, even as her eyes get wet. She reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“I was the one who almost ran him over, Gracie. Either way, I’d like to think we’re lucky to have found each other.” Her eyes flick to the barn. “Same as you’re about to get lucky in there. Go.”
“Get lucky?” My internal temperature spikes. “Does that mean what I think it does?”
“I’ve already said too much. Go.”
I feel like I’m floating as I head for the barn. This whole thing is surreal.
Surreal and weirdly wonderful. I’m on the cusp of something. That much I know.
And this is the breathless before. Before I either take off flying or fall on my face. When nothing is certain and everything is possible.
It’s bittersweet.
My pulse is going crazy as I slide the barn door open with a small grunt.
I step inside.
I feel a swift, sudden swell of emotion. Breath leaving my lungs as I take in the cavernous space around me.
It’s rustic. Unpainted and clean. Smelling of—is that more coffee?—and fresh flowers. I inhale, looking around. Looking down to see that the floor is strewn with petals. Pale pink and perfect.
My pulse slips out from under me. The way a plane slips around in bumpy air. Making my stomach dip.
I look up. See that the only light in the room is coming from a million flickering candles. They’re everywhere. On the floor in glass hurricane vases. On random ledges in the wall. There’s even a round chandelier of them hung from the ceiling.
It gives the room a warm, achingly romantic glow.
My heart is pounding. I can’t catch my breath.
I turn a little, and see that the barn is mostly empty, save for a round table in the middle of the room. It’s set with candles and flowers. Plates and bowls and mugs.
I smile when I see bottles of Bud Light set out next to the wine glasses.
The sweetness of it, the perfectness, pierces my heart.
Music starts to play. It’s classical—sounds like mostly strings—but something about it snags. I know this song. But from where?
I’m shaken by it all. The gown and the candles and the flowers.
I’m—
I turn, pulse cracking at the sound of footsteps.
Luke emerges from the shadows, candlelight flickering across his features as he pauses. Hands clasped behind his back.
Eyes on my face.
I devour him with my gaze, the breath leaving my lungs.
He’s dressed—oh, oh my God, he’s dressed in Regency gear. Complete with breeches that his baseball butt fills out real nice. Black knee-high boots, velvet jacket—how is he not dying in this heat right now? although damn does it make his shoulders look broad—and waistcoat. Cravat and quizzing glass.
Wig.
The guy is wearing a goddamn wig. From here, it looks like a curly mullet. The kind Luke sported when we first met a decade ago.
I’m crying.
How could I not be? Luke looks ridiculous and thrillingly period appropriate and so handsome it hurts.
He’s hurting me, just standing there. Eyes clear and steady as mine fill with tears.
Luke bows at the waist.
“My Lady. Thank you for coming. I may be a Duke, but I ain’t too proud to entertain you in my barn.”
Wow wow wow. I get it now. This is role play—he’s the Duke, I’m the bluestocking. Wow.
I want to curtsey. But I can’t move.
I can’t stop staring at him. Can’t stop feeling all the feelings because even now, even after everything that’s gone down, he’s still making my bucket list dreams come true. One line item at a time.
“The breeches are great,” I blurt.
Luke’s lips twitch. He turns to the side, allowing me a better view of his goods.
“I thought so, too.” His eyes move over my dress. Going soft. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Where’d you get all this?”
His eyes are squinty now. Smiley. “Easy. I’m a Duke. I can get anything I want.” He scratches his head. “Even a mullet wig.”
Laughing—crying—I say, “I like the wig.”
“Thought it might put you at ease. I know how intimidated Lady Jane can be by all of Max’s ducal shit.” He starts walking towards me, and my insides lurch. My God does he make Max’s ducal shit look good. “I owe you an apology. A big one.”
I nod. Swallowing, hard.
He comes to stand in front of me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him. That Ivory soap smell filling my head and turning me inside out.
It’s all I can do not to whimper.
I’ve missed that smell. The look and feel of his body near mine.
My knees have started to wobble.
“Tell me what happened,” I say.
“The night of your re-opening,” he begins, still keeping his hands clasped behind his back. Looking regal as all get out. “We were talking with your friends—Elle and Charlie. I saw everything he was doing for her. How he was providin’ meaningful help so she could grow her business. He was helping make her dreams come true. And in that moment, I didn’t see how I could possibly help you with yours. Not the way Charlie was helping Elle. Deep down I knew I was being an idiot. I tried to talk myself off the ledge. But then I saw you with Greyson—”
“He’s the worst.” I roll my eyes. “And sometimes the best.”
“—And y’all just looked so right together. Y’all live in the same world. Share the same interests. Want the same things.”
“But that’s not what I want—the fancy guy with the fancy job,” I reply. “He’s not the man I want.”
“You did want to open a coffee shop. And he helped you with that. You see why I was feelin’ insecure? ’Cause I knew I could never help you the way he did? I knew I could never look that good and that right on your arm.”
