Hot Under the Collar

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Cassandra Katherine.”

  She gasped. “Yiayia, you don’t have a terminal disease, do you?”

  Yiayia let out a sigh and dropped her shoulders just enough to make Cassie reach out and squeeze. “You do?” Blood drained from her head as the possibility that she might lose Yiayia hit like an unexpected blow. Yes, the woman drove her crazy, but she loved her just the same.

  “Gala’s scratching at the door!” Gramma Finnie called.

  Yiayia looked relieved, backing up. “I’ll take her out. Dear.”

  Cassie grabbed her elbow and squeezed. “Oh no you won’t. Dear. You will tell me the truth, Agnes Santorini, right this very minute.”

  “Uh, actually, Finnie, could you take her?” Yiayia called. “Pretty please?”

  “Already leashed!” Gramma’s rubber-soled footsteps and the slamming of the screen door that needed an extra push to close meant they were alone in the house. Cassie moved in a little closer.

  “Pretty please, Yiayia? Really? Since when do you say that?”

  “Since—”

  “Are you dying?” Cassie demanded, the idea, now planted, even more terrifying.

  “No. Maybe. Someday. We all are, so can we just forget about this conversation?” She turned, accidentally knocking over one of the spices, which tumbled to the floor and spilled everywhere, making the small space suddenly smell like Nico Santorini’s famous lemon chicken.

  “Oh, the rigani!” Yiayia started to bend over to clean it up, but Cassie stopped her with two hands, forcing her to stand.

  “I am not kidding,” Cassie ground out the words. “If something is wrong, you have to tell me.”

  For a long moment, Yiayia didn’t say a word. Then she blinked again, and this time, tears threatened. Actual tears.

  “Are you crying? I’ve never seen you cry. Not even at my father’s funeral did I see you cry.”

  “Well, I did, I just hid it. Someone had to be strong. Your mother was a useless dishrag.”

  “A useless dishrag.” Cassie leaned back, crossing her arms, weirdly satisfied. “There you are, Yiayia. Welcome back.”

  “No, no!” She wiped the words away with a sweep of her hand. “Your mother was understandably distraught and grieving, so I tried to hold everything together for the family. The family I love. With everything I have.” Her face crumpled. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “I believe you love your family, but I also know how you love us.”

  She closed her eyes as if Cassie had slapped her. “Isn’t it possible that I’ve just seen the light?” She added a mirthless smile. “Literally.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She glanced over her shoulder as if Gramma Finnie could walk into the pantry any minute, or maybe she was buying some time. Cassie gave it to her, waiting for a legit answer, because after all this time of watching Yiayia behave as if an alien had taken over her body, she finally felt close to an explanation.

  But then Yiayia gave her head a quick shake, as if second-guessing anything she might have said. “People change, Cassandra. People change.”

  “Not you. You don’t change. I don’t believe it.”

  “Because you don’t want to,” she shot back. “You want to believe the worst of me, and when I act out of character? It makes you uncomfortable.”

  That actually wasn’t too far off the mark, and that made her uncomfortable. “Well, it’s weird.”

  “Maybe it is, but you’ll just have to trust me.”

  She never had trusted her grandmother before, though. Why would she start now? “So what brought on this massive change?”

  Huffing out a breath, Yiayia shrugged in a way that looked somehow practiced and staged. “Age, I suppose. Facing my mortality. Father Time and Mother Nature. And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop getting in the way of that and help me.”

  Getting in the way? “How can I help you?”

  “Quit asking me if I’m going to die or meet the devil or whatever.” Her voice was just sharp enough to sound familiar again. “And help me achieve my purpose.”

  She had a purpose? “Which is?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Frustration zinged. “Why are you being so cagey, Yiayia? If this purpose of yours is honorable and not calculating, then you should be able to tell me. Because if it’s to hurt my mother or end her happiness—”

  “No! I won’t do that.” To her credit, she sounded vehement. And honest.

  “Then what is it? You have to tell me.”

  She swallowed. Hard. “If I tell you, it won’t happen.”

