Only Love

by Melanie Harlow

  “I promise to keep it under control. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  “Just … don’t ask him any personal questions, especially about the past. Don’t thank him for his service, and definitely don’t ask him if he’s ever killed anyone.”

  “Well, there goes my usual conversation starter …” she remarked under her breath.

  “Emme, I’m serious. People ask him that, and he doesn’t like it.”

  “Relax, honey.” She reached over and put a hand on my arm. “It’s going to be fine. Grams and I are going to be on our best behavior, and if at any point in the night you can’t take it anymore, say the word and we shall away in my white Honda, no questions asked.”

  “What’s the word?”

  She thought for a second. “Buzz,” she decided.

  I almost laughed. “Deal. I’m glad you’re here, Em.”

  “Me too. And if things go the other way, and you need me to distract Grams so you and Ryan can escape, do this.” She mimed shoving a dick in her mouth.

  I burst out laughing, feeling better. Thank goodness for sisters. “Sounds like a plan. Hey, want to grab a cup of coffee and go over the seating chart?”

  She gave me the side eye. “Are you trying to get out of shopping?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Tough,” she said, pulling into a parking space along the main drag. “Because we’re going to do both.”

  When he knocked on the door, I was lighting the candles on the table and Grams was pulling the meatloaf from the oven. Emme was still upstairs getting ready. “Could you get that, dear?” my grandmother called.

  “Yes!” I answered.

  I forced myself to relax as I walked toward the door in my new dress, which was navy blue and ivory striped with short sleeves, a rounded neckline, and something Emme had called an envelope skirt. I wasn’t sure the horizontal stripes flattered my chest, and the hemline was a bit short on me, but Emme assured me that it would look adorable with my pink flats. Still, I fought the urge to bolt up the stairs and change into something more loose-fitting and covered-up.

  When I reached the door, I touched my hair, which Emme had coaxed into waves with a fat curling iron, and took a breath. Then I opened it up.

  “Hi,” I said, unable to keep the smile off my face. My heart went crazy at the sight of him.

  He wore jeans and the boots from last night, and a fitted midnight blue henley that set off his skin tone perfectly. The white T-shirt he wore underneath was crisp and clean. His hair was still a little damp, and he had a cowlick I hadn’t noticed before on one side.

  He was carrying flowers.

  “Hi. These are for you,” he said, holding out a bouquet of blossoms I couldn’t name in gorgeous fall colors—gold and scarlet and ivory surrounded by deep emerald green.

  “Thank you. They’re beautiful.” I took them from him and stepped back. “Come on in.”

  It seemed funny to me that we were acting so formal given that the last time he saw me, I’d been sleeping naked between his sheets.

  “Is that our dinner guest?” Grams came toddling out from the kitchen in her apron as we entered the dining room. I noticed she’d dimmed the lights. “Hello there, Ryan! So nice to see you.”

  “Hello.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and then quickly pulled them out again, like he suddenly remembered his manners.

  “Ryan brought us some flowers, Grams.” I showed off the bouquet. “Do you have a vase so I can add them to our table?”

  “Of course I do. What kind of ninety-year-old lady doesn’t have at least twenty vases tucked around the house?”

  Just then, Emme came strolling into the room. “Hi,” she said with a big smile. “You must be Ryan.”

  Ryan looked back and forth from Emme to me a few times, clearly taking in the resemblance. “Sisters?”

  “Emme,” she said as she held out her hand. Even in her heels, she was a couple inches shorter than me and way shorter than Ryan. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Hello.” Ryan shook her hand.

  “Oh, doesn’t he look handsome in that blue shirt,” Grams said, elbowing me. “Why, it matches your eyes, Stella! Look, Emme. Doesn’t his shirt match her eyes?”

  Ryan looked at the three of us lined up and then over his shoulder toward the front door, like he might make a dash for it.

  I gave my sister a silent plea for help with my eyes.

  “Grams, why don’t you and I finish things up in the kitchen?” my sister asked, taking her by the arm and leading her away. “Stella, can I find a vase for those flowers?”

