CHAPTER SEVEN

BE AS EXTRA AS GUAC

GUS

“I HAVEN’T EVEN HAD MY COFFEE YET. I’m not talking about this.”

At my excuse, my meema rolled her eyes so hard, I worried it’d cause more damage. As it was, the left eye didn’t move quite the same as the right. “Yeah, well the damned doctors won’t even let me have my tea. So you’re getting no sympathy from me, Augusta Anne Allan.”

Someone had chosen that moment to enter the room, and there was a chuckle on the other side of the privacy curtain before it was drowned out by the sink. When they finished washing their hands, the curtain was moved, and a young guy stepped in.

Tall and classically handsome, he was dressed in pristine slacks, a button down, and a white coat that had the hospital’s emblem embroidered on the breast. He flashed a grin as he looked between us. “Full name? Someone’s in trouble.”

Before he’d entered, I’d told Meema my plans to move back in with her. Plans I’d thought she’d be happy about, given all that’d happened. Instead, she’d immediately launched into a tirade about how I’d cramp her style. It’d been said with love, despite how many times she’d called me a pain in her rear.

With the good-looking doctor in the room, a switch flipped, and Meema’s tune changed. “No, I was just giving my granddaughter a hard time. She’s never in trouble, even as a little girl. Always so sweet. Have you met her yet?”

Carol Anne, thy name is never subtlety.

“No, I haven’t.” He reached a hand out to me. “Matt Collins, I’m a resident here. Nice to meet you, Augusta Anne Allan.”

I fought the urge to glare at Meema, and instead corrected, “Gus. Everyone calls me Gus.”

“Then nice to meet you, Gus.” He smiled, holding my hand for a moment too long before finally dropping it. “I met your grandma earlier while you were getting breakfast, but she asked me to come back once you were here.”

I’m sure she did.

“I’m still foggy,” she explained, going for full dramatics. “I didn’t want to miss anything important.”

The doctor gave her a charming smile, which I was sure worked on all the ladies, regardless of age. “An extra set of ears is always a good idea. We’ve got some news. The last scan showed a lot of improvement.” After typing in his information, he twisted the wall mounted laptop so we could see it. He opened black and white images that I didn’t understand but still made me nauseous to look at. Pointing out different things, he summed up by saying, “Bottom line, the medically induced coma did as we wanted. It took enough strain off your system to give your body time and energy to heal.”

The excruciatingly slow process had taken over thirty hours, but she’d finally woken up the night before. I’d paced the far wall as the doctors and nurses had examined her. Anxiously waiting for them to give me the bad news, my heart had lodged in my throat, slamming so hard I’d been sure it was preparing to break. Once Meema had started demanding a tall glass of tea and some good cookies, a short burst of relieved, giddy laughter had escaped me.

She was fine. I’d known it then.

Her butting heads with me before playing matchmaker was just an added reassurance.

“What’s the next step?” I asked when my head began to swim at the thorough discussion of her blood tests.

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and jotted down something before giving my meema an apologetic smile. “We’re going to keep you here for a little longer. A physical therapist will be in later to do an evaluation. Neurology, too. Depending on those results, a hospital social worker and the services coordinator may also come by.”

“That’s a lot of visitors,” Meema muttered without her usual pep. Her tone was soft. Scared. She sank back into her pillow, looking exhausted and frail.

Dr. Collins spoke just as softly, his tone reassuring when he explained, “We’re just making sure we get everything in place before you go home.”

She pressed her lips together but nodded. Closing her eyes, she turned away.

I wasn’t sure if she was actually asleep or just needed a moment, but either way, I wasn’t disturbing her.

After making another note on his paper, the doctor logged out of the computer and offered me a smile before whispering, “It’ll probably be a bit before the other teams are in.”

As he left the room, I thought about going to Meema’s to shower. My mouth watered at the idea of eating food that didn’t come wrapped in paper, stuffed in a foam container, or served on a plastic tray.

