“Would you like to go outside, Millie?” he asks Gram, ignoring me.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
I lunge to my feet, waving my hands wildly. “No, no, I don’t think that is a good idea. She’s sick. Rhys.”
“My new friend and I will be fine.” Rhys stretches to his full height. “Isn’t that right, Millie?”
Gram gives a confident nod. “We surely will.”
“Charlotte, why don’t you grab Millie’s socks and shoes?” He wraps his hands around her feet and gives them a playful wiggle. “Wouldn’t want you to catch pneumonia.”
Just like I said to him when he pranced around my living room naked.
I shake my head, muttering objections as I march into Gran’s bedroom to grab socks and search her closet for shoes. Returning, I see those two, forehead to forehead, whispering, laughing—conspiring.
“Here.” I hold out the items.
Rhys takes them and, with painstaking care, puts them on Gram’s feet. Then he stands but hunches over, extending his arm. “Lean on me.” He takes Gram’s slight weight as she pushes to her feet. He’s her support, holding her steady when she sways. Then he glares at me when I dive to interfere. But that ferocious scowl forces me to back the hell off. “You mentioned a picnic.”
“For us, you and me. Gram can’t?—”
“Gram can’t what? What can’t Gram do?” My grandmother snaps. “I got this big bastard here to help me do any goddamn thing I want.” She winks at Rhys. “That right?”
Rhys confirms this with a nod. “Correct.” His smile is pure mischief, and I swear to God, my heart melts seeing how patient and kind he is with my frail grandmother—who kept herself a prisoner in her home for such a long time that it’s become the norm.
“Fine.” I jab a finger at him. “But if anything happens to her, I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill you!” My threat has zero fire behind it because Rhys keeps a firm grip on my grandmother as he walks her toward the door.
“With the dramatics,” Gram mutters. “I’m the only family Charly’s got left,” she explains. “She’s overprotective.”
“As she should be,” Rhys says as they slowly tread across the living room.
I watch as they go with my heart so damn full it hurts.
“Roslyn went shopping,” Gram calls out. “How about you fix us some sandwiches, Muffin?”
“Gram…” My tone is heavy with warning as I stand there, hands on hips, as she and Rhys walk out the door.
“Sandwiches,” she snaps. “We’ll meet you by the lake.”
But I can’t be pissy, honestly. It’s awesome to see Gram out of bed, off that fucking couch, and walking. Sure, Rhys was struggling not to laugh at Gram barking orders at me, but it’s all good. I’ll take it. Anything to see Gram happy and moving and outside in the fresh air. I even have my AirPods in and sing along (off-key, of course) to Taylor Swift, as if this is the most normal day in the history of days.
Oddly, it’s certainly one of the happiest I’ve had so far.
Chapter Fourteen
“You never said where you’re from.” Gram is sitting in a folding chair facing St. Crowe Lake. Summer is stunning here, on the outskirts of Harley Cove. Away from the main part of town. It’s calm. Tranquil.
Home.
My best and most painful memories are here on the bank of this picturesque, rural lake. Everything is green and bloomed, and the afternoon sun gives the illusion of a million crystals glistening in the blue water. Rhys is beside Gram, staring out at the Appalachian Mountains that stretch across the horizon to scrape the clear sky, and it’s wonderfully perfect—achingly perfect—I’m afraid to move, to breathe, lest it crumble to dust and blow away on the breeze.
But then Rhys speaks, and the moment stays, and I inhale the fragrant wildflowers that grow around the lake. “No, I didn’t.”
Seated cross-legged on a blanket behind them, I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Immovable force? Meet unstoppable object. I imagine these two stubborn creatures are having a blast butting heads.
What a shame Rhys’s time here is fleeting. What a damn shame.
“You gonna fucking tell me or not?”