  The screen door banged upstairs. “Oh my heavens above, Agnes!” Gramma Finnie’s excited brogue floated down the steps. “Where are you? You won’t believe who just pulled up in the driveway.”

  Yiayia didn’t answer, still holding Cassie’s gaze.

  “It’s Braden!” Gramma called in a hushed whisper, barely audible over the dogs barking at the new arrival. “Where’s Cassie? She didn’t leave yet, did she? It’s our big chance to get them alone together.”

  For a long, long minute, neither Cassie nor Yiayia said a word, but both raised knowing eyebrows during the stare down. Yiayia’s shot up in an expression of hope. Cassie’s look had to reflect what she was thinking: You have got to be kidding me.

  “Agnes Santorini,” Cassie hissed. “That’s your purpose?”

  Yiayia smirked and almost looked like her former calculating self again.

  “Not possible,” Cassie said. “You would never be happy if I went anywhere near a guy who isn’t Greek.”

  “Like I said, people change.”

  “Not that much. Yiayia, I can still taste the vasilopita in my mouth on New Year’s Eve. I got the coin in my piece, remember? And while everyone was cheering, you leaned down and whispered, ‘You’ll marry a Greek man, koukla.’ Then you said, ‘You won’t make the mistake your father made. You won’t water down the line. You won’t bring shame upon the name. You and your brothers will marry Greek because you are Greek, no matter about your mother.’”

  Yiayia stared at her. “You couldn’t have been three years old.”

  “Five. And you repeated it often enough that I’ve spent a good deal of time trying to make that happen, but I’ve never met a Greek man who measures up to my father.”

  She made a smug snort. “Nico set the bar high.”

  “But now you want me with…” She pointed up, in the general direction of the driveway.

  Yiayia’s eyes shuttered, and she let out a guilty sigh. “That’s my purpose, Cassandra.”

  A man who wasn’t Greek? Cassie snorted. “And I think I see a flock of pigs soaring overhead.” She leaned in even closer. “Really, Yiayia? You can say anything, but I know you would never push me into the arms of someone who doesn’t meet your one and only qualification: Greek.”

  “I am telling you the truth…koukla.”

  Cassie huffed at that. Manipulation with pet names, of course. It was a Yiayia signature move. “You know, I should call your bluff. I should play your game. I should waltz up there and throw my arms around him and pronounce him all mine. And your hair would light on fire.”

  “You’re wrong, Cassandra.”

  “Am I? I’ve seen you with my mother my whole life. I’ve seen the way you look at her because of what she isn’t.”

  “I swear to God and all that’s holy and on the body of my dead husband: I’ve changed.” Yiayia delivered the oath at Cassie with the most sincere expression she’d ever seen on the older woman’s face.

  “Agnes, where are you?” Finnie called from the kitchen.

  “Coming!” Yiayia notched her head toward the floor. “Will you clean up the rigani for me before Pyggie comes down here and Hoovers it up like it’s his afternoon snack?” She tapped Cassie’s cheek. “And maybe…put a little lipstick on? And do something with…this?” She flipped some of Cassie’s hair. “You look a bit wretchy.”

  “Wretchy?” She choked softly. “Now that
sounds like the Yiayia I know and love and kind of miss.”

  Her grandmother’s eyes closed as if the comment hit its mark. “Don’t miss her, Cassandra. She’s gone and not coming back.” With that, she turned and left the pantry.

  Cassie just stood stone-still, stunned, and more confused than ever. Yiayia’s purpose was to set her up with Braden? No, that simply didn’t ring true.

  What if Yiayia really was sick? It would be like her to hide an illness—maybe something serious. Maybe that was what brought her back to her family. Or maybe she did have some insidious, secret motive.

  Cassie bent over and brushed the spice into her hand, only because Pyggie would lick it and probably get sick. She looked around for a trash bag and, not seeing one, mindlessly stuffed the flakes into the pocket of her cutoffs, still buzzing.

  But not with anger. Not with frustration or the need to know. No, this hum in her head was quite familiar. This was the need to take action. To control the outcome. To bend the will of the universe to meet her immediate desires.