When my eyes landed on my meema and the slow, steady rise and fall of her tiny frame, I decided everything else could wait. She was asleep, and I didn’t want her waking up alone.

Stinky, grody, and starving, I settled back in the chair and checked my texts.

Killian hadn’t responded to me in over a day. We’d gone from texting often to radio silence. He hadn’t even acknowledged my voicemail from the day before about moving out. As shitty as it was to think he didn’t want to talk to me anymore, it was still better than my alternate theory. One which involved him and his big gun.

I’d take being hurt emotionally over him being hurt physically.

Putting my phone away, I closed my eyes and tried not to think about him.

Tried, but failed.

____________________________

Almost immediately after letting my eyes drift closed, the neurology team had streamed in. They’d asked my meema an assortment of questions and had her perform a handful of physical tasks.

Once again, I’d been on the edge of my seat—literally—while I’d waited for their assessment. To me, she’d seemed her old self. She’d flirted and zinged. Her responses had been spot-on, including being able to count backwards by sevens starting at one hundred with better speed and accuracy than I’d been able to in my head.

Like me, the doctors had been impressed. They hadn’t been too concerned with her slurred speech, only recommending a speech evaluation if it didn’t improve.

Her strength was a different matter.

She was weak. Her left hand couldn’t squeeze as tightly as her right. Getting up and out of bed had been nearly impossible, and she’d required almost constant assistance—much to her frustration.

Whether it was from the stroke or the days in the hospital bed, they hadn’t been sure. The only way to know was to wait and see whether she improved the longer she was active.

Wait and see.

I was beginning to hate that phrase.

It seemed like everything was urgent and rushed, only to then be left waiting to see what tests said or specialist thought.

Based on her grumbled complaints as we slowly walked the hallway with the physical therapist, my meema was feeling the same frustration.

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” I praised in my best Kris Jenner impression.

The Kardashians were one of Meema’s favorite guilty pleasures, so my attempt at lightening the mood worked, and she laughed.

The physical therapist gave me the side eye.

I didn’t give a shit if she thought I was crazy because I thought she was a bitch.

Maybe we’d been spoiled by the amazing nurses. Or maybe she’d eaten a big ol’ bowl of Bitch Flakes that morning. Either way, she was too impatient and rude to be doing what she did for a living.

When we reached the circular desk with the nurses and techs, Dr. Collins was standing off to the side, working on a laptop. He turned at our approach and grinned. “Miz Allan, you keep this up, and you’ll be waltzing out of here in no time.”

“That’s,” she huffed, leaning heavily on the walker she used, “the plan.”

Dr. Collins turned his attention to me. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

My stomach dropped and somehow, in the span of ten seconds, I’d managed to think of a million awful scenarios.

“I’m gonna rest,” Meema wheezed, “so feel free to talk for all the minutes you need.”

I wasn’t even annoyed by her not-so-subtle matchmaking attempts. Standing in silence, I watched as she slowly hobbled away. It wasn’t until seeing her from that perspective that I noticed something. “She’s dragging her left leg.”

Dr. Collins nodded. “She is. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about.” He handed me a few business cards. “These are some rehab facilities I recommend.” At my brows almost hitting my hairline, he quickly amended, “Not for drugs. Physical rehab. Like when an athlete goes to rehab after an injury. These are inpatient ones for when someone isn’t in need of hospitalization, but still isn’t quite ready for home.”

“Okay, I’ll do some research.”

Handing me some other cards, his tone was a gentler, doctory one. “And these are some assisted living facilities I recommend.”

I didn’t take those. “She’s fiercely independent. There’s no way she’d agree to move into a home.”

“Assisted living facilities are much different than nursing homes. They’re based around giving seniors their independence. Most of them have loaded activity calendars, and something tells me she’d enjoy that. She could still have her own apartment or condo, just with some… supervision.” His lips tipped up. “Maybe don’t tell her that part.”

