"Watch her every day." He pointed the remote at the television with the authority of a man who had not once in his life questioned his own taste. "Two o'clock. Same time as bingo." A dismissive sniff. "Barrymore beats bingo, hands down."
The television clicked on.
Brody leaned toward my ear. "Are we watchingThe Drew Barrymore Showwith your grandfather?"
I took stock of John Calvin, eighty-something years old, settling into his recliner with the remote balanced on his knee and the volume going up two clicks too loud.
"Apparently," I said, and I settled back into the cushions in a room with the only two men in the whole damn world I'd sit still for.
An hour and change later,Doris showed up. John—Granddad, I supposed I could call him—all but kicked Brody and me out. Before he closed the door, though, he pulled me into a hug.
"I'm glad you're home, Vinny."
My eyes instantly welled. No one had called me that since my mom died.
"Me, too." I squeezed him tight—just hopefully not too tight because he felt entirely too brittle. And I needed him to stick around for more than a little while. "Maybe I can bust you outta this joint for a day here soon," I said, pulling away and looking up at him. He may have been on this side of frail, but he was still a good head taller than me. "Take you out to the ranch."
"That'd be real nice." He gave a soft smile and looked over my shoulder toward Brody. "You take care of my girl, ya hear?"
"Yes, sir." Brody took a step toward us, placing his hand on my lower back.
"And keep your dick outta any other?—"
"Alrighty, we're outta here!" I quickly cut off Granddad before this line of conversation went even a beat further.
With a final wave, Brody and I made our way back out to the parking lot.
It was bright and hot after the dim quiet of Granddad's room. I squinted against it and just… stood there for a second, keys in my hand, not going anywhere in particular.
Brody stopped beside me.
I could feel him looking at me.
"What's wrong with your face?"
I laughed. Couldn't help it. "Nothing."
"No, something's—" He leaned in, studying me with exaggerated concern. "Are you—are you smiling?"
"Shut up."
"Calvin Jennings." He pressed a hand to his chest. "Is that a genuine, unprompted, unironic smile?"
"I will revoke it immediately."
"Don't you dare." He caught my chin in his hand before I could school my expression back into anything resembling normal. His thumb traced my jaw and he looked at me for a moment, that green gaze doing the thing it always did where it just… stayed. "Suits you," he said quietly.
I rolled my eyes, but I didn't take the smile back.
He kissed me once, quick and warm, right there in the parking lot in Livingston with the July heat coming up off the asphalt and Doris presumably already angling for her roll in the hay somewhere back inside.
"You hungry?" he asked against my lips.
"Starving."
"Good." He took my keys out of my hand, walked me to his truck, and opened the door. "Get in."
"Where are we going?"