  I sent her a grateful look. “Yes. I’ll bring them to you in a minute. Ryan, can I get you something to drink? A beer? Cocktail?”

  He seemed relieved. “A beer would be perfect.”

  “Coming right up.” I gave him a smile before disappearing through the swinging door into the kitchen. Usually, it was propped open, but I was glad for the privacy tonight because Grams started in on me right away.

  “We’ll take care of the flowers, you get his beer and hurry back out there so he’s not bored.”

  “Don’t just bring him the bottle, pour it into a glass.”

  “Good heavens, Stella, didn’t you even put on lipstick?”

  “Leave her be, Grams.” Emme gave me a reassuring smile. “She looks perfect.” He’s fucking hot, she mouthed to me, fanning herself and then miming the blow job again while Grams was busy at the fridge.

  I smothered a laugh.

  Grams was relentless. “Now when you take it in there, sit close to him and make sure to cross your legs in his direction. Make eye contact, and laugh heartily at all his jokes, even the ones you’ve heard before.”

  “Grams, she’s got this,” said Emme.

  “I’m just not sure she does,” Grams fretted. “She thinks they’re friends.”

  I rolled my eyes, and despite her admonitions, carried two beer bottles out to the living room. Sinatra crooned softly from the old speakers, and Ryan, who’d been sitting on the couch, stood when I entered the room.

  “Here you go.” I handed him one of the bottles.

  “Thanks.” He waited for me to sit and then lowered himself stiffly to the edge of the couch.

  I slipped off my shoes, tucked my legs underneath me and tipped up the bottle. I was usually a wine drinker, but tonight the crisp, cold beer tasted good. “How was work today?”

  “Fine.” He drank too, and then we sat in silence. No eye contact, as if we’d gone backward in time.

  The therapist in me couldn’t take it. “Something on your mind?”

  He slid one palm down the leg of his jeans. “I guess I’m nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I could handle coming over for dinner, but now I’m not sure. Once I was standing there facing the three of you, I started to freak out a little.”

  I smiled. “I’m sorry about the obvious way Grams keeps trying to shove us together. I have told her repeatedly we’re friends and nothing more.” Part of me hoped he’d argue, but he didn’t.

  “It’s okay.” He focused his attention on the bottle between his knees. “Maybe I’m just worried I’ll say the wrong things. Or that I’ll have nothing to say.”

  “You did fine with me last night.”

  “That was different. I’m … I’m comfortable talking with you.” He met my eyes. “I don’t even know why. I’m never comfortable with anyone.”

  My cheeks warmed. “Must be the therapist thing.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  A few intense thumps of my heart later, he lifted his beer to his lips, and I did the same.

  “You look beautiful,” he said a moment later. “I like your dress.”

  “Thank you. Emme and I went shopping this afternoon.”

  “Did you have a good day?”

  “Pretty good.”

  He glanced at the kitchen door, then back at me. Lowered his voice. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today.”

/>   I smiled. “Really?”

  “Really. I was working in the barn this afternoon, and I kept remembering last night.”

  My insides tightened, and I squeezed my thighs together. “That was fun.”

  “Ta da!” Grams backed through the swinging door and turned to place a platter of meatloaf on the dining room table.

  Ryan and I jumped off the couch like two teenagers caught making out.

  Grams smiled in our direction. “Dinner’s ready if you’d like to come to the table.”

  “I can help serve,” I said nervously.

  “Me too,” Ryan added. I think both of us wanted something to do with our hands.

  Grams couldn’t have chosen a better menu for a guy unused to home-cooked meals. Fresh garden salad, glazed meat loaf, baked acorn squash with butter and maple syrup, warm crusty rolls, fluffy white mashed potatoes … Every dish that came out made Ryan’s eyes pop.

  Grams finally removed her apron and bustled into the dining room just as Ryan and I were about to sit down across from each other. “Stella, dear, why don’t you sit at the head of the table, and I’ll sit across from Ryan with Emme next to me? That way I’m closer to the kitchen.”