“She still won’t go for it.”

He tucked the cards away and nodded understandingly. “If she’s going to remain at home, there are a lot of modifications she’ll need. Do you live with her?”

“I was in Boston, but I’m moving back.”

“I’m sure she’s happy about that.”

Based on her telling me that if I do, she’s moving to Aruba, that’d be a no.

I kept that to myself and made a noncommittal murmur.

The doctor checked his chicken scratch covered paper. “The social worker won’t be seeing her until tomorrow. She’ll be providing a lot of information, so like today, it’ll be better to have an extra set of ears.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Good.” He cleared his throat a little. “Because it can be overwhelming, and she’s already dealing with a lot.”

I nodded before I felt it.

Something was different.

The air felt wired and thinner, like there was no longer enough to go around.

My body was electric, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

I glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice it. Turning my head to look down the hallway, my breath caught.

Killian.

Looking big and bad, he stood at the far end of the hallway near the elevator. Even at a distance, I could feel his eyes on me.

Without another word to the doctor—hell, without thought—I turned and headed toward him. I’d meant to walk, but within a few steps, I’d sped up to a jog. Then a sprint. When I reached him—again without thought—I launched myself.

He went back a step as my body slammed into his. He froze for a moment, and I was about to apologize when his arms locked around me.

Tight.

His large hand cupped the back of my head, holding me to his hard chest. Being so close, I didn’t miss his long exhale or the way his body relaxed.

After soaking in the feel of him, my brain kick-started again. Putting my hands on his chest, I leaned back.

He released his hold on my head but kept his other arm in place.

“You’re here. I can’t believe you’re here.” My brows lowered. “What’re you doing here?”

His lips tipped up. “Was in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by.”

Based on what he’d told me, Killian traveled all over. However, I strongly doubted his work took him to a small town in Tennessee.

“Ha. Ha,” I deadpanned. I couldn’t hold the blank expression long, and my face split into a grin so large, it hurt my cheeks. “How’d you know where I was?”

“You left your notebook open on the counter. It had the hospital name and some info,” he said, referring to the notes I’d taken while talking to Miz Susan.

For the first time ever, I was thrilled by my messy habits. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

Then, not because I was exhausted. Not because I was stressed. Not because the sterile cleaning fumes had gotten me high before killing my last remaining brain cells. Simply because I was so damn happy to see him, I gripped his shirt and pulled him down as I lifted onto my toes. I pressed my lips to his for a quick peck.

A friendly peck.

One that said, ‘Thanks for being here, my friend. You’re a great pal, my dude. Your support means a lot, my amigo.’

But the second my lips touched his, the quick peck changed.

There was no hesitation before Killian cupped my head again, his arm tightening around me reflexively.

Even if he weren’t holding me to him, I wouldn’t have moved.

I could hardly think beyond holy shit, this feels good.

My body didn’t need my mind’s cooperation to react. Nipples hardened. Insides clenched. Lungs seized. My head swam.

I was lust-drunk and Killian-high.

I wanted to fully taste the coffee and honey-tinged smokiness I was getting subtle hints of.

And then I wanted to climb him like a tree.

I didn’t, of course. I was a mature adult. There were rules of public decency, and I was an upstanding citizen.

Also, he broke the kiss before I had the chance.

I may have sobbed at the loss had he not rested his forehead against mine and roughly whispered, “Missed you, mo chuisle.”

I wasn’t fishing for compliments or playing coy when I asked, “You did?”

“Aye.”

Before I could respond—likely with a confession of how I missed him and wanted to climb him like a tree—there was a sharp throat clearing behind me.

I turned to see the physical therapist.

She wasn’t giving me the side eye, she was full-on stink eyeing me. “Your grandmother is waiting for you. I’ll have my report to the doctor whenever I can get to it.” With one last judgmental glare, she stepped into the elevator.

The story of me in Killian’s arms is going to be spreading through the hospital before she hits the lobby.

