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“How did you convince him you were independent?”
“Grace, Bill’s daughter, was running the store for him. They hired me to work part-time over the holidays. I did so well, they hired me full-time so Grace wouldn’t feel bad about leaving. Bill was comfortable with me running the store.”
This is the first time I’ve heard a note of pride in her voice, and my fingers tighten around the string of lights. It’s a reflex I don’t quite understand.
“We got to know each other pretty well in the months that Noah and Grace dated, and Bill and Lisa fell in love with Evie. Most people do. So when I went to them for ideas of how to convince Noah that he could move to Charleston with Grace, they had a few suggestions. I knew my job wasn’t going to be enough to put him at ease, but we brainstormed and came up with a plan.”
The rhythm of the story is rising. “I feel like I’m watching a TV show where the good guys are sweeping off the table to plunk down a diagram, and everything is about to turn around.”
I hear a snort of laughter, some rustling, then Paige appears on the lawn beside the ladder. “I don’t believe you watch TV.”
She’s got me there. “I don’t.”
Tapping on her lips, she studies me for a moment. “Documentaries. Or public radio.” Something in my expression makes her laugh. “I knew it.”
“All right.” I give her a slight scowl. “I’m very predictable. Finish the story.”
“We spent a couple of weeks figuring everything out, but on Christmas, I surprised Noah with his ‘go live your life’ package. A list of teaching openings in Charleston. A move to Creekville for Evie and me, right into the apartment above Bill and Lisa’s garage for the cost of utilities. That left me enough for daycare for Evie so I could go to school. And I got a bunch of grants and things. I saved, thrifted, and sacrificed. I graduated. I got a promotion and a raise. I bought a house. I moved in and proceeded to torture you.”
I climb down the ladder again, this time stopping to stand in front of her. I cross my arms and give her a narrowed-eye look that would tell any student who has ever had me that Dr. Hill is quite serious. “Do you know what I do for a living?”
“Teach at the college.”
“But do you know what I teach?”
A slightly guilty look flashes over her face. “Yes.”
It startles me out of my serious look. “How did you know that?”
“I googled you when you were being an as—”
“Understood,” I cut her off. I go back to my serious look. “Studying anthropology means that I’ve examined the origins of countless myths and legends.”
Her eyebrow goes up, a look of puzzlement on her face.
“You,” I say, unfolding an arm to point at her briefly, “are a legend.” I can hear it in all the details she didn’t share. She has rare grit, and I hope people tell her so. It’s the least I can do after being such an as—well, a Scrooge.
A range of expressions plays across her face. Surprise, gratification, and possibly . . . was that a hint of trepidation before she crosses her arms and gives me a level look?
“That’s nice of you to say.”
I allow the smallest smirk. “I’m rarely nice.”
She gives me a nod of acknowledgement. “That’s nice of you to say,” she repeats, “but I want to be clear here: I’m not going to date you.”
“You . . . what?” That came out of nowhere.
“I’m not going to date you. You’re old enough to be my . . .”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“Uncle,” she finishes, clearly not what she was going to say first. “But I accept your truce.” Then a sunny grin breaks out on her face. “And I’d love to be friends.”
I smile back. “Despite being rejected for a date I never wanted, and in spite of having been aged at least twenty years in your mind, friends sounds good.”
“Great. Now go finish the lights up there.”
I turn to the ladder but pause. “How old do you think I am, anyway?” I don’t have any gray hairs. Not eventhinninghair.
