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I don’t have time to be curious about my bizarre benefactor, or even to carry on a longer conversation expressing my gratitude.
Definitely no time to get his number so I can pay him back somehow, take him out to lunch, buy him a new pocket square, get him some facial therapy so he can relearn how to smile, whatever.
The moment the car stops, his assistant barely gets out one syllable before I fling the door open, letting in a chill breeze.
“Sorry!” I throw back. “She’s hurt and I have to help her, thank you guys again, I’ll find my own way to—” I stop.
Repay you, I want to say.
But the moment I grab my bag and tumble out on the slick sidewalk in front of the house, the door to the car—a nice car; I’d barely noticed the luxurious interior, but I definitely notice the swanky exterior—shuts.
I stand there staring with my mouth slightly open, rain plonking down on my head in freezing droplets as the car pulls away.
Dang.
That was the nicest rude thing anyone’s ever done for me.
Also, I have no idea what just happened.
I didn’t even catch his name.
But I only give myself a few more seconds to wonder before I dash through the gate and pelt down the stone path bisecting Gran’s beautifully cultivated garden lawn and dash up the short front steps to her porch.
Just in time to catch her as she starts to turn and her crutch slips on the edge of the top step.
“Oh!” she cries.
“Gotcha!” I catch her by the shoulder and steady her.
Gran blinks up at me through her round spectacles.
She’s a small, slim bird of a woman with a thick tumble of wispy grey hair that refuses to stay in the bun she’s twisted it into.
“Elle?” She reaches for me, but her hands are still a little too full. “I was just on my way to get you. I’m so sorry I’m running behind. I still move so slow, you know—”
“I told you, you didn’t have to come at all,” I chide gently, taking the keys from her to fit the house key in the lock and push the door open. “You shouldn’t be driving. I got a ride, and it was fine. But it’s cold out here. Let’s head inside before we get too wet and catch a cold.”
Gran looks past me at the bag I dumped on the walk in my sprint to catch her. “Of course, my love, but ... is that all you brought with you?”
“Huh?” I glance over my shoulder and groan.
Right.
Of course, Jet Daddy wouldn’t have gotten my luggage at the baggage claim.
“No, but I’ll go back to the airport to get everything tomorrow. I just stole your keys, so I’ll steal your car too.” I smile brightly.
With a fondly exasperated look, she cackles and nudges me on, then lets me take her bag and umbrella inside. I duck back out to get my carry-on, then follow her into the cozy warmth of what was basically my childhood home.
The familiarity instantly feels like a hug from an old friend.
I’ll worry about arguing with Delta over claiming my luggage tomorrow.
For now, my head still hurts, and I just want to lie down, relax, and enjoy being home.
I’ve never been happier to put a whole twenty-four hellish hours behind me.
Yesterday, I spent the day catching up with Gran—helping her around the house, finding out where she needed me most, convincing her it’s fine to take a load off her knee and let me do anything that requires more mobility.
