“Ready?” I ask him.
“I feel like we’re preparing for an ambush.”
“Close.” He’s in a black leather jacket, faded jeans, and black motorcycle boots. Sexy as hell. I wasn’t about to tell him to change, but I know what my grandmother will think. That’s her problem.
He starts toward the front door. I grab the sleeve of his jacket. He stops and turns, his brows lifting in question.
I go on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, “Don’t take offense at anything she says, and please don’t judge me by what she says either. We don’t see eye-to-eye on most things.”
He glances at my hand clutching his sleeve. “Anything else?”
“She doesn’t approve of motorcycles. Says they’re a quick trip to the morgue. Sorry. I’m sure you’re very experienced and only take planned trips to grandmothers’ houses, not the morgue.”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Would you have preferred we rented a car?”
“Oh no, I loved it. I’ve ridden a Vespa in Italy before. Tons of fun.”
He takes my hand and walks me down the driveway to the front door. “You did not just compare my Harley to a Vespa.”
I smile. “Your bike is much more powerful.”
“Uh, yeah, and way cooler. You basically rode a scooter.”
“It was not a scooter.”
“Top speed was probably thirty miles per hour.”
“Ha! I’m pretty sure I hit forty-five.”
“In kilometers?”
I purse my lips, thinking that over. We were in Italy. Hmm…
We step onto the concrete front porch, and I stare at the doorbell. I told her to expect us between two and two thirty, and we’re on time. She should be awake. She eats meals on the early side and takes a nap two hours after her early lunch.
“Are ya ever gonna ring the bell?” he asks.
“You rang my bell earlier,” I say, stalling with some of his innuendo stuff. Anything to delay.
“You want me to do it?” he asks gently.
“I’m perfectly capable of pressing a doorbell. Oh, and you should call her Mrs. Ellis.” I press the bell and steel myself. I refuse to rise to the bait or let anything she says hurt me. We’ve always been opposites. I’m sensitive; she’s tough. Therefore, she had to make me tough.
The door opens a few moments later, and my grandmother appears, staring at us through the glass of the storm door. She looks put together as usual, with a turquoise scarf tied around her neck, a long-sleeved pale yellow cotton shirt, and black pants. Her hair is white, short, and parted to the side with a small wave; her brown eyes are sharp, her cheekbones sharper. She glances at me before staring at Garrett, making no move to open the storm door.
“Hello, ma’am,” Garrett says through the door.
She turns to me and shouts through the glass, “He looks like a hoodlum!”
“Grandmom! He is not a hoodlum. Can you please let us in?”
She arches a brow, unlocks the storm door, and limps her way back to her favorite chair in the living room. It’s a light blue wingback chair with a small ottoman. That chair is older than me. I’ve tried to upgrade the furniture around here, but she doesn’t want me “throwing my money away” on unnecessary things.
I take a seat across from her on the lumpy floral sofa with its plastic slipcover. Garrett sits next to me, and the plastic squeaks loudly with his movement.
My grandmother’s attention turns to me as she says with her trademark General Joan piercing stare, “Been in town for six weeks and finally made it out here. ’Bout time.”
“I’m overdue for a visit, I know,” I say. “My schedule is packed with work.”
She sniffs. “Had time to dally with a man.” She turns to Garrett. “Always take my granddaughter around on your crotch rocket? That’s how it goes in the hood, huh?”
I choke on my own spit, mortified at her take on Garrett, who’s one of the nicest guys I’ve met in a really long time. I turn to him, about to apologize for her, but the deranged man is smiling.
He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning toward her. “I live in a nice neighborhood in Brooklyn, ma’am. I work in construction at my family’s business. This is the first time I’ve taken Harper on my bike, but if she’s not comfortable, of course I’ll find an alternate way to get us where we aim to go.”
My grandmother blinks a few times, probably trying to decide if she’s been bested or if he’s being sincere. After all, he didn’t say he’d never take me on his bike. He said he’d do what I’m comfortable with. And he neatly sidestepped the crotch reference. Points for Garrett!
“Grandmom, would you like me to make tea or fetch a drink for anyone?” I don’t expect her to wait on us with the pain in her hip. She says pain is easy to deal with, and she doesn’t trust a doctor to make her “bionic” with a hip replacement.
“I’ll get it,” she says, getting up from her chair after a bit of struggle. She should use a cane, but sees it as a sign of weakness. She refuses to believe she’s old and rejects the senior-citizen label and all available discounts that go with it. Hardheaded to her own detriment.
I check in with Garrett to see what he’d like to drink and follow her through the archway into the kitchen to help. He can’t see us in here, but I’m sure he can hear us since we’re right next to the living room. I just pray my grandmother doesn’t say anything insulting about him.
“It’s good to see you,” I say, reaching out for a hug.
She gives me a one-armed pat-on-the-back hug and murmurs, “Been too long. I know it’s no fun to hang out with your old granny.”
I get out two teacups and a glass for Garrett while she fills the kettle with water. “I thought you weren’t old, just mature.”
“Just an expression to make my point. I’ve still got all my marbles.” She turns on the flame under the kettle, presses the button for the noisy stovetop vent over it, and faces me, arms crossed. “How long have you been seeing this guy?” She pitches her voice over the noise.