  “But everything’s out, Grams. Is there—”

  “What, dear? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.” Grams practically shoved me aside and dropped into the chair I’d been about to occupy. “Sometimes my hearing is a little sketchy,” she said to Ryan.

  Emme and I exchanged a look.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Ryan glanced at me as he sat down, and I rolled my eyes, making him smile.

  We unfolded linen napkins onto our laps and passed the serving dishes around, filling our plates.

  “My, what a healthy appetite,” Grams said, smiling delightedly at Ryan’s heaping portions. “I appreciate a man who enjoys his food. It shows passion for living.”

  Oh, Jesus.

  “Everything looks wonderful and smells even better. Thank you for having me.” Ryan picked up his fork and dug in with gusto. It reminded me of the way he’d attacked the pie the other night, and although it made me happy to see him enjoying the food, it also made me a little sad when I thought about the frozen box he’d been eating out of when I arrived.

  “Do you know how to cook, dear?” Grams asked him.

  Ryan, whose mouth was full, shook his head.

  Grams sighed. “My Frank could only make one thing in the kitchen—eggs and hash browns, bless his heart, and he always made breakfast on Saturday mornings. But he did love the grill, and we used to have marvelous backyard barbecues with friends during the summer. The kids would run around and play, and each neighbor would bring a dish to pass. I don’t suppose people do that much anymore. Everyone’s so busy.”

  What she was describing was exactly the family life I wanted, and again I wondered if she was right, and it just didn’t exist anymore. If, like her old-fashioned sweater sets and hot rollers, it was simply outdated. I hoped not.

  Grams sighed. “Well, anyway. Perhaps you should learn to cook a few things for yourself. I could help you. I’ve been helping Stella, too.” She lowered her voice. “She really needs it, poor thing.”

  “Grams.” Emme gave her a pointed look. “Be nice.”

  “What? I am being nice. How do you expect to catch a husband if you can’t cook?”

  I set my fork down on my plate—loudly—and grabbed my beer, tilting it up. It wasn’t worth arguing with her.

  So I was surprised when Ryan did it.

  “I don’t think Stella will have any trouble when it comes to finding a husband,” he said, his eyes on his plate. “And he’ll be the luckiest guy in the world no matter what she can or can’t cook.”

  I stared at him, open-mouthed. Emme blinked. It took Grams a moment to recover, too.

  “Well, aren’t you sweet?” she cooed. “Are you interested in getting married again?”

  Ryan froze, and then started to cough, picking up his beer for a long swallow.

  “Grams,” I said loudly. “That reminds me. We should get those photos into an album before I leave. You don’t want to leave them in the box. The edges will curl, and there are some really beautiful old wedding pictures in there.”

  “Weddings! Yes, I think second weddings can be really beautiful and personal,” she went on, as if someone had asked her a question. “Much more like weddings were in my day. And maybe even more likely to last.”

  “Speaking of weddings, Gram,” Emme began, “I have a question about mine. The seating—”

  “Marriage can be so difficult,” Grams interrupted. “Trust me, I was married for over sixty years.”

  “Grams,” I said, even louder so she couldn’t ignore it. “Did you hear me? About the photos?”

  “Yes,” she said, although her eyes were on Ryan as he took another gulp. “Stella has been helping me with some household tasks, just like you do. Both of you are so kind and thoughtful. So patient. You’d make wonderful parents.”

  “I can’t believe how old some of those pictures are,” I went on, making frantic eye contact with my sister.

  But Grams went on talking as though oblivious or deaf. “And your coloring—with you so dark, Ryan, and Stella so fair, well … you’d make such a lovely couple. Not to mention gorgeous children.”

  Ryan set his beer bottle down and glanced over his shoulder then back at his plate again, like he was trying to decide between meatloaf and freedom. I reached under the table and put my hand on his knee. When he looked at me, I mouthed the word sorry and gave him a soft, apologetic smile. Next thing I knew, his hand was covering mine.

