Isobel Keller had never had a job quite like this. She knew that home care was not glorious work, but she also knew that she needed to be able to do her homework during every spare moment of every day. When Becky, her roommate, had told her about this job, she had herself just gotten off of shift. Becky was the manicured, intelligent, organized star student that Isobel wanted to be, but she was struggling. She was managing "star student," and everything else was a battle.

She pulled up to the curb of the big beige house in the suburbs, with all of its roses and its perfectly manicured lawn. Her junker car might not have started again that night when she clocked off, but she would deal with it then. She snagged her backpack from the backseat. She had a midterm to study for. She was studying textile history, and so her backpack had several textbooks, a cloud of wool, and a spindle. She was preparing a project for her textile history class that she would have to present, and she planned to spin as she did her slideshow presentation.

Climbing out, she saw Hilary do the same. Hilary was her supervisor, who she had been told she would probably never see again until she got fired. The turnover rate in home care was astonishing, apparently.

"Hey! Glad you found the place!"

Isobel grinned and met her between the two cars. Hilary started going on and on about the job, and handed Isobel a folder with paperwork she could look at later. Hilary was going to train her for half of the shift and Isobel was going to go solo for the rest of it, but she had an easy job. She was just a companion, like in a period drama. She would just be there to make sure the old lady didn't fall or hurt herself, or call 9-1-1 if she did.

"So her name is Gloria, she said to call her Glory or she'd bite you. Honestly, I would do as she asks," said Hilary, once she was finished with the paperwork.

"Got it," said Isobel, smiling. She was nervous, and wondered if it showed.

Hilary either didn't notice she was nervous or didn't care.

"She is a little surly. The grandson, Evan, is the case manager. He works nights, which is why you are here. He says he usually gets back early in the morning, but you'll have a bedroom and you're scheduled until mornings so he can sleep when he gets off."

Isobel let herself smile secretly. Hilary knocked on the door, and Isobel had wiped the smile off her face by the time Hilary turned to look at her. She gave a friendly, chipper smile, trying to look excited. Hilary smiled excitedly back.

When the door opened, both Isobel and Hilary stopped smiling. Both of their eyes went wide.

"Hi!" said Hilary, picking that smile right back up. "We're from Loving Arms Home Care, are you Evan?"

"I am," said the man who had answered the door. He was wearing a black tank top that gave away the shape of every muscle in his body. He had a bruise on his cheek. Isobel felt a little bit like she was in trouble. Her heart was racing. His eyes landed on her, and stayed there.

"Come on in," he said, stepping aside. His voice was a little husky.

Hilary walked in, followed by Isobel, who kept her head down. They took off their coats and hung them on the rack by the door, and Evan stood to the side to wait for them to do so.

"So I'm Hilary, I'm here to help Isobel here get used to her new role. I'll be here for probably an hour or so, and then Isobel will take over from there," she said, motioning to Isobel.

Isobel looked up and smiled at Evan, who stared at her like he was getting a little hungry. Isobel turned bright red, and said, "Nice to meet you," before holding out her hand. He took it, firmly, and shook it.

"Yeah, absolutely. But you're gonna want to be meeting Gran, so right this way," he said, motioning to the staircase.

The house was huge. There were two living rooms—the one downstairs, the sitting room, was relatively small, but full of bookshelves covered in fat tomes and adorable tchotchkes. It was warm and red, and there was a love seat and several armchairs. Upstairs was where the action was.

There were even more bookshelves up here. There was a huge cushy couch, a TV, a fish tank. This room was golden and cozy. The floor was covered in rugs, and there were throw pillows and blankets all over the place. They were hand-crocheted, probably by the grandma.

On the way up the stairs, Evan started talking. "Here's the deal, she's a surly old cow and you're just gonna have to deal with it. This isn't a house for wimps. She likes to cook dinner, but if she seems tired, tape her to her chair and throw something in the microwave—there's always leftovers, she's Italian. Don't make personal calls, don't spend the whole time using my Wi-Fi, and if you piss her off, you'll have to answer to me."

Isobel furrowed her eyebrows. Ugh. He was one of those meat heads. Suddenly, he didn't look so attractive.

"Gran, your new friend is here."

When Isobel saw her new client Glory, she realized exactly what kind of person she wanted to be when she got old. The old lady was fabulously dressed in a long dress, a jean jacket, and piles of rings and bracelets. She still had pretty thick hair, dyed auburn and braided. Her eyes were fast, and sparkled like emeralds.

Her grandson had those same emerald eyes. He kept looking at Isobel. This job was going to be worse than she’d thought.

"Hi Glory, I'm Hilary. Do you remember me?"

"I don't have dementia, you chipper brat. I black out and fall over. Is this my first victim?"

Glory nodded her head towards Isobel. Everyone was staring at her. Isobel realized this was her cue and said, "Keep falling over, and I'll be your last victim too."

Hilary was horrified, and began to object, but the old woman grinned a grin that put an upward sweep of wrinkles on either side of her face. Evan clearly approved.

"Ha! I like you, you little brat," said Glory. She was perched on one of the accent chairs by the bookshelf. "My grandson put a coffeemaker over there. Help yourself kiddo."

"Thanks, but I have to finish the lecture," she said, bobbing her head toward Hilary, who was starting to understand how this was going to work. Evan was in the corner, shaking with laughter he couldn't let out. He had the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, and he was looking very directly away from Hilary. Isobel was hyper aware of him. Glory cackled.

