“I stopped at The Honey Crumb.”
“Ah.” Her eyes sharpen. “So you’ve talked to Maeve.”
“She mentioned something about a book club.”
“Did she.” Grandma’s poker face is flawless. “Can’t imagine what she meant by that.”
“Grandma.”
“What? I’m an old woman. I like to read. Is that a crime?”
“You read my books.”
“Bestselling books.” She pats my cheek. “Very proud of you, sweetheart. Very detailed prose. You must have done a lot of...research.”
I cover my face with my hands. “Please stop.”
“I’m just saying, the scene in book three where the landscaper alpha uses his hands to?—”
“GRANDMA.”
“What?” She’s grinning now. Full-on grinning. “It’s good writing. Very evocative.”
“I’m leaving. I’m turning around and driving back to California.”
“No you’re not.” She steers me toward the kitchen. “You’re going to sit down, drink some tea, and tell me why you’re really here. Your mother’s ‘Grandma needs help’ excuse was cute, but we both know I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“You’re seventy-five.”
“And I still beat Frank Morrison at poker every Tuesday and shovel my own driveway.” She pauses. “Well. Nate shovels my driveway. But Icouldif I wanted to.”
I freeze.
“Nate?”
“Nate Thorn. Deputy now, did you know? He comes by after every storm. Very helpful.” She’s watching me too carefully. “Theo still tends my garden. And Lucas, Dr. Price now, makes house calls to check on us old folks.”
She says it casually. Like it’s nothing.
Like she hasn’t just told me that all three of my ex-boyfriends have been taking care of her for the past ten years.
“They’re good boys,” she continues, pouring hot water into a teapot. “Grown into good men. They live together now, you know. Bought that old farmhouse on Miller Road. Fixed it up themselves.”
“They live together?”
“Mmhm. The three of them.” She sets two cups on the table. “Never did find another omega. I always wondered about that.”
There’s a very specific note in her voice. A note that saysI know exactly why they never found another omega and so do you.
“Grandma—”
“I’m not meddling.” She holds up her hands. “Just... informing. In case you were curious.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Of course not.” She pats my hand. “Now. Your room’s all made up. Same as always. Go put your things away, and I’ll start dinner.”
My room. My childhood room. The one with the window seat where I used to curl up with books. The one where three teenage alphas used to climb in through the window because Grandma had a strict “no boys past ten pm” rule and they couldn’t stand to leave.
