“That’s fine, as long as you’re respectful about it. I didn’t get involved with you and Elise and even had your back a few times with Mom and Dad. Remember that.”
Gabe's lips went to the side, his nose twitching some. He didn’t enjoy hearing that, she knew, but too damn bad.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here if you need anything.”
“I know, thanks.”
It just reminded her that Chance didn’t have any of that growing up.
She didn’t think she took it for granted, but maybe she did.
When lunch rolled around, she ordered from Rhea’s Chance and went to pick it up. She knew he was at the firehouse, but she could start with his grandmother.
At this point, it didn’t matter. The important players had the knowledge.
“Good afternoon,” Rhea said.
“Hi. I’m just picking up lunch. I know Chance is at the firehouse.”
“Oh, one of you is going to finally admit it.”
She smiled at the light that came into Rhea’s eyes. Okay, that was promising.
“Doesn’t seem as if there has to be a need to keep it quiet when you know. My parents were here earlier this week. But I’m sure you knew that too.”
“I did,” Rhea said. “Would you like to sit and eat here and have a chat? It can stay between us.”
She cringed. As much as she would love to do that, she didn’t want Chance upset if he found out.
But she also saw the look in Rhea’s eyes that said she wasn’t really asking.
“I’m not sure how much he’ll appreciate that.”
“In the long run, he will,” Rhea said. “Trust me on this.”
She had to. She didn’t want to risk pissing off the only person who had any insight into Chance.
“Then yes, what could it hurt?”
“Go grab that corner table and I’ll get your lunch and bring it over. Ginger ale, right?”
She smiled that Chance’s grandmother remembered that. “Yes, please.”
She moved to the table in the corner. It wasn’t all that busy. It was a Friday afternoon, but it wasn’t noon yet. She wouldn’t take up much of Rhea’s time.
Rhea came over with her chicken sandwich and fries on a plate rather than the takeout container and her drink, set it down, and then pulled out a seat.
“My grandson is hard to get a read on.”
“You’re telling me.”
Rhea laughed. The woman looked her age, maybe even older, but was dressed in black pants and the same staff shirt that everyone else wore. A hard life would wear on you faster.
Her hair was dyed brown but pulled back, not much makeup on her face, but years of worry lines had etched their way in deep.
“He’s always been that way. He keeps everything in and makes jokes out of it.”
“Seems as if he hasn’t changed as much as I would have thought.”