"Yeah, yeah. Come back when you're done with teacher."

"Yes ma'am."

"Call me Glory."

"Call me Isobel."

* * *

A few hours passed. Isobel was starting to get comfortable and used to the way things were run around the house. Isobel sat at the dining room table and read her textbook as Glory made dinner. She didn't seem as old as she was. She was making pasta bolognese and gave Isobel a glass of the wine that she was cooking it with. She made a point to tell Isobel that she didn't discriminate between cooking and drinking wines.

In the smaller house in the yard, Evan was getting ready for work. Isobel worked very hard to keep her eyes and her focus locked on her book.

"So, brat, what are you studying?"

"North European textile history. So, like, how Vikings made their clothes."

"Who cares about the Vikings? Now, the Italians, those are some interesting people. You should be studying them," she said, as she jingled across the kitchen to drain the half-cooked pasta. She took the colander and tossed the pasta into the sauce to finish cooking. Isobel was hungry.

She smiled and took a sip of the red wine. It tasted astringent at first, but then settled into dry sweetness. "I studied them last semester. Did you know that the Italians invented the spinning wheel?"

That was a lie, but the old woman was so pleased that Isobel didn't feel bad for telling it. She walked with a little more swing in her step. The sliding glass door opened, and Evan appeared, dressed all in black. Isobel's heart started beating faster, and she sipped at her wine again to hide her pink cheeks.

"Hey Gran, dinner done yet?"

"No, it ain't. Sit down. Get to know Isobel. Did you know the Italians invented the spinning wheel? No, you probably didn't. You don't know anything about anything except being a damn meat head. Get some culture. She spins her own yarn. You can't even do an oil change on my car, much less that overaggressive hot rod you drive around."

Isobel turned even redder. Her sweater started to get uncomfortable and hot. Evan just laughed. "Neither can you!"

"I can jump a car, and that's all I need to know."

Evan looked at her with a smile in his green eyes and said, "Sorry about Gran, she's an old nag who doesn't know when to shut up. And I do know how to do an oil change."

"See if I feed you after that snip, you little shit."

Isobel's mouth popped open. She watched Glory move across the kitchen. She was smiling all the time though, even though she felt like her guts were going to fall out.

"They did, huh? What's this?" he asked, picking up her spindle.

"Oh! It's a spindle. It's for spinning yarn."

"What's this, wool?"

Evan had hard hands. The knuckles were scarred and gnarly, and the veins in his arms stood out against the muscle. His nose was a little crooked, and the bruise on his cheek was turning green.

"Yeah. Corriedale."

"That the breed?"

Isobel nodded. She kept her hands in her lap, fiddling with the sleeves of her sweater. Her parents would be horrified if they knew she had to work with a guy like this. He kept looking from the spindle, to her face, to her body. She felt . . . Bare.

Glory poured him a glass of wine, and he took it. "Thanks, Gran."

"Yeah, yeah. What school do you go to?"

"Huh? Oh! Sorry," said Isobel. She had been too focused on Evan's hands. "I go to the university down the road."

"You get good grades?" asked the old woman, crossing one arm over her chest, and resting the other against her hand. She looked unimpressed and very tall.

"Very."

"How many people study Viking clothes at your school?"

"Not very many."

"Like, none?" asked Evan.

"Yeah. Like none," she said, nodding. "It's a pretty niche interest."

"What kinda job are you hoping to get with that?" Evan asked.

"I'd like to teach or get a curatorship at a museum in New York or Boston."

"Boston? Why so far?"

"Not many big museums around here," she said with a shrug.

Evan's eyes were burning her cheeks. She took another sip of wine and tried very hard not to wince. The wines she usually drank didn't leave her mouth feeling waterproof. She tried to find something to talk about that wasn't her.

"So, Evan, right? What do you do?" she asked. Then she wished she hadn't, because the clothes he wore and the bruise he had made him seem very dangerous.

"I'm a bouncer," he said casually. He leaned back in his chair.

"Oh. At a bar?"

"Sure."

Isobel wished she hadn't asked.

"He's a hooligan and a ruffian," said Glory as she set a massive platter of pasta in front of them. "Isobel, since you work here, you have to do the dishes."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Call me Gran."

"I'll get in trouble," said Isobel, though she was very flattered. Glory handed her a plate and a fork, which Isobel took and smiled.

"What? Why? I told you to."

"Because it's company policy. I kind of have to stay out of your family business, you know?"

Glory sat down at the table. Evan helped himself, filling his plate and tucking in quickly. Isobel did the same, following the example of the other two. Glory only ate a bit, but she had been snacking the whole time she was cooking, so it wasn't like she hadn't already eaten.

Isobel, however, hadn't eaten all day, not since last night. She was starving. She took a huge pile of spaghetti. Glory's bolognese was phenomenal, and Isobel felt like she got hungrier the more she ate.

"She's in college, she probably only eats ramen and avocado toast."

"I'm sure her mother cooks for her."

Isobel grinned as she watched the grandmother and grandson pair up against her, trying to figure her out. It became a game for them to make wild assumptions and for her to correct them.

"I don't live with my mom. My mom lives back east."

"New York?"

"No, Pennsylvania."

"Boston, actually."

"Why don't you go to school in Boston then?"

"Because . . . Well, because I just needed to get away for a while."

Granny and grandson shared a look. Evan raised an eyebrow, and Glory gave the most subtle shrug. But Isobel wasn't going to open up about this one. She wasn't family, and she didn't have to answer every question.