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I miss her, and I wish we’d had more time together, which could’ve happened if she had me when she was younger.
“I know. I do too, lovie. Every damn day. She was too young to go. We’ll always agree on that. But it doesn’t mean you should rush through your own life.”
“I know.” I wipe away a tear with the flat of my fingers. “I just want to get to wherever I’m supposed to end up.”
“How many times have I told you—”
“It’s about the journey, not the destination,” I finish for her. “I know, I know. And I’ve tried internalizing that message, but—”
“You’re twenty-seven, and you think you know everything.”
I roll my eyes. “Ha. If I know everything, how the hell’d I end up dating a married man whose wife torched my car?”
Rose grimaces. “Is it totaled?”
“Oh yeah.” I drink more wine. “Total mafia style, like someone wanted to erase evidence or hide a body.”
“Oh, Amelia. I know you loved that car. The police will do something, right?”
“If I press charges.”
“That woman can’t get away with what she did. If you see any slick mafia men lurking around in the meantime, I keep a taser under my pillow.”
A timer dings. I take the potpies out of the oven while Grandma Rose refills our wineglasses. We sit at the little table by the window. In true Rose fashion, the table is set with mismatched china, heirloom silverware, and these cool brass candlesticks she probably got on one of her antiquing trips to Paris.
I really do want to be Rose Fox when I grow up.
She settles her napkin on her lap. “So tell me about Rhett. I don’t think you’ve seen him since you left for college, right?”
“Right.” I tuck into my potpie and groan, eyes rolling to the back of my head in pleasure. “Grandma, this is seriously insane. I can’t thank you enough.”
“My pleasure. I figured you could use a little comfort food. Although sounds like Rhett might’ve provided some liquid comfort too?”
Chewing, I eye her over the twin flames of the candles. “You’re awfully curious about Rhett tonight.”
“So what if I am?” She shrugs, dipping her fork into the food on her plate. “I saw him on TV a while back. He had this big old beard that made him look like a pirate. And you know how I feel about pirates.”
My lips twitch. “You and the scoundrels. You can’t resist, can you?”
Understatement of the year: my grandfather may or may not have been a moonshiner and a member of a motorcycle gang when she met him. He eventually settled down with Rose, had my mom, and became a professor of statistics of all things. He passed away a decade ago, not long before my mom died. But I’ve seen the photos from when he was young, and he had one hell of a James-Dean-meets-Duke-of-Hastings thing going on.
“It was a playoff beard,” I say. “Rhett doesn’t have it anymore.”
“Is he single too?”
I swallow a bite of flaky pastry crust, perfectly browned, and reach for my wine. “I think so. We chatted a little about it at the engagement party, but it’s been a bit, so I’m not sure now.”
“Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“Y’all didn’t talk about that over drinks? Whether or not he was seeing someone? I assume the topic would’ve come up after you told him about what happened with Jim. It’s interesting that it didn’t.”
I take another bite of potpie. If only Rose knew about the topic that did come up.
I should just tell her. It’s not like my grandmother will judge me for considering Rhett’s proposal.
Maybe I’m judging myself, though. It’s a wild thing, being asked by the first man you ever loved to nanny the kid he didn’t know he had until this morning.
Wild, and maybe a little too weird.
Then again, who cares how weird it is if it bridges the gap between my former and future teaching jobs? It definitely won’t hurt to have a nannying gig on my résumé, especially if that gig results in a recommendation.
Especially if that gig is a chance to reestablish my professionalism.
My reputation.
I bet Rhett also pays very, very well.
“He did ask me an interesting question,” I say. “Rhett.”
“Don’t tell me he wants to get back together with you.”
“What? No! No, Grandma, I just told you we didn’t talk about . . . that stuff.” Taking one last sip of wine, I set down my glass. Take a breath. “He asked me to be his nanny.”
Rose’s brows shoot up. “Rhett has a baby? I didn’t know that.”
“Neither did he, until today.”
Her brows are practically touching her hairline now. “I feel like there’s a story there. Where’s the baby’s mother?”
“She passed away. I don’t know details, but apparently, it was sudden.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I know.” I finger the stem of my wineglass. “I know.”
A beat of silence stretches between us.