She’ll be all, ‘And there I was, selflessly working so hard to help that dear, sweet woman. All the while, her floozy granddaughter was going at it with some beast in the hallway, as if everyone and God couldn’t see them. Like mother, like daughter.’

“Who was that?” Killian asked.

“My meema’s physical therapist, bless her heart.”

He chuckled. “Sweet words you don’t seem to mean.”

My expression stayed stormy. “No, I definitely mean them. But in the southern way.”

“How’s your nan?”

At that, my face did light up. “She’s awake. I mean, she’s weak and her speech is slurred, and they said she might never recover from that, but it’s fine because she’s awake.” I took a much-needed breath before blurting, “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to her.”

There were eyes on us the whole way. Part of it was the natural curiosity of an unfamiliar face. Since his unfamiliar face was sexy and dangerous and aggressively masculine, it drew even more attention.

And whispers.

When we reached my meema’s room, I whispered, “I’m gonna make sure she’s up for a visitor.” Going inside, I paused to wash my hands. “It’s just me.”

Meema laughed. “Didn’t figure any of the doctors are walking around in fuzzy slipper boots and taco leggings.”

I looked down at myself and cracked up. It was laugh at myself or cringe.

My leggings were indeed covered in tacos and tortilla chips. My oversized tee hung off my shoulder, the front of it featuring a bowl of guacamole and the proud declaration, It’s okay to be extra. Feet in fuzzy hot pink slipper boots, hair in a messy topknot, and not a speck of makeup on, it was definitely a look.

Not a good one, but a look all the same.

“They should,” I said. “I bet all that time they spend on their feet would be way better in these slippers.”

I peeked around the curtain and saw her with the remote in hand, flipping through the stations.

She grinned when she stopped on a Kardashian repeat. “Why’re you just standing there? This is a good one.”

“Not to interrupt your show, but are you up for a visitor?”

She turned toward me and beamed before narrowing her eyes. “It’s not Miz Betsy from church is it? Her grandbaby showed her how to take selfies with those silly faces on them. She’d just love to get a pic of me like this with her looking good after her,” she lifted her fingers to do air quotes, “vacation.” She put her hands to her cheeks and pulled her face back.

Apparently Miz Betsy got a little nip and tuck.

I shook my head. “No, it’s actually one of my friends.”

“Did you get in touch with your old gang?”

I bit back a laugh at her calling us a gang. We’d been tough, all right. Causing a ruckus at the library with the occasional late return. Loitering at the movie rental place while we’d tried to work up the nerve to peek inside the curtained off ‘adult only’ area—a feat none of us had succeeded at. Shoplifting the occasional grape before buying the rest of the bag once we’d verified they were the sweet, crisp ones.

Yeah, bunch of wild rebels we’d been.

“No, this is a friend from Massachusetts. He—”

She smiled knowingly. “He, huh? Yes, I’d love to meet this… friend.”

Oh, Lord, help me. This is going to be worse than her matchmaking.

I headed back to Killian, silently praying Meema would be on her best behavior. Stepping into the hallway, I smiled. “Ready?”

“Aye.”

I figured he’d follow me in, but while one of his hands went to hold the door open for us, his other engulfed mine. I tried to pull free, not wanting to give Meema any ideas, but he tightened his grip. “Killian,” I hissed.

The rest of my protest was cut off when he practically dragged me past the curtain.

And Meema didn’t miss any of it, further proving the stroke hadn’t impaired her cognitive skills the way they’d worried. Her eyes were zeroed in on our clasped hands, and a wide smile pulled at her lips. Her blue eyes were lit with glee, and I could practically see her planning baby blankets to knit.

“Meema, this is Killian Nox,” I said with a sigh, accepting that my hand temporarily belonged to him while also trying not to admit how much I liked it. “Killian, this is my meema, Miz Carol Anne Allan.”

“Ma’am,” Killian rumbled. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Gus has told me a lot.”

