Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
I follow after her, trying not to laugh. She’s doing her best to look like some kind of dainty, sweet old grandma? This should be good.
“Hi,” Zander says. “You must be–”
She lifts a palm, silencing him as she walks past him without taking her eyes from Edgar. Edgar is elbow deep in dough, his wrinkled forehead sparkling with sweat as he tries to knead it into shape.
“Hi,” Paisley says, sticking her hand out for Grams to shake.
I can’t be sure because she speaks so quietly, but I think I hear her say, “Stuff it up your tight ass, Barbie,” as she sways past Paisley.
Paisley is staring at me with wide eyes. “Sorry,” I whisper to her, letting Grams approach Edgar on her own. “She can be a shark when she gets her eyes on a man she likes.”
“Edgar?” Paisley mouths.
I bite back a smile, shrugging as we both laugh quietly.
“You really know how to work that dough, don’t you?” Grams asks Edgar. “Strong hands,” she adds. “Stronger than a garlic milkshake, by the looks of it.”
I sputter with laughter. Oh, no. She’s digging into her repertoire of weird phrases? Is this how Grams tries to seduce men?
Edgar, to his credit, lifts one eyebrow smoothly. Despite his dangling jowls, gray hair, and slumped posture, you could almost call the gesture a little roguish. “You like that, sweetheart?” His accent is so thick that “heart” sounds more like “hat”.
“Maybe I do,” Grams says softly. “Maybe I like that sexy, high voice of yours, too. Reminds me of a bird I used to have when I was young and supple.” She purrs the words like they’re supposed to be suggestive.
Edgar eyes her from the side, smirking. “Young and supple?” He grunts, as if the idea is a good joke. “Nah. Give me a woman any day. A fuckin’ matriarch. A goddess between the sheets.” He looks at Grams again as he plucks a fresh blob of dough from the pile and starts mashing it. His spindly little arms cord and flex with the effort. He’s actually sweating a little, too.
He wheezes, smiling as he presses down but it looks more like a wince because he’s trying so hard.
I half cover my face. I can’t decide if I should look away or keep staring.
Grams leans in closer, eyes locked on his hands.
“I can’t decide if I’m going to be sick or if this is sweet,” Paisley whispers.
“Right there with you,” Zander says, standing behind us and speaking low.
Grams gives an appreciative, vaguely sexual “Ooh,” at the display. “You sure know how to use those hands, don’t you?”
“Okay,” Paisley says. “I’m going to be sick, actually.”
Grams is moving in for the kill, now. She has her hand on his shoulder. “Boy,” she says. “You’re tougher than a two-dollar steak at a dive bar.”
“Isn’t Edgar married?” Zander whispers.
“No,” I say. “His wife passed away twelve years ago.”
Edgar keeps working the dough. “Tell you what,” he lifts his gaze appreciatively to Grams, taking her in from head to toe. “You come by in a couple hours, I’ll get you one of those two-dollar steaks. Then maybe we can go to my place and test your theory. Find out who’s tougher.”
“You’re bad.” She leans close now, twirling one of his stringy gray hairs in her fingers. “I like bad boys.”
“Should we give them some privacy?” Zander asks.
“We’re done here,” Grams says, picking up a strawberry and popping it in her mouth. She slurps it salaciously, looking at Edgar over her shoulder on the way out. “For now. Thanks for introducing me to your friends, Mia.”
I blink a few times, watching her leave. If nothing else, I’m glad I don't need to remind my Grams to use protection. I’m also glad for the distraction bringing her here today provided.
Edgar is walking around like he’s ten feet taller for the rest of the shift, and Paisley and I can’t stop from laughing every time we make eye contact. It feels good, though.
For the past couple weeks, there has been a dark cloud hanging over me–like every quiet moment is an excuse to dredge back into the memory of that last interaction with Nolan. I’ve wondered if I was too harsh or if I could’ve made my point without so much venom.
At least today, I can put all that out of my head and thank Grams for both disturbing and entertaining me so much that Nolan isn’t at the front of my brain for a change.
17
NOLAN
Istop by the restaurant after practicing with the guys. Even though this place was supposed to be an outlet for my desire to cook, I’ve been spending most of my time in the dining room lately.
There’s no point pretending I’m not avoiding the kitchen because of Mia.
If she’d just yell at me again or something, maybe I could take it. It’s worse than that, though.