  Maybe, in that way, she was just like Yiayia.

  Cassie had to do something to get her grandmother to come clean about her game. Whether she was up to no good or very sick, it didn’t matter. Cassie had to come up with a way to wrest the truth out of her. But what?

  She had no idea, but she wasn’t sticking around here to have Yiayia smash her against Braden and hope for the best. She’d smashed against Braden enough, and all it did was make her want to…smash some more.

  Pausing at the pantry door to listen for any voices, she stepped out to make a quick getaway, slamming right into the big, broad, muscular chest of the man she was hoping to avoid.

  Chapter Five

  “Oh!” They bounced off each other and let out the exclamations in perfect unison, making Braden laugh. But Cassie didn’t seem to find bumping into him the least bit funny. “Sorry,” he added, mostly because she looked so serious. “I was supposed to put this in the pantry.” He handed her a jar her grandmother had stuffed into his hands when he walked in. “She said it was urgent that I get this into the pantry.”

  Cassie’s rolled her eyes as if she understood that urgency and didn’t like it. “I’ll take it.” When she put her hand over the jar, their fingers brushed, and she blinked as if she felt the same electrical shock he did.

  “Okay. Thanks. Bye now.” She turned and climbed a step stool, placing the jar on a shelf that had about ten identical ones.

  “I see she’s got olives covered in case of the zombie apocalypse.”

  “Mmm. Well, I gotta get out of here.”

  He just laughed a little. “So, that’s how it’s going to be? Awkward?”

  “It’s not going to be anything, Braden.” She climbed down and stepped closer, but only in an effort to get out of the walk-in closet. “I’m going home now. I think they want you to move a sofa or something upstairs.”

  “Gramma Finnie already offered your help for that.”

  “I’m sure she did.” She managed to slide by, barely brushing him, but the contact held a zing anyway.

  He stood still for a minute, moving out of the doorway to watch her climb the open-riser stairs that didn’t exactly look like they met building codes, but the cutoff shorts? Those definitely broke a few laws.

  “Hey, Gramma! Yiayia!” she called when she reached the top of the stairs. “I’m headed out now that—”

  Jelly Bean’s bark echoed just as he lunged right at Cassie, knocking her off-balance. She shrieked as Braden launched forward, taking the steps three at a time in time to catch Cassie before she tumbled backward.

  She landed hard against his chest, but years of training had his feet planted and arms sturdy, except the years of training didn’t include Jelly Bean forcing himself at her again.

  “Hey! JB! Down!”

  He backed off, but kept barking at Cassie like…like he’d made a find.

  “You okay?” he asked, easing her away from him.

  “Yeah, whoa.” She straightened, grabbing the railing for support. “What the heck, doggo?”

  “Jelly Bean!” His voice was stern enough to silence the dog, but Jelly Bean didn’t take his sharp gaze off Cassie’s midsection. “Stay!” Braden pointed at him, holding his finger in place as he guided Cassie up the last step into the kitchen.

  The dog followed the command, but his eyes were bright with alarm, along with the rumbling growl consistent with his training for hitting a target.

  “Hey, chill, honey.” Cassie caught her breath and held out one hand, inching away from the dog. “Just trying to slip out unnoticed here.”

  Unnoticed? Why?

  Jelly Bean snarled as if he had the same question. Braden stared at her as the only explanation occurred to him. Cassie? Really?

  “What’s all the ruckus?” Gramma Finnie came in with the little dachshund under her arm, and Yiayia was right behind her, hauling the fat one. “Doesn’t Jelly Bean love you, Cassie?”

  She gave a dry laugh. “Apparently not.” She tipped her head, matching JB’s questioning look. “I thought we were good, big guy.”

  Jelly Bean got up and took one step closer, staring at her hips and growling low, then letting out one sharp, clear bark. Exactly the way a dog trained to detect a scent would behave. Except…Cassie?

  Braden eyed her, his own gaze dropping to her shorts, lingering there for a second, and not only because her thighs were exposed and pretty much perfect.

