Page 66 of Not Home Alone

“Oh, I forgot to tell you that I hung out with Mrs. Crowley this afternoon, and she wasn’t mean to me at all.”

I spit the wine out all over Grant’s face and shirt and suit jacket and pretty red tie. “What?”

I swear I hear a record scratch and everyone in the room turns to stare at me in slow motion.

“Oh, god. I’m so sorry.”

Grant just blinks once and deadpans, “That bad, huh?” and then dabs at his face with the bottom of his necktie.

I mean, the wine does taste like someone dumped gallons of cough syrup into a kiddie pool, fermented a tire in it, tossed in some pennies, and then used an old gym sock as a sieve when they poured it into this glass. But that’s not why I did a spit-take. “I was just surprised by what he said!” I announce to the room. “The wine would pair well with beef and it’s very memorable!”

By now, the server has returned with a bottle of soda water, a hand towel, and a look that says I warned you, lady. He takes our glasses from us, and I take the soda and towel.

“You had to choose the red, huh?” Grant says, good-naturedly, as he removes his suit jacket.

“I am so sorry!” I dab at his shirt. His beautiful, fitted, button-down shirt. It pulls tight over muscles that are straining beneath the fabric. He’s flexing for me. I press the towel against one of his pecs. “You had to wear a white shirt, huh?”

“It’s really not a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

I take the jacket from him and dab it. It’s dark, so the stain isn’t so visible. “I can’t believe you ‘hung out’ with Old Lady Crowley! Nobody hangs out with her.”

He takes the jacket from me and puts it back on. “Well, she was obviously just waiting for someone cool enough to hang out with.”

“Uncle Grant! Uncle Grant!” A little girl in a red velvet dress and green headband runs over to him, so I stop dabbing at his tie.

“There’s my princess,” he says, picking her up.

“Don’t get wine on her dress!” a woman calls out. I recognize her as Ava. She has the same light brown hair color as Grant, the same ease in the way she moves through the world. But her features are more refined. More snobby, is the word I’m looking for. “Ariel, don’t get too close to him.”

But the little girl is hugging Grant tight. “Thank you for my present,” she says to him sweetly.

“You’re so welcome. You opened it already?”

She nods. “Mommy let me choose one present to open before Christmas, and I chose the one from you because I knew I’d like it.” She shows us the bead bracelet she’s wearing. “I made this from it.”

“Ohhh, did you get a bead kit?” I ask her. “That’s so pretty.”

She nods. “I like your earrings,” she says shyly.

“Thank you—do you like my necklace? Your uncle Grant gave it to me.”

“Ariel, this is my friend Merrily,” Grant tells her. “Ariel is my favorite niece.”

“Honestly, only someone who doesn’t have kids to pick up after would get a child a bead kit,” Ava says, rolling her eyes. “Hello, I’m Ava,” she says to me, without offering her hand.

“Hi, Ava. I’m Merrily.”

“I love my bead kit,” Ariel says defensively.

“I would be so thrilled if someone got me a bead kit,” I insist. I suppose I should be trying to get Grant’s sister to like me, but I can’t say I’m fond of her.

“Your bracelet looks delicious,” Grant says to his niece, pretending to nibble on it.

It sends Ariel into a joyful fit of giggles, and I can barely handle seeing this man make a tiny human so happy.

“So, the Chambourcin didn’t do it for you, huh?” Ava asks, eyeing Grant’s shirt and totally disregarding how great he’s being with her daughter.

“I was honestly just surprised by something he said,” I explain. “I’m sorry if it appeared otherwise.”