I’m basically an adult babysitter.
And, if I’m being honest, I kind of like it.
“That’s because I wasn’t there,” she says simply, returning her attention to the chain.
“I gathered that part.”
“I was out.”
“Out where?” I ask, reaching for the tools she keeps lined up like they’ve never been moved in fifty years.
She hums, like she’s deciding whether I’ve earned the answer. “Here.”
I glance around the shop. “You left the house before me…to come here?”
“Yes.”
I let out a short laugh, shaking my head as I pluck the chain from her hands. “Well, I went to the gym before I came in. Which was also early.”
“And yet,” she says, “you still managed to arrive after me.”
“Impressive, I know.”
She doesn’t smile, but I can feel it there anyway.
“Where were you before here?” I press, adjusting the clasp between my fingers.
“Doing things.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one you’re getting.”
I laugh, focusing on the piece in my hands. Ah, the joys of living with my grandmother. One of us has to be in charge here, and it’s definitely not the one who left the house before sunrise and refuses to explain herself.
“Two can play at that game,” I say lightly. “I don’t need to know anything.”
She inhales sharply. Deep. Dramatic. Southern to her bones.
I bite my lip—and lose the battle as a tiny laugh slips out.
“What?” she demands, pressing a hand to her chest like I’ve personally offended her. “This is our game, isn’t it? You’re supposed to harass me until I tell you where I was.”
I turn to look at her, folding my arms. “No. I don’t want to know anything. In fact, I’d prefer you keep it entirely to yourself.”
She narrows her eyes at me, already suspicious. Good.
I turn my back before she can respond, stepping over to the calendar pinned beside the workbench. My finger taps against the day’s appointments.
“Did you see who’s coming in today?” I ask, casual. “We’ve got another pickup for wedding rings this afternoon.”
There’s movement behind me. A tell. I don’t even have to look to know she’s about to spill—where she was, who she was with, probably a full play-by-play. That’s how she operates.
“IwenttogoseeLarryathisretirementhome.” It all spills out in a run-on sentence, and I don’t even turn around right away. I don’t have to. I can hear the victory in her voice.
I glance over my shoulder slowly, catching the way she’s trying—and failing—not to look pleased with herself.
I laugh, shaking my head. “I had a feeling you were going to see your boyfriend this morning.”
