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“Good. You deserve it.”
I look up to find Mr. Jacobson walking down the dock toward us. He’s wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a button-down shirt.
“Oh, my heavens,” Gran breathes out quietly, so only I can hear. “That man is still as fine-looking as he was when we were kids.” She lays a fluttering hand on her chest, presumably to quiet her breathing. “Is he walking over here?”
I look past her. “He most definitely is walking over here.”
“Evening, ladies,” he says as he gets closer.
“Evening,” Gran replies, but her voice warbles a little, which makes me giggle. She reaches over and pinches my thigh.
“Jake went this morning and picked up some late-season peaches at the farmers’ market,” he says. “So I made some homemade ice cream. Was curious to see if you’d like to come and have a bowl with me.” He stares down at Gran. I’m pretty sure he’s inviting her and not me.
“Well, if I wasn’t so far down on this dock and could get up without any trouble, I’d be happy to join you. But as it is, I’ll have to roll up so I can get up, which won’t be very graceful.”
“Oh, come on now, Maimi,” he teases. “I’ve seen you look not-graceful before.”
She huffs. “I clearly remember a few times I’ve seen you look not-graceful too, you old coot,” she tosses back.
“You’re liable to see it again in just a few minutes,” he retorts. “Give me time. Happens a lot.”
She laughs and tries to get up. She does, indeed, roll over, and then she, with no grace whatsoever, hauls herself to her feet. “You say there’s homemade peach ice cream, huh?”
“Lots of it,” he replies with a wink.
“I’ve always been a sucker for homemade peach ice cream.”
He grins. “I am well aware. Why do you think I sent Jake to the farmers’ market for peaches?” He extends his elbow to her, and she giggles as she slides her hand inside.
Gran just giggled. At a man. Oh, glory be. I’ll never let her live this down.
“I’ll be back later, Abigail,” Gran says to me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply, trying to bite back my smile. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Gran ignores me entirely, which makes me laugh out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Ethan calls from the shore where he and Mitchell stand and look up at where I’m sitting.
“My grandmother,” I reply. “She’s the best.”
Ethan and Mitchell carefully pick their way up the side of the slope that leads to the dock, and Mitchell flings himself at me. I catch him against me and pull him into my lap. “Mr. Jacobson scares me,” Mitchell confides.
Ethan laughs. “I think he likes it that way.”
“Gran’s not scared of him, though,” Mitchell says. He started calling her Gran yesterday, when she’d insisted.
“Gran’s not really scared of anything.” I tickle Mitchell’s sides until he’s a quivering, giggly mess in my lap.
He flops back, his arms over his head as he gives up. Suddenly, he lifts his head and looks at Ethan. “When you two get married, can I call Abigail Mom then?”
Ethan winces and sends me a sympathetic look. “We were just talking about stepmoms and all that,” he explains.
“So, can I?” Mitchell persists.
“That’s between you and Abigail,” Ethan tells him.
I lean close to Mitchell’s ear. “After we’re married, you can call me whatever you want, as long as you don’t call me late for dinner.” I tickle him again, which sends him into peals of laughter.