I’d love to turn off the vent so she’d keep her voice down, but I know she’d freak out that the propane gas will lead to an explosion if it’s not vented properly. I decide to answer quickly and honestly without revealing too much to Garrett’s ears. “Not long. We just met three weeks ago.”
“Is he really in construction?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
She gestures toward the living room. “How could you have met when you’re working on a TV show and he’s on a construction site? Something doesn’t add up.”
I fill her in on the Josie connection.
She nods once. “Construction is better than acting.” She goes for her tin of tea bags. “All those actors you date are just full of themselves.”
I clench my teeth. It might be true that I’ve dated some guys with big egos, but I’m also an actor, and there’s a jab in there at me too. She thinks it’s ridiculous that I get treated special and paid a lot to pretend to be someone else. She never understood it’s a craft. Besides, people need entertainment.
“Garrett respects acting,” I say. “In fact, he just did a commercial.”
Her eyes narrow as she glares in the direction of the living room. “After he met you?”
“Yeah,” I say with a sinking feeling.
“That’s worse,” she says. “Cut him loose before he rides your coattails to the top. You won’t be smiling when he surpasses you.”
“Why would he surpass me?”
“Have you looked at him? He reminds me of Gary Cooper, movie-star potential with that swagger and handsome looks. You know, Gary Cooper started as a stunt rider like your motorcycle man.” I’m well versed in the old-time movie stars she likes. Gary had the handsome, everyman appeal.
I take a deep breath, reaching for patience. “He’s not my motorcycle man.”
“Whatever you call it. God forbid anyone commit to each other or say out loud that they’re boyfriend and girlfriend. You kids make everything so complicated.�
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I fill the water glass, needing to check in on poor Garrett. “Be right back.” I step out to offer him the drink.
He takes it with a grin. “Thanks. Who’s Gary Cooper?”
“An actor most famous in the golden age of Hollywood, circa nineteen forties.” I lower my voice. “Seriously, don’t listen to a word she says.”
He hides a smile behind the rim of his glass. “Now I see where you get your paranoia.”
“I’m not paranoid.”
He gets serious. “You weren’t happy to hear I got an agent.”
“I’m over it. Besides, it’s not like I haven’t had a long line of users before you. There’s some basis in fact. I’m trying to be more trusting for you.”
He takes my hand and brushes a kiss over my knuckles. A rush of tingles race up my arm.
“Harper!” General Joan barks. “What are you two doing out there unchaperoned?”
I roll my eyes as he chuckles. Like we’re making out on her old slip-covered sofa.
I join her in the kitchen. “How’ve you been feeling?”
She waves that away. “Fine. You won’t be inheriting the house anytime soon.”
I grin. “How’s the water pressure? I’d love to have a shower installed with multiple sprays.”
She narrows her eyes. “Ha! Just as bad as always. Can’t run the washing machine and take a shower at the same time.”
“I can get a plumber in—”
“Bah.”
I sigh. Never show weakness, never ask for help. She’s always been so prickly. Her husband, my grandfather, died when I was five. I don’t remember him well, but he was always smiling in pictures, his arm around her. She smiled just for him. I’ve always wondered if losing him was what made her tough or if she always was. Her daughter, my mother, had me and never returned. It’s always been just me and the General. I have a few older uncles, her sons, as well as their wives and my cousins, but they don’t live nearby. One of my uncles is the reason I first got involved in Best Friends Care.
A few minutes later, we’re settled in her living room with our Earl Grey tea. Garrett puts his phone away when we return.
“Don’t be posting pictures on the internet of my place,” my grandmother tells him.
I close my eyes. I’m sure everyone is dying to see a nineteen seventies home with the original furniture and a chairlift. I had the motorized chairlift installed on the stairs last year when I saw how slowly she took the stairs because of her hip. She grumbled about it, but she uses it.
“No, ma’am,” Garrett says. “Just checking the score on the Giants game.”
“Men and their balls,” she huffs.
Garrett fights back a smile and shoots me a look. I shake my head. She did not mean that in a dirty way.
“Have you watched Living Gold?” I ask her. She hasn’t said a word about it in our phone conversations, and I’ve been waiting for her verdict.
“Course I did,” she replies indignantly.
Part of me wants to know if she liked it, and the wiser part says not to ask questions I don’t want honest answers to.
“Harper is fantastic,” Garrett says.
My grandmother eyes him before saying, “It’s on too late. Nine o’clock. I can barely keep my eyes open.”
“I told you we can record it for you to watch later.” I got her cable after some arguing over the unnecessary channels. I wanted her to be able to see my work.
She waves toward the TV and the cable box on top of it. “Too many buttons on the damn remote. I’d as soon erase it as get to watch it.”
“I’ll show you, ma’am. It’s only tricky the first time.” Garrett doesn’t wait for an answer. Just hands me his water glass, gets up, and goes for the remote on the end table next to her chair.
My grandmother’s eyes are huge. “Excuse me, that’s my remote.”
“I know, Mrs. Ellis. Watch.” Garrett kneels at her side, pressing buttons as he explains each one.
