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“Me, too.”
“I haven’t seen you before either,” he points out.
“I’m usually here every other day, but I had to switch my schedule this week due to a work project.”
“That explains it. I’ve been out of the country for a while, so I couldn’t get here until recently. On the days you weren’t here, it seems.” He winks, sending a sly grin my direction. “I’ll have to thank your client for monopolizing your time.”
“Aren’t you a charmer?” I mutter as we head back toward our respective grandparents, the covert portion of our conversation concluded.
“He gets that from me,” the older gentleman claims as we step inside.
“You aren’t wrong,” my grandma affectionally agrees.
Again, there seems to be a history I’m not aware of and, if the stare Seymour and I share is any indication, he isn’t either.
“Who is this lovely lady?” Seymour asks his relative, making mine blush. His bares his teeth in warning and my grandma places her hand on his leg, as if soothing him.
And it works.
“Did we enter the twilight zone?” I whisper.
“My middle name is Rodman,” Seymour informs me just as quietly.
“Really?”
“No.” I lightly smack his arm, stopping a second to squeeze the muscle that greets me. Knowing what I’m doing, and seeming to have no problem with it, he flexes.
“I think they’re hitting it off,” my grandma tells her companion, not even bothering to temper the volume of her voice.
“Good,” his grandpa responds. “He works too much. Maybe a lady friend will slow him down.” The old-fashioned term makes me laugh. Seymour has the same reaction is joins mine.
“I’m Hannah,” I interject, ready to change the subject to one less uncomfortable. “And you are?”
“Peter. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“I can’t say the same,” I admit. “Seems grandma has been keeping secrets.”
“Both of them have,” Seymour backs me up as he introduces himself to my grandma.
They choose to ignore that and steer the discussion the direction they want it to go. “Nola,” Nola? “said you recently moved to Sweetville?”
“Yes. I loved visiting her and my grandpa there. I knew, when I was ready to put down roots, I wanted to do it there.”
“It’s a wonderful town,” he agrees, eyes growing distant as if he’s remembering something. “As was your grandpa.”
Wait, what? “You knew my grandpa?”
“Met him a couple times. Good man.”
“How…?”
Seymour provides that for me. “Isn’t that where you grew up?”
“It is. Many good years were spent there.”
My eyes are darting back and forth as I put the pieces together. They knew each other when they were younger.
“We dated before I met my Julian.” That would be my grandpa.
