Understanding hit me all at once, and I reached over to snag her wrist without thought.
“What are you—?” She cut off abruptly as I sifted through the plastic encircling her arm.
AppleLady, plus a rainbow of colors that spelled out his affection.
Georgie had made a bracelet for Joan, and she was wearing it.
“He gave you this,” I said, and I could hear the wonder in my own voice.
“Yeah,” she said. “He just showed up with it.” The softness in her tone tugged at something in me. I could hear the gruff affection, the baffled amusement of a woman who seldom indulged in silliness or playfulness. But she had for my nephew.
Sophia had a couple of bracelets that she rotated out. Darren had one that he clipped to his keychain. Even Maggie Clark had been gifted a bracelet that readBaker Maggie. But Georgie hadn’t given one to me.
My laughter was a quiet, aching thing. Georgie had decided that Joan was the most amazing person he’d ever met.
And, seeing this side of her—the softness, the loyalty, the secret sweetness—that hid beneath a no-nonsense exterior, I thought, I probably agreed with him.
“It’s no big deal,” she claimed, as my fingers danced across the beads and her pale skin.
I met her gaze. “Itisa big deal.”
My nephew had been through so much. His life wasn’t normal, and never would be. I’d do whatever it took to make him happy. My eyes lingered on the source of that happiness as she squirmed uncomfortably under my gaze. I’d found that most people loved attention and praise, but really good people—the ones who deserved it—rarely liked to be acknowledged.
Suddenly, I realized I’d been rubbing my thumb back and forth over the soft skin of Joan’s inner wrist and froze my movements. Goose bumps rose over her flesh, and the awareness between us intensified to a dancing blaze.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Thank you for?—”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Joan interrupted, her voice unexpectedly soft.
She shifted after a moment, drawing her arm back to her side, and ending the conversation. She made to gather her hair in a low ponytail and then released it, focusing instead on the jukebox.
I wondered, briefly, if she was missing her hair tie. The one that was currently in my pocket.
Pointing toward the jukebox once more, Joan offered, “You wanted a hint? Well, here you go: nothing from the last two decades.”
I smiled and went back to browsing, putting the topic of innocent mementos and inconvenient gratitude behind us. But that didn’t stop all the feelings warming me from the inside out.
I could detect Joan’s attention on the side of my face, and, as a result, I didn’t register a single song title until my eyes randomly caught on something I recognized.
The buttons clicked as I selected J-85, and a moment later, the rhythmic sounds of piano keys filtered through the ancient speakers.
“Oh, now that’sreallycheating,” Joan told me before giving my shoulder a playful shove.
I grinned and didn’t let myself draw attention to her teasing or the comfortable way she’d just put her hands on me.
Dolly Parton launched into the opening verse of “9 to 5” as we made our way back to join the others at the table where our night had begun.
“Good choice, man,” Brady called. “Everybody loves Dolly.”
My gaze slid to Joan when I replied, “I know.”
She rolled her eyes, taking her seat next to me.
“Now, Ian, this is kind of important,” Mac said, looking serious all of a sudden. She’d loosened up pretty quickly over the course of the evening, the starstruck awe had faded into curious glances, and finally to nothing but playful camaraderie once she’d beat me at darts nearly every round.
“Oh, right. The warning,” Brady echoed, and everyone turned to look at me.
I straightened, suddenly worried. “What?”
