“Thank you.” She cast him a suspicious look. “Are you sneaking us out of here?”
Jamie grinned. “Something like that.”
Before he turned the key in the ignition, he typed something on his phone. Her phone dinged—a text message with a link to a playlist.
“‘Yeehaw Summer,’” she said, reading from her screen. “You made this for me?”
“Mm-hmm. Required listening. Lots of my favorite artists and some others I figured you’d like too. If you want, we can throw it on now.”
She nodded, then connected her phone to the Bluetooth speakers. They pulled off to “Wide Open Spaces” by The Chicks. Brinton smiled, grateful as the morning sun tiptoed up the horizon.
Twenty minutes later, Jamie pulled down the cinematically long driveway of Iris Grove Senior Estates. It led them to an impressive two-story building that had aGone with the Wind–worthy balcony on the ground floor. Handsome English Ivy climbed up its brick facade. Nearby, a dozen cottages were nestled among the freshly cut lawn and mature magnolia trees.
Jamie inched into a parking spot. “Not bad, huh?”
“Not at all. She lives here alone?”
“Well, hardly alone. Pop-Pop—my grandfather—passed away about five years ago, but she’s settled in nicely here. Has lots of friends, plays tennis every morning, and learned three languages since she moved in. She’s an absolute firecracker.”
His thumbs drummed on the steering wheel. “I’ve never introduced her to one of my…”
He cocked his head, clearly fishing for the right word.
Brinton wondered the same thing. “Friends?” she asked, hesitant, heart deflating a little at the thought. Though friends-who-canoodled-in-dark-alleys-and-other-venues didn’t quite fit either.
Without hesitation, he shook his head, eyes cutting from the parking lot to meet hers. “Brinton, you’re more than my friend.”
As cool relief filled her chest, she smiled. “I can’t wait to meet your mamaw.”
That was mostly true. Often, Brinton was nervous to meet new people, and this felt like a metric ton of added pressure. What if Mamaw thought she was too curvy, too melanated, or too…notKendall Chase? Would that change his feelings about her? Her thumbnail sliced into an already shredded cuticle as she tried to fix her face into a neutral position.
As she followed Jamie through the garden path toward the cottages, Brinton’s hands were slicked with sweat. Her heart pounded in her chest. They stopped in front of a white cottage with gray shutters that was designed like a cozy farmhouse. When Jamie touched her shoulder, she jumped.
“Bee, you don’t gotta be nervous,” he said.
“I know, it’s stupid…”
“It’s not stupid. I get nervous every time I step foot on stage. It’s normal. But she is gonna love you.”
Brinton blew out a breath. “I’ll picture her in her underwear. That works, right?”
“Oh God. Please don’t,” Jamie barked through laughter.
He knocked on the door. Moments later, a woman appeared. She was tall, with skin so smooth and clear she looked far younger than someone in her 80s. She wore a baby blue cardigan and matching pants that brought out her aquamarine eyes. Brinton now knew where Jamie got them from. Her thick, silvery-gray hair was smoothed into a neat ponytail.
“It’s about time you showed up,” she said, her accent nectarine-sweet and prim.
“Are you kidding me? It’s been a week,” Jamie said.
She pulled him into a tight hug. “A week too long. And would it kill you to get a haircut? You look like a Beatle.”
Brinton imagined him more like a surfer who’d traded his board for boots. He adjusted his hat over his tousled waves. She tried not to drool as his biceps jumped.
“The Beatles are iconic.” Jamie grinned. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
Jamie’s mamaw appraised Brinton and gasped. “Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture?”
“She is,” Jamie affirmed. “Mamaw, this is Brinton. My girlfriend.”