I run my tongue along my bottom lip. Brow furrowed.
“I do see. But I need you to recognize that Greyson only helped me because it was his job, Luke. Because of what’s in it for him, which is profit, pure and simple. He’s going to make money if—when—Holy City Roasters succeeds. He didn’t invest in the shop out of the goodness of his heart, or to be a white knight or whatever. He’s a businessman, and he funds companies like mine because that’s what venture capitalists do.” I meet Luke’s eyes. “You have to know I want you. Not Greyson.”
“I know. And I recognize his interest in you and your business is purely professional.” Luke nods. “I just worried I wasn’t capable of helpin’ you move forward the way he has. I thought I couldn’t help make your dreams come true. I thought our dreams were too different, and I could never ask you to give up yours to be with me. Same as you’d never ask me to give up mine.”
My throat is so tight I can hardly talk.
“So what’s changed?”
Luke holds out his hand. “Let me show you.”
I take his hand. He leads me over to the table. I didn’t see before that the bowls were full—looks like one of Elijah’s famous breakfast grits bowls. A bed of Luke’s creamy yellow grits topped with succotash, bacon, and a poached egg.
Luke drops my hand and grabs a silver carafe. Holding the top, he carefully pours steaming coffee into the mugs beside the bowls.
Setting down the carafe, he looks up at me. Moves so that he’s beside me. Then behind me. Scruff catching on my neck as he leans down to murmur in my left ear.
“Your coffee.” He moves to murmur in the right one now. “My grits. See, I thought our dreams were so different. But then I realized they aren’t very different at all. For starters, we both clearly got a thing for breakfast.” I scoff at that. He curls his hand around the nape of my neck, straightening. “But more than that, neither of us does what we do for money or recognition or whatever. We do it to bring people comfort. To create community. You didn’t expand your shop because you wanted the accolades or the income. Although those things sure as hell don’t hurt, because they allow you to keep doing what you love. You did it because you give a shit, Gracie. You did it because you love this town and you want to make it better.” He gives my neck a squeeze. “That’s my dream, too, Gracie girl. I want to do the same thing with my grits. I want to make the farm a place where people can gather. Be themselves. Enjoy each other’s company over good food and better coffee. And I got a plan for us to make that happen together, right here in this barn.”
He moves to stand beside me, his hand still curled around my neck.
Tears are spilling freely out of my eyes now.
This idea of his is beautiful.
Beautifully profound.
I look at him. So full. Of longing and love and pain.
This is so lovely it’s painful.
“You’re right,” I breathe. “Although who’s to say my coffee is better than your grits?”
Luke grins. “I do.” He gives my neck another squeeze. Voice hoarse when he speaks again. “I fucked up, Grace. And I’m sorry. I assumed way too much. And, well—”
“Assuming makes an ass out of you and me,” I say, wiping away my tears. Grinning.
His footsteps scuffle on the floor as Luke shifts to stand in front of me. Eyes locked on mine. The blue reflects the flicker of candles around us.
“If you’ll have me, Gracie Jackson, I’d like to make our dreams come true. Together. We’d make a good team. I promise to be a good partner. A good man. I promise to be the man you deserve.” He sniffs. “I’m so in love with you, baby. You’re the only one I want ridin’ along with me on my tractor. That throb is reserved just for you. It’s always been just you.”
Lord above, I have chills.
This boy.
He brought me back. To life. To myself.
Like I could ever say no to that.
Like I could ever say no to a Duke.
My body swirls with goodness as, biting my lip, I reach up. Take Luke’s wig off. And then I’m rolling onto my toes and tilting my head and kissing him.
Tongue. Tears. Everything.
He takes my head in his hands, pulling at me with his mouth. Kissing me deeply. The way he always does.
Oh, yes. Oh, yes, this is the one. The kiss.
The man.
The dream.
“Not a fan of the mullet?” he says, sucking on my tongue.
I bite the corner of his mouth. “I love you just as you are, my Lord. The wig is nice, but totally not necessary.”
Luke pulls back. Both of us breathing hard as he touches his forehead to mine.
“I am gonna fuck you, my Lady,” he pants. “But first, I gotta feed you.”
I grin. “This is your barn, Your Grace. You call the shots here.”
“It’s your barn, too.” He searches my eyes. “It’s ours.”
I can’t help it. I press up for another kiss. Quick and wet.
“I like the sound of that,” I say, falling back.
Luke looks at me. Lips twitching again.
He dips a finger inside the neckline of my dress.
“Tell me something,” he says.
Y’all. I’m grinning so hard at all these references to My Deal With the Duke. Man really did his homework.
“Yes?”
“You’re a city girl who fits right in on a farm. How are you so damn good at it?”
I tangle my fingers in Luke’s cravat. Fist it, pulling him to me.
“I just am, Your Grace.”
His eyes soften. “Just you. Just right.”
And the way he kisses me then—that’s just right, too.
THE END