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My brows come together in a deep frown. “Mildred? Who’s Mildred?”
His thick busy brows match mine, pinching, as he looks into the bottom of his empty glass. “I’ve never called her Mildred before.”
“Who?” Tia asks.
“Milly,” Pops confirms. “Her name was Mildred, though no one ever called her that.”
I sit up straight. “Her real name’s Mildred?”
He smiles, going off to that place he goes when he’s thinking of the woman who stole his heart all those years ago. “She always thought it was too old-fashioned.”
Well, damn. I laugh under my breath. That would explain why I’ve drawn no results while searching for her. I have to hold my feet back from taking me to my home office to bash her full name into all the websites I’ve become a member of over the past week. Tomorrow. I’ll resume my search tomorrow. Mildred Rose. The love of his life. I was beginning to think he’d made her up with the endless brick walls I was meeting.
The night goes on, full of happy chatter and alcohol, and when Pops starts swaying on his stool, I wisely decide that it’s time to get him in bed. “Come on, you old soak.” I help him down and present him to everyone to say their goodnights. “Will you make sure Steve goes out for a pee?” I say to Todd.
“Sure.” He slides off his stool. “Come on, Steve. Let’s go piss.”
“We should be going up too.” Tia stifles a yawn. “Jet lag is kicking in.”
“Take the third bedroom.” I walk Pops toward the stairs. “The River can room with Todd.”
“The River?” Tia asks. “Who’s The River?”
“He can?” Todd blurts, looking back from the doorway.
“Sorry.” I cringe. “Trent.”
“Seriously, Dad.”
“What?”
My girl shakes her head and takes The River’s hand, following me and Pops to the stairs. “He’ll be rooming with me.”
“Actually, Tia, I think your dad’s right.” Trent drops my girl’s hand and moves away, leaving her with a rather indignant expression. “I wouldn’t want to disrespect his rules under his roof.”
Todd sniggers, obviously missing the fact that The River’s chivalrous declaration means he’ll be snuggled up with him tonight.
I nod to myself in silent agreement, and Pops starts jerking from laughter as I negotiate his inebriated body up the stairs. “What are you laughing at?”
“The fact that you were a father at Tia’s age.”
I scowl at him. “And?”
“And stop being so prudish. This was the twenty-first century last time I checked.”
“Your input isn’t welcome.”
“Tough, because you’ve got it. Let the lovebirds sleep together.”
I look over my shoulder and find Trent and Tia climbing the stairs. They’re both smiling at my wayward grandfather. “Fine,” I mutter. “But no hanky-panky.”
My order only serves to encourage more laughter. I’ve no idea why. I’m being deadly serious. My head’s a total mind-fuck at the moment, and that’s only going to bend it more.
After directing Pops to the bed and stripping him down to his huge stripy underpants, I tuck him in and smile when he sleepily mumbles Milly’s name. The sound stirs a big melting pot of conflicting feelings: joy, because his sleepy smile is something to behold, and concern, because seventy years after he met the infamous Milly Rose, he still dreams of her.
Fuck, I’m doomed.
Shutting the door behind me, I scrub my hands down my face. “All right?” Todd asks, his hand resting on the handle of the door to his room.
“Tired,” I answer, but I’m not physically weary. I’m mentally drained. “See you in the morning.” I head for my room, ready to collapse into bed and drive myself insane with a mind that will refuse to sleep, despite being exhausted. But I pause as I’m pushing my way into my room, a noise coming from downstairs. “What was that?”
Todd must have heard it, because he’s looking down the landing too. “Everyone came up, didn’t they?”
“Where’s Steve?” I ask. “Did he come in from the garden?” Just as I say that, he appears at my feet.
I tread the carpet carefully, glancing at my watch. It’s gone midnight. I look over the banister into the blackness below, Todd looming behind me. “Where’d you keep your baseball bat?” he whispers in my ear.
“I don’t have a baseball bat.”
“You fool. Everyone has a baseball bat.”
I ignore him, hearing the pitter-patter of . . . paws?
“Oh.” Todd’s hand rests on my shoulder. “It’s just Steve.”
“It’s not Steve.” I nod to my feet and Todd looks down.
Then his round eyes fly up to me. “Steve’s here.”
“God, you’re clever,” I sigh, creeping to the top of the stairs, feeling the wall for the switch, squinting into the darkness. My fingers brush the chrome plate, and I flick on the lights, bracing myself.
“Holy shit.” Todd jumps back, his hands grabbing my arms to take me with him, but my feet are cemented to the carpet, my ears turning the silhouette of a person into . . .
