“It’s like a gallery of ideas,” she explains, and I suddenly feel stupid.
“Oh. How delightful,” my grandmother says, her gaze moving around the porch to each of us.
I know my gram, and in her head, she’s already planning our wedding. Every time I’ve brought someone around the family, she is ready to marry me off. The woman is relentless in wanting to be a great-grandmother, and since I’m the oldest, she thinks I’m going to be the first one to do it.
“You know…” She pauses and folds her hands in her lap. “Tomorrow, we’re having a big dinner down at the bar. I know doing it on Monday is a bit strange, but the bar is too busy on the weekends to do it then.”
Oh shit.
She’s starting to put her wild ideas into action.
“We shut the bar down, and the entire family comes. We used to do it at my place, but the family’s too large for that now. The bar is the next best option. You three should join us and bring Cheryl too.”
“Really?” Hazel says with a squeeze of my hand.
“Every week,” I say, but a little part of me is hoping Wylder says no.
Wylder and I are friends. We’re only friends. Friends who shared two kisses, but still, we haven’t discussed moving beyond that point. Dinner with my family is a big freaking deal.
“Are you sure?” he asks my gram, but his eyes are firmly planted on me.
“I insist,” Gram says without a thought of how I’ll feel or what kind of message a dinner with my family sends to Wylder—but more importantly, his kids.
“Maddy and I can bake cookies,” Hazel says, trying to earn them a spot at the table.
“I’m not sure tomorrow is a good night for us.”
Maddox’s shoulders slump immediately.
Fuck.
“You should come,” I lie to him, more for the sake of his girls than him. “It’s always a good time.”
“Please, Daddy.” Hazel puffs out her bottom lip, laying it on real thick for the old man. She’s a pro too. I wouldn’t be able to say no to that face.
“As long as Tate doesn’t mind.”
“No. Not at all,” I say, my voice cracking a bit.
“Why would Tate mind?” Gram asks. “We have friends to dinner all the time, and you two are friends, right?” She looks at me when she asks the last question.
Now she’s lying. Rarely are friends invited unless it’s a special occasion, which it isn’t.
Betty Gallo was a pistol in her day. Hell, she still is. The woman always has something up her sleeve, and my grandfather is no better.
The two scheme something terrible. If there’s a plot being hatched, they’re the ones behind it. I don’t know how my dad ever survived with them as parents and turned out as sweet as he is.
“We are, but we just met a few days ago, Gram.”
“Well, I’ve known Wylder since he was little and Cheryl for over forty years. If I don’t call that a friend, I don’t know what is.”
“Do you want us to bring cookies or something?” Wylder asks my gram.
She shakes her head, her box-dyed hair barely moving because of all the hair spray she uses. “No, honey. Tilly will bring some stuff from her bakery.”
Maddox and Hazel gasp in unison, which gets them a big smile from Gram.
“Any special requests?” Gram asks them.
