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“I’m glad you stopped to change it. And I’m really glad that Junior had some of his grandpappy’s moonshine with him.”
He rocks his head from side to side, considering. “That one is debatable.” He holds up a finger like he wants to get my attention. “But I am glad you wrote on that building. Or we wouldn’t be where we are now.”
Suddenly, I suck in a breath, as the realization hits me. “Do you think Mr. Jacobson planned all this, so we’d end up where we are?”
He chuckles. “I’d say there’s a good chance of that. I actually owe Mr. Jacobson my gratitude. He got me you, and he fixed my relationship with my dad. Did you see that Dad’s new sign out in front of the car lot is an advertisement for Parker Landscaping?”
I grin at him. “Who do you think designed it?”
He gently shoves my shoulder. “Shut up. You did that?”
I nod. “He called and said he wanted to use up that old empty billboard.”
“Why didn’t he put his car lot on it?” he asks.
“He wanted to show you off, he said.”
Grady blinks his eyes hard. “Never thought he would be someone who would ever say that.”
“He’s proud of you, Grady.”
“I think he might be. Finally.” He reaches out a finger and drags it slowly down our daughter’s cheek. “I’ll be proud no matter what she wants to do with her life.”
“You never know,” I remind him. “She might like landscaping. Working outside.”
“Or she might want to work with him at the car lot.” He shrugs. “That would make his day.”
“So, I guess we should send Mr. Jacobson a thank you card,” I suggest, lifting my brows at him.
“He used our Thriller dance in his commercial,” he reminds me. “Without permission,” he adds. “I think we’re even.”
It was strange seeing ourselves on TV with no warning. But it was also right. He didn’t use the proposal, just the dance. And it was dark and grainy, captured by the surveillance cameras late at night, but everyone who was there was able to recognize everyone else, or had heard about it, so it was still pretty special.
Mr. Jacobson had already called to remind us of our promise to put together a dance team again this year.
“She might make a good zombie,” Grady says with a nod toward our little girl.
A gentle knock breaks the silence of the room and we both look up. “Can we come in?” Barbara-Claire asks quietly. She waits for me to nod and wave her into the room. “Ms. Markie told us to come back first, since the girls are still waiting to go to bed.”
“They’re not here, are they?” I look beyond her.
“They’re at my mom’s,” Junior says as he walks over and looks down at our little girl. “Wow. I can’t tell which one of you she looks like.”
“The forehead,” Barbara-Claire says. “That’s all Grady.”
“Hey,” Grady protests, but he’s grinning.
Barbara-Claire takes her from my reluctant arms and sits down with her in a nearby chair. She stares down at her. “Your mommy and daddy finally stopped getting in their own way, and they fell in love, and you came from that, you beautiful girl.”
“Nope,” Grady says. “She came right out of the shower.”
I nudge him in the side with my elbow, which makes him grunt. “Would you stop that? You’ll have her growing up believing babies come from taking showers.”
“Well, ours did,” he reminds me.
“Ours came from love, doofus,” I say softly, as I stare into his eyes.
“I love you, Clifford,” he says, and he leans in and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead.