In everything I’d imagined or worried would happen, none of it came close to the reality of my meema giggling. Like a giddy freakin’ girl. Her cheeks flushed, and she flung her hand out. “Don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old.”

My brow raised since it was the first I’d heard of that.

Funny how she’s never balked at the other million times people called her ‘ma’am.’

She accepted his outstretched hand. “Call me Carol Anne.”

My other brow shot up at that declaration.

“Okay, Ms. Carol Anne,” he said with a smile.

Again, it made my meema giggle. “What’s that accent, Killian? Of course, you’re probably thinking the same about mine, but it’s the typical one around here.”

“A mix of Irish and Scottish.”

“Are you from one of them?”

“Aye. I was born in Scotland but moved to Ireland when I was a lad.”

She looked wistful as she sighed. “I bet the sights are beautiful there.”

His eyes found mine. “Aye. But the ones here are much better.”

Meema didn’t miss that, either, and her sigh became more swooning than wistful.

Oh, shit. Here I was worried about her behavior, and it’s him who’s out of control. At this rate, she’ll be planning our wedding for tomorrow.

Right as I was mentally giving her props for being uncharacteristically chill, she looked at me and upped her outspoken game. “No wonder you didn’t show any interest in that doctor. He may have been handsome, but—”

“Meema!” I interrupted.

Killian’s lips were curled up in amusement, but there was a storm in his hazel eyes. His jaw was clenched, and even through his long-sleeved henley, I could see his arm and shoulder muscles were more pronounced.

Ignoring my warning, she told Killian, “If you could sneak me in some tea and cookies, I’d marry you myself.”

Hands on my hips, my expression and tone were incredulous. “Have you lost your mind?”

“What?” She raised her arms, though her left one couldn’t go as high, and put her palms out like she was innocent. “Like Miz Betsy’s grandbaby says, I’m jus’ sayin’.”

First Snapchat and now attitude? Miz Betsy sounds like a bad influence, and I don’t think Meema should hang out with her anymore.

Holy shit, we’re Freaky Friday-ing in here.

She slunk down into the bed a little and sighed. I was already bracing before she casually drawled, “Speaking of babies—”

“Nope!” I shouted much louder than I’d intended.

One would think that would be enough to warn anyone off, but nope. Not my meema. Not Carol Anne Allan.

She doubled down.

Hard.

Faking some tremors for dramatic effect, she lifted the hand with the IV and hospital bands up to her face, drawing our attention to her pushed out bottom lip. “Being in the hospital has made me realize—”

“Nope. No. Nu-uh.” Pulling with the hand still in Killian’s, I practically dragged him from the room. I didn’t trust her alone with him. She’d con him into moving to Tennessee, building a house on her land, and putting so many babies in me, I’d be more bunny than human.

While some of that wasn’t a totally unappealing prospect, I still wasn’t leaving him with her.

We got out into the hallway, and I whipped around to face Killian. “I’m so sorry.”

“I like your nan. She’s feisty.”

“You should tell her that, she’d love it.” Thinking on it, I decided she didn’t need to like him any more than she already did. She was already suggesting we procreate. I wasn’t sure how much more she could like him, but I wasn’t anxious to find out. “Never mind. Don’t tell her.”

“Can she have cookies?” he asked. “I have a box of stuff in my rental.”

“From where?”

“Massachusetts.”

“You brought your own cookies?” I tilted my head. “Worried they wouldn’t have bakeries here?”

“A friend sent them for your nan.”

That unfamiliar, and yet growing more frequent, pang of jealousy hit. “Your friend sent cookies for my meema?”

Right, and after I collect my money from the Nigerian prince and buy that bridge in Florida, I’ll hop over to see the hot MILFs in my area who want to meet me. Then I’ll try these cookies from your ‘friend’.

Do I look that gullible?

