“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’re going to prep everything for Monday too, right? My coffee, the table settings, all the doodads and flowers and crap? Going to set it all up for me then skedaddle before our book club?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“House cleaned up a day early in time for the guests?”
Erin suppressed a sigh. They’d already been over all this. “Yes, ma’am.”
“The good towel out for my powder room? The monogrammed one?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You bumping uglies with Smith yet?
“Yes, ma’am—I mean, no!” They hadn’t bumped much, though they had touched and kissed a good bit. But no way she could call anything on Smith ugly.
Tilly smirked. “It’s only a matter of time, I suppose. I know how to read people. And you and that boy haditat dinner the other night.It.” She nodded. “Just like Rupert and Willie. I put those two together, you know.”
“Good Lord.”
“Yep. I’m magical when it comes to matchmaking. Inherited that talent from my me-maw.”
And that was Erin’s cue to change the subject. She’d learned early on that stories concerning Me-Maw had a bad habit of turning sexual or scatological, and one time a little of both. She cringed at the remembrance. “Smith and I are friends, Tilly. We’re going out tonight to hang out with his brother and girlfriend.”
“Oh-ho. Meeting the family, eh?”
“Kind of. But not like you’re making it sound,” Erin said. In this light, actually, Tilly looked a little bit like Grandma Freddy, and the sight made Erin smile.
“What’s so funny?”
“You know, you kind of remind me of my grandma.” Erin’s pleasure felt bittersweet. “I still miss her.”
“Ah. Passed away, did she?”
“Four years ago. She was so funny. She had all these rules about being a lady, teaching me life lessons to make some man a good wife.” She snorted at that. “She was the only one in my family that would talk about the naughty side of life with me.”
“You mean sex?”
“Yes, sex.” Erin had no idea why she turned pink saying the word. “Grandma Freddy had some old-fashioned ideas about catering to a man, but she always told me the truth when I asked for it.”
“Catering to a man? Well, I suppose that’s not too bad. If the man caters to you too.”
Erin sat and drank her tea, pouring another cup for Tilly. “Did your husband cater to you?” She’d seen a few framed photos of Tilly and a man, presumably her husband, around the house. But since Tilly had never before mentioned him, Erin hadn’t brought up the subject.
“Hell, yes, he did.” Tilly’s fond smile took years off her face. “Hank and I met when we were in high school. Fell in love at first sight, that’s what he told me. Took me a little longer to see what a gem he was. We were married for fifty-six years until he died. Five years ago next month marks his passing. And each year I celebrate his life by getting drunk and partying, the way he wanted it.”
“You must have really loved each other.” Erin envied her.
“Oh, we did. But he used to get on my last nerve, and he knew it. Said that made him special, because I only got that mad with him and the boy.” Tilly sighed. “Hank Jr. I miss him more than I can say sometimes.”
“Hank Jr?” Erin asked, seeing a softer side to the normally cussing, outlandish Tilly.
“I loved that boy to pieces. He was just like his daddy with an ornery spot of me in him.” Tilly grinned. “Poor fool had a patriotic streak a mile wide too. We lost him in Vietnam.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Me too.” Tilly’s eyes looked suspiciously shiny, but since she glared at Erin as if daring her to mention it, Erin focused on the glaze. Tilly harrumphed. “War is hell. It’s a fact. But he went out the way he’d wanted, and his daddy and I were so proud of the man he’d been.” Her voice turned thoughtful. “Probably why I took to Smith right away. He reminds me some of Hank Jr, but don’t you dare tell him I said that. He hears I’m going soft, he’ll try to weasel out of working for me.”