  He knew. He understood.

  My heart swelled, and I found myself one step closer to the edge.

  “Speaking of lovely couples, Grams,” Emme said, “I’m very concerned that Aunt Poppy still hasn’t spoken to Auntie May. I don’t know where to seat them at the reception.”

  Grams made a disgusted noise. “My sister and our brother’s wife have never gotten on, but truly, it’s been over fifty years since the Great Christmas Snub of 1965. They need to get over it. You put them at one table so they can hash it out before one of them goes to Florida.”

  That was her euphemism for death. Nobody died, they just went to Florida.

  After that, Emme and I managed to keep Grams distracted by asking her to retell old stories, or asking about relatives in the photos I’d seen, or inquiring about her recipes for everything on the table. I’d never made a meatloaf in my life—I don’t even think I’d even had it since I was a kid—but I had to admit it was tasty.

  Ryan stayed silent the entire time, but it might have been because he took his eating so seriously, savoring every bite and filling his plate again and again. When we were finished, he thanked Grams for the meal.

  “You’re welcome, dear. It was a pleasure to have a hungry man at the table again.”

  “So, Grams, what is the secret ingredient in the meatloaf?” Emme asked. “It was delicious.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Oh, you silly girl. I put the same secret ingredient in everything I make.”

  “Vodka?” I guessed.

  “Love, of course,” she said, touching her heart. Then she paused. “But there is whiskey in the glaze. Everything’s better with booze in it.”

  Emme, Ryan, and I cleared the table while Grams piled cookies onto a plate and put on a pot of coffee. When the dishwasher was full, Emme grabbed my hand. “Goodness. I’m feeling a little dizzy. Stella, can you help me upstairs?”

  “Of course,” I said, regarding her with concern. I glanced at Ryan. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “Actually I need to make a quick phone call. I’ll be just outside for a sec.”

  I nodded and put my arm around Emme, shepherding her through the house to the staircase and carefully up the steps. Once we were in the room she was staying in, however, she slipped away from me, slammed the door, and leaned back against it.


  “Oh. My. God,” she said, clearly feeling fine.

  “Emme, what the hell? You’re not dizzy?”

  She flapped a hand in the air. “No. I made that up to get you alone.”

  “You’re as bad as Grams!” I reached for the door handle. “Let me out so he’s not down there alone with her too long. She’ll eat him alive.”

  “No!” She shoved my hand away. “Not until we talk.”

  I crossed my arms. “About what?”

  “About Mr. Biceps down there. Holy shit, his arms are the size of my neck.”

  “Yes, he has a nice body.”

  “A nice body?” Emme rolled her eyes. “Michelangelo’s David has a nice body. Ryan is ripped as fuck.”

  I shrugged, although secretly I was pleased she thought he was hot. “Okay, he’s ripped.”

  “And he likes you.” She looked at me shrewdly, her hands tucked behind her lower back. “I don’t know what kind of games he’s playing, but he likes you.”

  “He’s not playing games! He’s the most honest man I’ve ever known.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “Sorry. I know what he said to you, but I also know what I saw with my own eyes, and he is totally into you.”

  I huffed, even though I wanted that to be the truth. “You’re crazy.”

  “That’s debatable. But I’ve seen grooms look at their brides with less awe and affection than he looked at you with tonight.”

  “I think he was looking at the meatloaf.”

  “Then what are you still doing here, Stella?” She parked her hands on her hips.

  “I’m being polite. Grams invited him to dinner without telling me.” It was kind of true, but Emme called bullshit.

  “I don’t believe you.” She narrowed her eyes. “I know you. If you really believed there was no chance for you and this guy, I don’t think you’d still be here. You’re too practical.”

  I gave in, dropping onto the bed. “I don’t know what to do. What he says is one thing. What I feel is another. And what he feels …” I toss up my hands. “Who knows? He claims to feel nothing.”

  Emme sighs. “We should get back down there. But I get it, Stella. Now that I see him and you, I get it. Just … be careful. Okay?”