5
Nora
“Why did you go to his house?” I ask Granny as we walk back home. It used to be her place, and it still is, even though she officially gifted it to me five years ago when her health began deteriorating.
“Why did you?” she shoots back in her usual clear voice.
I’m sure she played her favorite trick on our new neighbor where she pretends to be a forgetful old lady, when in reality her mind is sharper than mine. Her tongue is dirtier too—the things this fluffy lady says can make a seasoned sailor blush. And she does it in public, for God’s sake.
“Touché,” I mumble back.
“Did the moon ritual work?” She sounds rather hopeful, which breaks my heart. Does she really think I’m so broken?
“I don’t know,” I reply, sighing. “He interrupted before I could enjoy the moment.”
“I think it did.” She glances at me with shining eyes before adding with a giggle, “He’s got some good muscles on him. He can interrupt me anytimehe wants.”
“Grandma!” I cry out in horror. She turns into a horndog when an attractive man is nearby, mortifying me with mental images I’ll never recover from.
And he sureisattractive, I can’t deny that. Tall and strong, with shoulders so wide Granny and I could both hide behind them. I didn’t pay much attention to his appearance last night because the moonlight adds a seductive attraction to everything it touches, so I didn’t dare trust it. Though I did feel his hard muscles under my body while he was carrying me from his property—something the moon certainly couldn’t alter.
This morning I got an eyeful of those muscles. The green flannel did nothing to contain his physique. His lean features promised more strength than a swollen bodybuilder would have. The carefully calculated movements of a man who knows his power were very enticing, even when ruined by his tongue.
That tongue ruins everything. Every time he speaks, some version of poison comes out, and I want to submit a complaint to the universe for having decided to attach such a poisonous tongue to a body and face like that.
That face, damn it. I’ll be lucky if I don’t have angry dreams about it. Sharp cheekbones, strong, annoyingly sculpted jaw, and dark, gray eyes with low-sitting brows. Those dark eyes have seen things. Many things.
His skin and brown hair have that golden shimmer that suggests he spends a lot of time outdoors doing heavy, manly things.
Damn it, damn it, damn it.Big, bad, and probably damaged.No, Nora. No. Not this kryptonite.
“Do you want tea?” I ask Granny, trying to avert my own attention from my rapidly accelerating heart.
“Coffee.” Here comes that stubborn tone I know I can’t win against.
“Gran,” I start with a groan. “You know coffee is not good for you.”
“I’m a few months shy of ninety. Leave me alone and give me my coffee.”
“Gran.”
“Nora,” she mimics my tone. “I’ve been drinking coffee all my life, and I’m not going to stop just because some doctor who still has his mother’s milk on his lips told me not to drink it anymore.”
“Dr. Rogers is forty-one.”
“As I said, a baby.” She waves her fragile hand in the air dismissively. “I remember him picking his nose at my tables and eating the boogies instead of my delicious pancakes. How am I supposed to take him seriously?”
She’s not wrong here. Chuckling, I roll my eyes—everyone under fifty is a baby to her. I guess it comes with age. And he indeed told her to stop taking caffeine in such high doses, recommending decaf tea instead. Of course, my grandmother took it as a sign of war and doubled her intake. Even when I hide it from her, she attains some from the neighbors down the street. I warned everyone to stop feeding her unhealthy habit, but they can’t resist when she uses her authoritative voice on them, especially when she’s used it on them before. My grandmother used to own the best diner in the area until about five years ago when she sold it to me, staying at work long into her retirement. Pretty much every single human in this town has been in her diner nearly every single day for one reason or another.
Giving up on fighting the idea of winning this battle, I make a pot of decaf coffee and pour her a mug. She spits it out a moment later.
“I didn’t survive all these years just to be poisoned by this garbage.” Her big, bright eyes stare at me with accusation.
I feel my lips twitching. “It’s coffee, Grandma. Not garbage.”
She slowly turns her head toward me with a white eyebrow nearly disappearing in her still strong hairline. “Nora, I taught you how to wipe your butt. Don’t take this tone with me.”
Rolling my eyes as dramatically as I can, I head to fix a new pot of coffee. Caffeinated this time. I sure could use some of it myself.