“I’m not going to remember all that nonsense.” She shakes her head and sips her tea, done with the whole thing.
After he gets it set up, he points out the buttons again. “It’s just here and then play. I set it to never erase, but you can change it when you want. Do you have a phone?”
“In the kitchen.” She means the phone attached to the wall in there.
Garrett sends me an amused look.
I lift a palm. “I tried to get her a cell phone, but she refused.”
“Don’t need that thing beeping at me all the time,” she says. “Everyone’s a slave to their cell phones nowadays. Not me.”
Garrett rises to his feet, goes to the kitchen, and returns a moment later with a small piece of folded paper. He hands it to her. “This is my phone number, ma’am. Call me if you have any trouble watching the recording. I’ll walk you through it.”
She takes the paper gingerly and sets it on the end table before returning her steely gaze to his. Most people would back off. Not Garrett.
“Anything else I can do for you, ma’am?” he asks.
“You can take a seat is what you can do,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am.” He takes a seat next to me. I hand him his glass, stunned by his composure in light of the prickly woman.
“Your construction worker is handy,” my grandmother tells me. “Maybe he could take a look at the back gate. The latch is loose, and every gust of wind makes the thing slam open and closed, open and closed.”
Garrett stands. “Happy to take a look, ma’am. Where’re the tools?”
“In the garage,” she says. “Through there.” She points toward the kitchen.
I watch in astonishment as he disappears through the kitchen. First of all, my grandmother never asks for help from anyone. Second, he doesn’t have to do work here. I brought him as a guest. There’s a handyman in town who could do this for her.
She blithely sips her tea.
“Why didn’t you have Frank take care of the back gate?” I ask.
“Frank hurt his back.”
“What about Adam?” He’s a master carpenter in town.
“I don’t trust him to do the job right. He only works with cutting and sawing.”
“But you trust Garrett?”
“Have you noticed how close his name is to Gary? Gary Cooper, now that was a real man.” She nods once and then leans forward. “Your boyfriend has fine manners.”
“Yes, he does.” I smile to myself, bemused at the turn of events. That was a rare General Joan compliment.
“Still don’t like his motorcycle,” she adds. “Don’t let me see you riding that again.”
“How do you expect me to get back to the city?”
“Not too good to ride public transit, are you?”
I grit my teeth. I haven’t shared about some of the hazards of fame, particularly the way some creeper men react to seeing me out and about, but there’s no way I’m riding the train back to the city when I’ve got a perfectly fine mode of transportation right here.
“I don’t know why you continue to imply I’m above it all,” I say. “I’m still the same person I always was.”
“No, you’re not. No use pretending otherwise.”
I blow out a breath. “I thought we’d take you to dinner. Then I’m going to visit with Sydney, Audrey, and Jenna before heading back.”
She harrumphs. “I don’t think your new boyfriend will be wanting the diner’s early bird special. You go when you see fit. I just want to say one thing.” She pauses, her gaze intent on mine. “Be careful with him. I see the appeal, but never forget the draw of money in your profession. I don’t imagine construction workers make a lot.”
My chest tightens. “He hasn’t asked for any help from me.”
“Be smart, Harper. What have I taught you?”
I grind my teeth. “Never show weakness.”
“That’s right. If you do, others will take advantage. Like all your sorry exes. You keep getting taken in by a pretty face.
That is not what makes a man. I blame myself for not having a male role model around here for you.” She blinks a few times and looks away. “Your grandfather could’ve been that for you. He was a real man.”
I have only vague memories of him. He seemed big and bold to little me, with a great booming laugh. “Sorry. I know you miss him.” I leave out any mention of my exes. I know my history with men isn’t stellar. I’m too trusting, and I mostly meet people connected to the industry in some way.
She waves away my sympathy and purses her lips. “I hope I’m wrong about Gary.”
I don’t bother to correct her on his name. I hope so too.
15
Harper
After our visit with Grandmom, Garrett pulls into the parking lot of an old white clapboard house with a wooden sign hanging out front that reads The Horseman Inn. Under that it says 1788. It’s my friend’s place now, a restaurant and bar. It was only an inn in the olden days. I seriously thought we’d never get out of my grandmother’s house. She had him fix the gate, open a painted-shut window in her sewing room, and then proceeded to interrogate him about his intentions toward me. She actually asked him if he was the play-the-field type or the marrying type!
And he said the marrying type!
Grandmom was not impressed. Me, I nearly swooned. He’s like something out of one of Alice Segal’s romances, only he’s real. I can’t stop hugging him around the middle. We’re still on his bike in the parking lot.
He turns off the bike, takes off his helmet, and looks at me over his shoulder. “This town must have a long history.”
I smile dreamily. “The inn predates the town from when it was a stagecoach stop. Now it’s a restaurant with a bar tucked in back. My friend Sydney owns it.”
“Should we, uh, go in, or do ya wanna keep sitting here hugging me?”
I loosen my grip and take off my helmet. “I can’t believe you called my grandmother Queen Joan.”
“She really does remind me of my dad with her voice of authority. She could have royal blood.”
Rogue Beast (The Rourkes, Book 12) Page 14