“Oh, I would never doubt it.” Brady hides his grin behind a sip of coffee.
“Charmer.” She looks at me and gestures at the plate on the table. “Kindly cut the bread and feed your man, Lena, or we’ll be here all day. Now, Brady, how old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Almost thirty. That’s a big one.” Gran gives him a wistful look while I slice the loaf and plate it up.
Gran goes the extra mile, adding these dried banana flakes on top for added sweetness and crunch. Normally, I appreciate it, but not today.
“It’s coming hard and fast, but I’m game.”
“Any previous marriages? Messy divorces? Current wives? Children?”
Brady snorts into his coffee cup. “None that I’m aware of.”
“A Boy Scout.” She leans closer to me and whispers loudly, “You must corrupt him a little, dear.” Then she turns to Brady again. “Any vices?”
“Grannn,” I moan. “You’re killing me.”
“Surely, he has a reputation. Any young man with his looks and money does.”
“A few I regret. The family name used to stir up a few headlines. My grandfather got me into gambling on dog races for a while. I wasa partier back when I could get shit-faced without feeling like I had a tank drive over me the next morning,” Brady says, handing this woman ammunition that makes her laugh like a witch over a magic cauldron. “But that’s all in the past. You’re right, thirty’s a big number, and I don’t intend to screw it up.”
Gran smiles, arming herself. “And you think you’re the prince my Lena’s been waiting for.”
Brady glances between us, bewildered like he’s still trying to figure out our connection. I sigh.
“She’s my best friend’s grandmother. We’re basically family. Unfortunately.”
“You bet your lucky stars!” Gran chimes in. “And if this is serious, girl, I must make sure he’s right for you and spare your young heart from getting mangled.”
A little late for that.
Gran doesn’t know everything about Harry Jay—not all of it. But she knows enough. She knows we dated, and she knows it didn’t end well.
Ever since, it’s fair to say she’s been a little protective.
Not that I’ve ever dated much since, much less brought my dates home.
Until now.
I’m still trying to hash that out: what I want—if anything—and if it’s safe to want anything with Brady.
“I’ll look after her, ma’am. You have my word,” Brady says firmly. I guess that’s the years of PR skills speaking. He never has to fumble around for the right words, unlike yours truly. They just drip off his tongue, all sugared honey. “That’s all I want to do. Make her happy.”
“Hmm.”
“It’s true,” I say, desperate for the interrogation to end. “We’re very happy together.”
Brady’s eyes slide over to me, and he takes my hand under the table, linking our fingers and squeezing.
Embarrassingly, I flush.
“So, that’s where we are. Judgment time.” Gran gives me a knowing look.
“I hope you approve, Gran. I want Lena’s whole tribe to like me.”
Gran grunts, digging into her banana bread to hide her smile. We don’t often get all cutesy and emotional, but I really do see her like family—the same way she sees me as a surrogate grandchild.
