Page 31 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You haven’t met my mother.”

She studied me for a second before placing her hand in mine. The contact lasted only long enough for her to step down. Again, I felt the slight hesitation in her movement. The way she shifted her weight carefully before releasing my hand. If she was hurt from the walk, she didn’t mention it, and I didn’t ask.

“Carson Anne Rome,” Evelyn Rome had pushed through the screen door before we reached the porch, “have you lost every bit of sense the Lord gave you?”

Carson sighed. “Hi, Meme.”

“You walked through that storm.”

“I know.”

“Two miles.”

“So I’ve been reminded.”

Evelyn reached her granddaughter and cupped both sides of her face, inspecting her as though Carson might have suffered an injury without noticing. Then her gaze moved to me. Recognition dawned immediately.

“Well, if it isn’t Walter Jones’s boy.”

“Afternoon, Mrs. Rome.”

She waved away the formality. “Evelyn. You’re too grown to keep calling me Mrs. Rome.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her eyes dropped to Carson’s shoulders. “That your jacket?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A smile spread across her face.

Carson caught it. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You don’t have to.”

Evelyn turned back toward me. “Are you staying for supper?”

“No,” Carson answered for me. Her grandmother ignored her.

“I appreciate the offer, but my mother is expecting me at home for dinner.”

Evelyn smiled, but sadness moved through her eyes when she looked past us toward the empty driveway.

“James always loved her pot roast.”

Carson went still. The moment was brief, nearly invisible, but I felt it settle between them.

Evelyn recovered first.

“Come inside before you both catch pneumonia.”

“I need to get back to the shop,” I said. “Jax still has half the deliveries.”

“And Pops’s truck,” Carson added. “You’ll call me with the estimate?”