“I was out for a drink with the lads last night, and one of them brought his wife. You’ll like her, she owns a bakery. When I left to catch my flight, she made Jake run out to give me the box of bakery leftovers they had in the car. Fresh yesterday, but short a cookie and a cupcake because I got hungry at the airport. The lass has a gift.”

Just like always, Killian laid it out for me. He didn’t wait for me to ask. He didn’t hold back.

Glancing down at where our hands were still together, his thumb grazing soft circles on my inner wrist, I decided I needed to be more like him. Ballsy and blunt, asking the important questions rather than allowing my asshole imagination to go streaking through the melodramatic recesses of my brain.

I had a long list of questions.

But they weren’t meant for the middle of the hospital, with nosy onlookers and a matchmaking Meema watching our every interaction.

I jerked my head toward the circular desk. “I’m gonna check with the nurses, but I think a few will be fine.”

“Does she like sugar or lemon?” At my lowered brows, he added, “In her tea.”

Wrong as it was, I cracked up laughing. Right in the poor man’s face. I blamed the emotional few days, the hospital fumes, the sleep deprivation, and my lust-drunk and Killian-high. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I face-planted into his chest to muffle my hysterics.

Eventually, I got control of my hilarity, though I was still gasping and giggling as I explained, “Not hot tea. Don’t ever mention that stuff down here. She drinks sweet tea. Not iced. Not hot. Sweet.”

He still looked lost but nodded. “I’ll go talk to the nurse. You sit with your nan.”

Since there was an earful I wanted to give her, I nodded. “Thanks.”

“Aye.” It wasn’t until he loosened his grasp that I realized we’d been standing close, having a quiet conversation while still holding hands.

Oh shit, the pews at church on Sunday will be abuzz.

Then, like that hadn’t been enough gossip-fuel, Killian nonchalantly pressed his lips to mine. Unlike last time, he didn’t keep it close-mouthed. His tongue teased the seam of my lips, and I automatically parted them. Scraping his teeth gently along my bottom lip, he swept his tongue inside just enough to get a taste.

A whisper of something so much more.

He pulled back and cupped my cheek. “Really fookin’ missed you, mo chuisle.” Turning toward the desk, he left me swaying, two seconds away from going full southern belle like my meema.

“Well, I do freakin’ declare, that man has a fine ass,” I murmured.

Pulling myself together, I went back into the room to give Meema a piece of my mind. I pushed the curtain to the side and saw she was curled up on her side, facing away from me. I paused and watched her breathing for a second. “I know you’re not sleeping.”

“Well, neither were you all those times you didn’t want to go to church or school, and I let you get away with it.”

“Fine, fine. Sleep,” I sarcastically drawled. “I’m happy to eat the cookies and stuff that Killian brought from a bakery in Boston.”

She bolted up like she was spring-loaded, but her eyes were squinty and wary. “Are they any good? Because Margaret Parker opened a cupcake shop when it was all the rage, and they tasted like couch filling topped with lard frosting. Just ‘cause you can open a bakery doesn’t mean you should.”

“Killian’s not big on dessert, but he ate a cookie and a cupcake yesterday.”

She folded her hands in her lap and tried to look thoughtful, but the glee in her eyes gave her away. “I guess I could try a nibble.”

“What a sacrifice,” I muttered.

“What was that?” she asked in a tone that made it clear she’d heard me damn fine and was giving me the chance to save myself.

I shook my head. “Nu-uh. No way. That voice doesn’t work on me.”

This time.

I folded my arms over my chest before almost immediately flinging them outward. “What the heck was all that about babies?”

She lifted a bony shoulder. “I just figured, what with you making out by the elevator earlier like it was your own personal boudoir, I’d make it clear I approved.”

Dropping my head back so my face was toward the ceiling, I inhaled and prayed for patience or a time machine.

I was pretty sure the time machine was the more probable one.

When serenity wasn’t granted, I asked, “How did you find out already? I figured I had until tonight before you got wind of it.”

