“Not exactly, I mean,” he adds.
Not exactly.
“We’re together, Gran, full disclosure,” I say quickly, eyeing her cup to see how strong it’s getting. “Please don’t say anything embarrassing?”
“Hmm.” I notice she doesn’t agree. “Brady, huh? Brady what?”
“Pruitt,” he says.
Oh no.
She grunts like she’s perfectly familiar with the name.
“Ah, yes. I knew your grandmother back in the day, all that land they used to own past Tacoma? Still in the farming business, are you?”
“Close enough, ma’am. I’m working on my own spin-off brand of affordable organic pet food.”
Gran’s brows rise.
Oh Jesus, no.
“Your family’s done well for generations. How rich are you, then? I’d love to see you give my Elle’s hubby a run for his money.”
“Oh my God. Gran, you can’t justaskpeople that ...” I sink into a chair after serving Gran’s tea and sliding Brady’s coffee toward him so fast it almost spills.
Then I take a big gulp from my own cup, wishing I’d splashed some whiskey in there. Or rum. Or maybe I could just skip the liquor and throw myself out the window.
“Now, Lena, you’re the last one who should be surprised. If I didn’t vet the men my girls are dating, who else would?” She laughs at her own granny logic.
I’m so dead.
But this is the karma train coming home for teaming up with the old lady to push Elle and August along, I guess. It’s my turn to get flattened.
“I do well for myself,” Brady says.
Understatement of the century.
He doesn’t mention he’s an heir to freaking billions, but the snide look on Gran’s face tells me she can figure it out.
“And what do you think about Lena’s job? I trust you’re okay with her coming home smelling like wet dog?”
Face, meet palm.
“Can’t say I mind a little funk when it comes from helping pets. Besides, she cleans up well. You’d never know, Gran. Actually, that’s howwe met: through her clinic. I brought in a lost dog, and she was smitten at first sight.” He gives me a conspiratorial look.
I whack him on the shoulder. Not so playfully.
That wins me another one of Granny’s trademark cackles.
“You like animals, then?” Gran asks.
“Yes, ma’am. I was that kid who always chose the zoo over arcades or water parks. Always loved the tigers and wolves. I could watch them for hours.”
“A man with taste. Good.” She sniffs with satisfaction. “How old are you, son?”
“Ignore her,” I say. “Only answer if she tells you her age first.”
“Thirty-five, and not a day over.” She doesn’t miss a beat.