  “Well, never mind about that,” Gramma Finnie said, clapping her hands like a schoolteacher about to send them out for recess. “Agnes and I are going to go upstairs and plan out the furniture for our rooms, and while we do, you two can sit and chat.”

  Yiayia pulled out a kitchen chair. “Right here.”

  Cassie looked from one slightly crazy old lady to another. “I have to go, Yiayia.”

  “No, you have to talk to Braden.” Gramma Finnie pulled out the other chair and patted Cassie on the shoulder. “He needs your help, lass.” She came around the table and gave Yiayia a gentle nudge out of the room. “Let’s go upstairs, Agnes.”

  Cassie shook her head, refusing the offer. “Sorry. Not a good time. Shoot me a text, Braden, and let me know what’s up.” She wasted no time grabbing her purse from the counter and darting to the door. “Bye, all!”

  There was no way he wasn’t laying down the law about this. This was his grandmother’s home, and she needed to respect that. “Cassie, wait,” he said. “I do need to talk to you.”

  “On my way to the car!” she called as she slipped out a squeaky screen door that flapped a little, not hitting the latch.

  He gave Jelly Bean a signal to stay and followed her outside, finding her rushing through the side yard toward the street. “You can try to run away, but that isn’t going to change what I know,” he said as he caught up with her.

  “What you…” She stopped midstep and looked up at him, frowning. “Trust me, if you knew what those two sweet old grandmas are up to, you’d want me to run. I’m doing us both a favor.”

  “I know what you’re hiding.”

  “What I’m hiding?” She glanced over his shoulder to the house behind him and then gave a wry laugh.

  “What’s funny?” he asked.

  “Yiayia and Gramma are in that window watching us like two old ladies who just tuned in to Days of Our Lives.”

  He didn’t look because he suspected it was a deflection, and she didn’t want to be busted. “It’s not cool, Cassie.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Bringing pot to my grandmother’s house is not cool.”

  For a moment, she stared at him. “Excuse me? Did you say pot?”

  “My dog is trained. He smelled it. My guess is it’s right there in that pocket.” He pointed to her hip and tried like hell to keep his eyes off those tight thighs. Failed, but he tried.

  “Pot. In my pocket.” A little of the color drained from her cheeks, as it would from a person caught red-handed.


  “Unless you have a bomb in your pocket, or a container of kerosene. He can identify those, too.” Sometimes.

  “Hate to break it to you, Einstein.” She slipped her hand in her pocket and pulled out something that brought the liner with it, then placed her hand under his nose. “Take a whiff.”

  “It smells like…pizza.” He had to be honest. It hardly reeked of any marijuana he’d ever smelled. But—

  “Because it’s Greek oregano.” She croaked a laugh. “Maybe Jelly Bean’s the one I should call Einstein.”

  He stared at her hand, slowly reaching for it and bringing it to his face to sniff again. “Oh man.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “I am.”

  She snorted. “You wanted me to have pot in my pocket?” Shaking her head, she glanced up at the window, giving a wave. “Move along, ladies. There’s nothing to see here.” She headed to the front of the house, leaving Braden to stand there feeling like the world’s biggest idiot.

  “Cassie.” He hustled to catch up with her in the driveway. “I’m disappointed because oregano is what they use in drug-detection training as a decoy.”

  “It’s also what Greeks use in every single recipe.”

  He huffed out a breath and reached for her arm. “I’m sorry, Cassie.”

  “It’s fine.” Once again, she looked over his shoulder. “And they’re at the front door now.”

  He glanced in that direction. “Why are they watching us?”

  “If I told you, you’d cry.”

  “Try me.”

  “No. Go inside and teach your dog how to smell.” She headed to the sidewalk where a little red Ford Escape was parked. “I’m going home to do a line or two of Splenda.”

  He huffed out a breath. “He can smell oregano. Maybe he was trained as a drug-sniffing dog when he was little.”

  “Oh? Well, remind me to avoid his line at the airport.”

  “Cassie, stop joking. This is huge. Maybe his olfactory issue comes and goes. Maybe he can pass the accelerant test, too.”

  She stopped to fish her keys out of a handbag. “What are you talking about?”