“Meow,” he said.
“Meow right back at ‘cha, buddy,” I replied.
Luckily, that worked for him, and instead of complaining, hissing and attacking my ankles, he turned and waddled toward the backdoor.
I went to the kitchen, dumped the groceries, grabbed the pitcher of sweet tea out of the fridge and headed out back.
Grams used to be my height, but she’d shrunk. And on top of that, she was stooped so now she seemed tiny. She was also wrinkles from head-to-toe. This was partly because she was old as dirt. This was mostly because she was a sun fiend. I’d had to buy her one of those outdoor heaters, because, even in the winter, if it was sunny she’d grab afghans, put on slippers, sit outside and stare at the sun glinting off the snow, wrapped up in wool.
Mildred Boudreaux loved everything, everyone and every moment of her life (except when her husband died, of course, and when her son, my Granddad, died, and when her three other children died, obviously).
She was just that kind of person.
But she loved some things and some moments better.
And any moment that included sun, she was all for.
I pushed open the back screen door and turned, mouth open to tell her I had more groceries in the car to bring in, when I stopped dead.
This was because Gram was sitting in her cute Grandma dress, her blue hair newly set, because Sharon from Betsy’s came out every Thursday morning to give her a wash and set, and it was Thursday. Her feet were up, red painted toenails wriggling in the afternoon sun that was peeking under the roof of the porch. And Raiden Ulysses Miller was sitting in the loveseat kitty-corner to her. His arm wide, resting on the back of the seat, long, strong, masculine fingers wrapped around a glass of sweet tea.
What on earth?
“Look here, precious girl, I got a gentleman caller,” Grams announced, and Raiden’s eyes, already on me, smiled.
My stomach dropped.
“Well, chère, you gonna say hey?” Grams prompted.
“Uh… hey,” I mumbled to Raiden.
“Hey,” he didn’t mumble back.
“You didn’t bring yourself a glass,” Grams noted, staring at the pitcher.
I tore my eyes from Raiden’s gorgeousness lounged on Grams’s back porch loveseat and looked at my beloved great-grandmother.
“I don’t like sweet tea, Grams,” I reminded her.
“I didn’t say you had to fill it with tea, precious. But you gotta have a cold one, you sit in the sun,” she replied.
“I have groceries to bring in,” I told her, and she looked to Raiden.
“Son, do us ladies a favor, bring in the groceries,” she said, and my body lurched even as Raiden leaned forward to put his glass on the coffee table.
“It’s only a couple of bags. I’m good,” I announced, and Grams looked at me.
“Get yourself a cold drink, Hanna, sit down. Let the menfolk help you take a load off,” she said then tipped her head way back to look up at a now standing Raiden. “Hanna, my precious girl, she runs herself ragged takin’ care of this old biddy. You help out, it’d help me out.”
“Not a problem,” he rumbled and moved to round the coffee table.
Grams kept talking. “Now, she’s sure to have brought me some ice cream. You get that in, child, you put it in the freezer. You hear?”
Raiden was closing in on me, his eyes on me, mine glued to him, and he winked at me as he replied to Grams, “Yes, ma’am.”
I found it miraculous that, at the wink, I didn’t melt into a puddle.
He disappeared.
Grams prompted, “Hanna. Fill me up and get yourself a cool drink.”
I jerked out of my daze, and lightning fast I filled her tea, filled Raiden’s glass and rushed to the kitchen in hopes I got my “cool drink” before Raiden got in with the last of the groceries.
This was foiled as he walked in while I was walking out with a bottle of diet root beer.
Therefore, since his huge frame filled the doorway, blocking my escape, I was stuck in the kitchen with him.
“Sweet ride,” he said, eyes on me.
I looked to his chest. “Sorry?”
He dumped the groceries on the counter. “The Z. Sweet.”
Oh God.
My car.
And I was wearing white jeans and a white, fitted, scoop-necked tee.
The last time, I matched my bike.
This time, I matched my car.
I matched my car!
Luckily, I had a slim black belt and a pair of black gladiator sandals on so at least that was something.
Seeing as his eyes were on me even as his hands were in the bag, I felt it necessary to respond.
“Yeah.”
Yes, that was all I could get out.
He looked down at the bags, muttering, “She drives a Z and all she can do is agree it’s sweet.”
“I got her because she’s pretty,” I informed him, sounding like an idiot, but also telling the truth.
It was just the idiotic truth.
Raiden pulled out the carton of ice cream and shot another smile my way. My legs went weak and he headed to the freezer, talking.