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“Because he visits you frequently?”
“No. Because he’s—”
“You when you were younger,” I finish, sensing the connection between them. They don’t only look alike, they also have many similar mannerisms, like their eye rolls, and their cheeky smiles and playfulness. Bert only confirms my conclusion on a proud smile, and then drops his eyes down to my left hand. I follow his stare until I find my wedding ring, my hand instinctively covering it.
“He’s a good man, Lo,” he says quietly. “Honorable too.”
I look up, forcing my hand away. Because why would I hide the fact I’m married? I have nothing to feel ashamed of. “I know.”
“Follow your heart, dear girl. I wish I did,” he breathes out wistfully, looking off into the distance. “Oh, Milly. What a woman.”
My teeth bite down on my lip as I stare at the old man, searching his eyes for more than that cryptic statement. Milly? Luke’s grandmother? Bert gives me nothing, not answering my silent question, and Luke appears with drinks before I can press him. Or maybe just assure him that my heart will always lead me to my husband.
“Still alive?” Luke asks, flicking his attention between me and his granddad.
I nod and accept the mug being handed to me, frowning at it. “Thank you.” I look inside and see a few inches of amber liquid in the bottom. “I think.”
“House rules,” Luke says. “We have to sneak it in.” He passes a mug to Bert, who takes it in both hands before raising it and taking a small sip.
“So, then,” Bert says, nodding in my direction, “you must be taking your new friend somewhere special since she’s all dressed up.”
“Yeah.” Luke looks across the room when the door swings open and one of the old women appear, waving her arms excitedly. “Shall we give Lo a tour of the house?” Luke asks, offering me his hand.
“No.” Bert’s answer is abrupt and final, and I smile, seeing the devilish twinkle in his old eyes. “I’m fine where I am, thank you very much.”
Accepting Luke’s hand, I let him pull me to my feet. “Come on, Bert,” I push lightly. “I want a tour.”
We both stand over Bert while he sniffs his drink and swirls the liquid casually. I narrow a playful eye on him when he peeks up at me.
“Oh, all right,” he sighs and wrestles himself up from the chair. Luke shoots over to help him, ignoring the grunts of displeasure from Bert. They lead the way, me following, until we break the threshold of the double doors, the room coming into view.
“Surprise!” a crowd of people, mostly women, sing, as party poppers start bursting everywhere, and a rapturous round of applause follows.
“Well, would you believe it.” Bert looks across at me on an epic roll of his eyes. “I had no idea.”
I grin like a fool as I stand to the side, watching everyone in the room descend on the old man, whooping and cheering his arrival. But mostly I watch Luke and his way with his grandad. They’re close, it’s clear, and their similarities, despite the decades between them, are uncanny.
At that moment, Luke looks up and finds me, and the smile that spreads across his face is striking. “Okay?” he mouths, and I nod, happy to remain where I am and take it all in.
But I’m not where I am for long. I glance to my side when my arm is taken, and I’m pulled off across the room. “This way, dear,” an old woman declares, and I look in the direction in which I’m being pulled, seeing a table full of elderly ladies grinning at me. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Luke shaking his head in dismay. “Be afraid,” he calls. “Be very afraid.”
I laugh as I land in the chair that one lady has pushed me into, coming face to face with eight very interested-looking old ladies. Smiling nervously, I wait for who is going to hit me with my first question.
“How long have you been dating?” one asks.
“We’re n—”
“You look younger than our Luke.”
“I’m twe—”
“How did you snag him?”
“I didn’t sn—”
“Do we need to buy hats?”
“Oh, goodness.” I laugh. “Like I said—”
“Have you moved in yet?”
My eyes widen. “We’re just fr—”
“Children,” one sings, clapping her hands. “How many?”
“I’m sorry,” I swallow, looking over my shoulder for Luke. He needs to rescue me, but I can’t see him through the scatterings of old people that are shuffling around the dance floor in pairs to some Frank Sinatra. I return my attention to the clan of inquisitive women. I smile nervously. “I don’t think—”
“What’s that on your finger?” My hand is grabbed, and suddenly all eyes are on my wedding ring.
“She’s married?” another gasps, spiking a chorus of further gasps from the rest of the table. I snatch my hand back and hide it under the table, and they proceed to narrow eyes on me suspiciously. Oh God, this is horrible. I start to prepare my excuse to leave the table when Luke appears. He must read the relief on my face because he cocks a head in question.