“The nurses’ station has a clear view of the elevator and a couple minutes is more than enough time for a nosy nurse to try and get the scoop first. Did you forget how gossip spreads here?” She pursed her lips and flicked her wrist, the epitome of attitude. “I probably knew about the kiss before you did.”

Miz Betsy and her grandbaby are definitely bad news.

Attitude aside, she was right. Gossip and rumors spread like wildfire.

And I knew all too well how bad they could burn.

Like the air had been let out of me, my shoulders slumped, and my own attitude disappeared. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

Her smile was as loving and encouraging as it’d been during my many teen-angst episodes. “Live your life, sweetheart. I don’t mind what anyone says, and neither should you. Actually, after getting a good look at your man, not only don’t I mind, but I’m in favor of it. Have you seen Miz Betsy’s son-in-law, Tom? He looks like a boar. Has the temperament of one, too. You go around with your looker of a beau who watches you like you make the sunrise. Make sure everyone sees. No way Miz Betsy’s will top that, no matter how many Snapchat filters she puts on Tom.”

“Meema,” I chided, trying to fight a smile.

Who knew pettiness was hereditary?

“He’s a mean drunk at Big Mike’s on Saturdays but acts high and mighty in the pews come Sunday.”

“Big Mike’s?”

“November’s dad. He owns a strip club.”

“Oh.” I had nothing against strip clubs but a lot against hypocrites. “Then sucks to be ugly boar Tom.”

She gave me a smug nod. “Now, while he’s gone, tell me about this beau. You’ve been holding out on me.”

I shook my head and tried again. “We’re friends.”

“Now, I know I didn’t raise you to be stupid. So, either you need to be in this hospital bed because you’re going blind, or you’re being willfully ignorant. Which is it?”

Flopping into a chair, I tucked my feet under me. “Officially, we’re just friends. I didn’t know he was flying here. And with the enthusiastic listeners cranking their hearing up to an eleven, we haven’t had the chance to talk.”

“Fine. Take him to my house and talk it out. You’ll see I’m right.”

My head jerked back at her suggestion. “Meema, I’m not leaving.”

“Well I’m telling you to, and I’m the patient.”

“Even if I leave, I’m not taking Killian to your house.”

Another sassy wrist flick. “I’m sure he’s not the first boy you’ve snuck into that room.”

Actually, he would be.

“Huh,” she murmured, reading my expression. “I knew you were a good girl, but maybe too good. Sneaking boys in is like a rite of passage. Oh well, better late than never. Ladder’s in the shed, have Killian be careful of the rain gutters when he climbs in the window.”

“I’m not gonna have any time to have him over. I’ll be in church all night, lighting candles and saying Hail Mary’s for you.”

“That’s Catholic,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but you need so much Jesus in your life right now, I’m branching out.”

Laughing, Meema reached over and patted my arm. “I’m happy to have you here for a visit. I’ve missed you.”

“I already told you, I’m here for good. I’m moving back.”

Her laughter died down to a snicker. “Good luck telling him that.”

Covering her hand with mine, I thought about how it felt.

Warm.

Soft.

Alive.

“He’s not one of the good guys,” I blurted in a hushed whisper. My eyes went wide as I shook my head, internally beating myself up for saying anything. “He’s not bad, either. He’s… gray.”

Meema didn’t look fazed. She rarely did. “With those muscles and tattoos, I didn’t figure he was a lawyer. Don’t figure you’d fit well with a lawyer anyway.”

My jaw dropped, but Meema’s attention was on the drama on TV.

I never told her about Blake. Either she has spies in the city or it’s a sign.

Both are distinct possibilities.

Before I could respond, not that I had any idea what the heck to say, Killian came back into the room carrying a box of sweets, meema’s tea, and a giant coffee for me—fixed exactly how I loved it.

Clutching her tea in one hand and a scone in the other, Meema grinned at me. Her expression made her point for her, but that didn’t stop her from whispering, “Told you so.”

She’s so smug when she’s right.