Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
I fall in love with her on the spot.
A tiny woman stands in the doorway, maybe five feet nothing, with hair the color of snowdrifts and eyes the same deep green as rolling Kentucky hills. She’s wearing a pastel pink sweater and what looks like very expensive pearls, but the way she sizes us up makes me think she could still take out a burglar with a frying pan.
She hugs Declan first, standing on her tip-toes to slap the back of his head. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I haven’t seen you in three weeks, you ungrateful wretch.”
“Hi, Gram,” he says with a look that’s equal parts affection and abject fear.
Then she turns to me, and her face softens into a wide, genuine smile. “And you must be the girl who’s been keeping my boy busy.” Before I can say my own name, she’s got me in a bear hug that smells like lavender and home.
I hug back, slightly dazed. “I’m Natalie.”
She pulls back to arm’s length and inspects me. “You’re a strong one. I can tell from your grip.” Then, turning to Declan, she says, “Well, you finally brought home someone with a proper arse. God love you, but I was beginning to think you were practicing for the priesthood or batting for the other team.”
Declan actually blushes.
Gram ushers us in, bustling around like a cruise missile of maternal energy. There are doilies and tea cozies and about a thousand framed photos on every wall, all of them featuring a much younger Declan.
“Sit, sit,” she orders, pointing at a couch that’s so overstuffed it practically swallows me whole. Declan sits next to me, his hand dropping to my thigh automatically, like we’ve done this a hundred times.
Gram brings tea and biscuits, sets them down, and plants herself in the armchair like a queen on her throne. She doesn’t waste time.
“So, Natalie, how did you meet my grandson? He’s a pain in the arse to get to know.” The way she says it, I know she means it as a compliment.
I look at Declan, who is definitely not going to save me.
“At work,” I say. “First day, he tried to scare me off, but I held my ground.”
“Ha!” Gram crows, clapping her hands. “That’s the way to do it. Never let a McDaid push you around, dear. It only encourages them.” She sips her tea, then fixes me with a piercing stare. “Do you like it? The work?”
I think about this. “It’s growing on me,” I say finally. “Kinda like a fungus.”
“I like her spirit.” She glances at Declan. “She’s able to hold her own with you. Don’t screw it up.”
“I don’t plan on it,” Declan mutters.
Gram leans forward, not bothering to pretend she’s not interrogating me. “And your family? Where do they live?”
I hesitate. This is always the part where people get awkward, apologize, or completely withdraw. “I don’t have one,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I grew up in the foster system. Moved around a lot.”
Gram just nods, not missing a beat. “Makes you tough, that does. Good. You’ll need it.” She looks at Declan again, and there’s something in her eyes, some secret message only grandmothers can transmit. He holds her gaze, jaw flexing, but doesn’t say a word.
She turns back to me, softer now. “You’ve got a family here now. If you want it.”
Something in my chest squeezes tight. I wasn’t expecting to be welcomed this fast, or this completely. I try to say thank you, but the words stick, so I just smile and eat a biscuit, which might actually be the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
Declan squeezes my hand tightly, and I feel it all the way to my bones.
We have brunch at a little place called The Revolving Blue Door, which is exactly as homey and over-the-top as it sounds. Everyone knows Gram; the hostess greets her by name, and the server hugs her before taking our order.
We get the “Sunday Special,” which is a tower of pancakes, eggs, and at least three varieties of sausage. I try to keep up, but Gram and Declan are both Olympic-caliber eaters, demolishing plates like it’s a competitive sport.
Gram is relentless with the questions. “Natalie, where did you go to school?”
“I went to the University of Houston for my Bachelor’s and Rice for my Master’s.” Her eyebrows shoot up, and I can tell I’ve managed to impress her.
“Do you like dogs?” She jumps to the next question.
“I love them.” I give a little smile. “I’ve always promised myself I’d get a cute little fuzzball as soon as I get settled.”
“Every girl should have a fuzzball in her life,” Gram agrees before turning to Declan. “Have you told her about the summer you set fire to the neighbor’s shed?”
“It’s on my to-do list,” he teases. “Right after I tell her about that bad case of jock itch I had in ninth grade.”