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“John, was it?” Grant turned to the Kaar driver who’d led them here. “Something tells me you’re related to this clan in here.” He nodded to the man and woman who had to be Melinda’s parents, who’d stood and stepped forward, respectively, when Grant and his father had arrived.
Max, for that’s who he must be, turned to face Grant and extended his hand.
“It’s Mafi,” said Max. “Or Max. Up to you. I decided at some point in my youth that Max sounded less like Mafia.” Max smiled at him with only a slight reservation. “But after my stint with kidnapping, I’m going back to Mafi.” Grant grinned and shook Max’s hand.
“I owe you one for that bit of subterfuge,” he said. Maybe humor would help.
“Fair enough,” said Max. “Or we could count it toward Lina’s credit and then we don’t have to string you up by your toes.”
Grant grimaced. Too soon. Noted.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Max laughed, then leaned closer. “Rest assured: if I didn’t like you, you’d never have made it here.”
Grant’s smile froze. Obviously some dialogue had been had about the circumstances of his meeting Melinda—not too in depth, or he’d have been driven off a cliff. But still, he knew he had some serious ground to cover with everyone in the room. And, wonderful, his father was here to witness it all. Nothing like bringing your own peanut gallery.
More like combining peanut galleries. Grant eyed Melisa, Melinda’s parents, and Max. Max, who hadn’t departed after his gentle threat, and instead had taken a post several feet away where he could stare baldly at Grant while smiling in a way that did nothing to suggest benevolence. He willed Melinda to speak. He was drowning here.
Melisa stepped in front of Grant.
“I hope you’re not angry with us,” she said as she hugged him. “We thought a bit of a surprise was just what the doctor ordered. I’ve been haunting Melinda these past two weeks, keeping my eye on her at every opportunity and in general making a nuisance of myself. You’ll see Paul later—we’ve invited ourselves for dinner. We’re both waiting for this woman to see reason and take legal action, and we want to be there when she makes up her mind.”
Grant laughed lightly. Why hadn’t they let him in on the fun? He would have loved to have kept his eye on her at every opportunity.
Melinda stood rooted to the spot beside a light brown couch, elegant in a simple black dress with a red apron cinched around her waist. Her feet were clad in fancy slippers but bare besides. When his gaze reached her face he saw uncertain eyes, slightly flared nostrils, and lips that almost trembled.
Grant barely felt his footsteps as he crossed the floor to stand before her.
“Hi,” she blinked at him. “Um. Welcome.”
Was he? He might very well be, it seemed, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
“Thank you,” he said, relieved to hear his voice’s solid timbre and not a mouse’s squeak.
Her face tilted to search his and he ached to kiss her. Not yet, not yet. No pawing in front of her parents. Parents! Her parents were there. Oops.
“Is this your mother and father?” he asked without looking at them. His eyes drank in every detail of her. It had been an eternity since he’d seen her. Was she tired? Happy? Furious? Why hadn’t he known her long enough to recognize the signs of each and every sentiment? That needed to change.
Melinda started. “Yes! Mom, Pita, would you like to meet Grant?”
The spell broke and Grant felt more than saw two satellite figures move toward them. Grant extended his hand first to the man who approached him. “Mr.Sen.”
“Grant,” said Melinda’s father, “please call me Aarjav. It is very nice to meet you. I understand you make hard cider?”
“Uh, yes, yes we do,” Grant answered, surprised; this was not the probing question he’d expected. “I wish I had a bottle to share with you all.”
“Got you covered, Rant,” Buck called from his post near the door. “I brought three. Just in case.” So his father had known. Was everyone in on this madness?
But all he said was, “Oh, great. Well, hopefully you’ll enjoy it, Mr.Sen.” No way was Grant on “Aarjav” terms with Melinda’s father yet. “Thanks, Dad,” he called to his father. Thanks a lot.
Buck nodded, a ruthless grin on his face. Grant was floundering and his dad was making popcorn.
“I look forward to trying it,” Aarjav said, “and to hearing more about the production process. I’m very interested in the heirloom varietals I’m told you use. Perhaps Malina has told you that I’m an accounting professor, and that we are very boring?” He raised his hand to intercept Grant’s objections. “We are, we are. It is my deepest regret.” Melinda’s father stopped speaking to allow for his daughter’s laughter. “But we are also secretly very interesting. Has she told you that the sums and totals of even non-numeric things like apples intrigue me? No? Well, they do. So please tell all when we have a chance to speak further.”
Grant agreed, then turned to face Melinda in surprise. She had talked about him? Told her father about him? How much? She gave him a small smile.
“Hello, Grant,” floated a smooth voice at his side. “I’m Malina’s mother, Katrina. And I’m not going to shake your hand, young man, so don’t even try it.” Katrina wrapped both arms around him and hugged. She pulled back, and Grant could see where Melinda got her candid facial expressions. Katrina’s face was warm, open, and direct. There was no coyness, no reservation, just straightforward curiosity.
