“No…not him.”
“He cute?”
“In a drop-dead gorgeous kind of way.”
“He single?”
“I think so.”
“Well, I’ll try to hold out as long as I can. Get you a good summer.”
My jaw drops in shock. “Gran!”
“You need a diversion from life. You think I don’t know?”
“Do you think I have a problem finding dates?”
“No, I think you have a problem letting people in. You’re not the first in the family. You look for any excuse to turtle up, live inside yourself. You blame yer old friends, but it was always in you to be alone. I practically had to force you to make friends. You was so shy.”
“Gran—”
“Don’t you Gran me. Not on my deathbed. I promise you, Ashlyn—you can’t go on like this forever. Sooner or later, love is going to find you, if you let it. And if you don’t, it’ll haunt you.”
Chapter 3
Ashlyn
I’m thankful for the good days I have left with my granny. The days I can wheel her to the bay window, set my laptop on the table, and get to work on my next project.
For the most part, she’s quiet, watching the chirping bird and bustling squirrels, but every so often, I’m treated to tales of her youth, of love, of heartbreak.
Today, instead of watching the birds and squirrels, she has her eyes set on Jake, who is shirtless, sweat dripping down his torso, pushing a lawnmower across the yard.
“Gran, are you drooling because you forgot to put in your dentures, or are you just creating a hostile work environment for the new handyman?”
“Pardon?” Gran mumbles, her eyes never leaving the window.
I walk over to Gran to move her closer to me so Jake won’t have to see her gaping mouth and ogling eyes, but my plan has a fatal flaw.
When I get to the window and get a better look at Jake mowing a nearby patch of grass, it’s not as easy to look away as I had anticipated.
Thick chords of muscles bulge on his shoulders as he pushes the mower across the grass and into my fantasies.
“Didn’t make men like him when I was young,” Gran mumbles.
“Excuse me? I’ve seen pictures of gramps. He was mighty handsome.”
She snickers. “Back then, they didn’t go to the gym and train for hours on end like the young
bucks do now. They went to work. My Arnie was working fifty-hour workweeks back sixty years ago, with no time to think about muscle tone.”
Has there ever been a more perfect man? I get lost in his chiseled muscles and smooth, tawny skin. The v-lines of his abs have me salivating, karma for my earlier comment made to Gran.
Somewhere between his taut abs and firm biceps, I get lost, losing track of time, and when I finally snap back to reality, I see that he’s facing the window, staring in, a peculiar look on his face.
Oh, no…
I scramble to make it look like I’m assisting Gran, which makes her chuckle.
