“Yeah,” he says, his lip catching in his teeth. “Yeah? On one condition. You let me take you out on our pizza-and-beer date.”
“Okay,” I squawk. “It’s a date.”
14
HUGHES
Adate! I have a date. Shit, I have a date. I need to plan something, figure out topics of conversation, pick a pizza place. “You’re not gluten-free, are you?”
Ooh, she makes a face. “I respect all dietary choices, but bread and cheese are my two major food groups, and I cannot have—”
“Don’t worry, our future children will come out of the womb eating pizza rolls.”
Did I seriously just talk about impregnating her? She’s going to think I’m a pervert. Though with the way that sweater hugs her curves, she wouldn’t be far off.
“Well, I can’t wait for you to give me that baby, then,” she jokes.
As I pick up the entire sleigh and set it on the front porch, Willow’s eyes widen.
“You want it here, right? Or I can take it around back.”
“No, here is good. I have to put them on the mantel and around the stairs.”
“Okay, cool. I can come over later to help you,” I offer.
“Oh, are you off?”
“I, um—” I clear my throat. “If you must know, I am going to go get a warmer coat.”
Nana is hummingin the kitchen and baking when I step in and shake the snow off my collar.
“I saw you moved your things out.” She kisses me noisily on the cheek. “Good boy. We’re officially booked up for the rest of the Christmas season! I’m going to do a Galentine’s special in February. Oh, this is a merry Christmas!” She adds peppermint bits into the batter.
“You making a cake for the ugly-sweater party?” I sample the batter.
“Oh, this is just for our Airbnb guests. It’s the breakfast part of the B-and-B. I’m making a bonfire spiced Bundt.” She pulls out a Ken doll. “Doesn’t that look like Jonah? We’ll douse it with bourbon and light it on fire at midnight!”
“Nana…”
She beams at me.
For a minute, all I can think about are those citations that Jonah made against my nana. She’s an old lady, I tell myself. There’s no way that she’s murdered a middle-aged man. That’s not even physically possible, right?
“Nana, I don’t think that we should be celebrating Jonah’s death. People might think one of us killed him. I’m trying to investigate his murder.”
“Oh, shoot.” Nana licks her finger. “I dropped the spoon.” She grabs the stove and starts to drag it.
“I’ll get it.”
Nana shoos me away. “I’ve been lifting weights down at the community center.”
The stove scrapes as Nana pulls it away from the wall. I grimace. Maybe she could have killed Jonah. She’s strong enough.
“I just think”—I gently take the Ken doll—“that it would be a little disrespectful, considering Jonah just passed away. His family is still grieving.”
“Who, Lenore?” She snorts. “She won’t give a shit.”
“Yeah, I heard Lenore had a lot to gain by his death,” I say lightly, wondering if Nana will give me the small-town senior gossip.
