Meet Me in Barcelona Read Online Free

everything she’d always wanted. And she had admired Marsh Everett. He was passionate about country music, and he had been the make or break of so many stars. She’d always imagined meeting him, maybe even becoming friends. She would have died of happiness a few years ago if she had known one day she was going to get his attention. Of course it would have been a good thing, because she would have wanted to be dead if she had known the horrible things he was going to say about her. Stop it. She had to let it go! She had to. This certainly wasn’t the time or the place. But it hurt her to the quick, burned like a—
    â€œGrace.”
    â€œHere,” she said like a child who had just been called on in school. She should have ripped the review in half. She should have eviscerated every copy of Country Weekly . Jake looked as if he were trying to heal her with his mind. He looked so worried about her. “Take two,” Grace said, as chipper as possible. “The show must go on!”
    â€œRepeat after me,” Jake said. “Marsh Everett is a turd.” Grace laughed. Oh, if only the multimillionaire producer could hear them now. “Say it.”
    â€œMarsh Everett is a turd.” A turd who has been able to make and break many aspiring country singers. A turd who hates me .
    â€œPerfect,” Jake said. “And scene.” Jake gestured for Grace to start again.
    â€œHi, Mom and Dad. It’s your daughter, Grace. Here we are in beautiful Barcelona. Robert would have loved the landing.”
    â€œWhat?” Jake said.
    â€œInside joke. I’ll fill you in later.” She gestured for him to keep filming. “Just look at this lovely town square.” Boy, she felt foolish; she wasn’t really cut out to be a tour guide. She swept her arm over the area. “Most of the buildings have businesses in the bottom—cafés mostly, even an Irish pub at the far end—and apartments up top.” Jake panned up one of the buildings, taking in all the little windows where people lived. She pointed to the café straight ahead. “Jake and I had jamón and cheese sandwiches and a few glasses of sangria here yesterday.” It had actually been a pitcher of sangria, but this wasn’t a salacious, tell-all documentary.
    â€œThat’s better. Chatty and personal.”
    â€œThey’ll be able to hear you too, you know.”
    â€œSorry, Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer.”
    â€œHe thinks he’s Woody Allen,” Grace said.
    â€œThere are no younger filmmakers you could reference?” Jake said.
    â€œNot on the spot.”
    â€œContinue.”
    Grace pointed to the building behind her and gave Jake a moment to pan over. “I would love to live up there.” She gestured to a window high up in a nearby building. “You could people watch all day long. In the afternoon groups of people come here to dance in a circle. Jake refrained yesterday, but he promises to do it before we leave.”
    Jake laughed. “I didn’t promise anything of the sort, Mrs. Sawyer,” he said.
    â€œShe wants you to call her Jody,” Grace said. Although she might never remember making that request.
    â€œSorry, Jody,” Jake said.
    Grace wiggled her eyebrows and smiled at the camera, then continued. “At night the square fills with people, musicians, artists. And in the morning, there’s hardly anyone but the pigeons and me. Well, yesterday morning anyway.” Grace walked around the fountain. “We have a beautiful statue guarding this fountain.” It was an angel; it had wings, of course it was an angel, but Grace didn’t want to say the word angel, so she simply allowed the camera to take it in. Grace held up a Spanish penny. She’d actually brought it from home, from her childhood coin collection. She thought if she tossed it in a fountain in Spain it might bring extra luck. “I have the necessary