Page 116 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

Gina is downstairs, and my chest loosens as I see her also wearing a nice skirt and blouse. I made the right call to dress up.

She turns to me. “Good morning, Kelsey. Sorry we barged in so early. The teas have to steep and the deliveries start arriving at nine. Mom wanted all the tablecloths prepped.” She lifts the arm of a steamer and puffs out a hot cloud.

“I can help with that.”

She shakes her head. “You’re wanted in the library.”

I freeze. “Grandmama?” I whisper.

She nods. “Break a leg.”

I smooth my dress, more or less glad we’re getting this over with while I’m fresh. I haven’t spilled anything on myself yet.

I can do this. I once walked up to Robert De Niro to ask about a role. Nowthatwas intimidating.

How hard can a grandmother be?

The library is a small room compared to the others. The two side walls are filled with bookshelves, although not a single title seems to have been published after 1985. There are framed family photos sprinkled throughout the shelves, along with odds and ends that look to have been picked up on vacations.

There’s a window on the back wall and, beneath it, an old-fashioned round-backed red velvet sofa. An oval coffee table holds a silver tea set on a shiny tray, along with a fresh bouquet of red and white flowers.

Grandmama sits tall and stiff in the center of the sofa, holding a cup and saucer in both hands like she’s posing for a painting. She wears a shiny green dress with long sleeves and a high neck. Her hair is a puff of silver. Behind her, the woods are thick and lovely through the window.

She watches me enter with eyes dusted lightly with gray shadow. I feel like I’ve entered a throne room and should curtsy, but instead I take a seat on a high-backed wood chair to the left of the coffee table.

Should I wait to speak until spoken to, or does that make me a ninny?

I cross my feet at the ankles and arrange my hands on my lap. “Hello, Grandmama. I’m Kelsey Whitaker, a friend of Randy’s.”

She rests her saucer on her knee. “It’s about time that boy settled down.”

Is it? I realize I know very little about Randy’s dating life, or his past at all, other than his football statistics. We’ve spent most of our hours together for six days, but they’ve been practical, mostly decorating and organizing and running errands. We’ve had one lunch, one dinner, and a hayride where we’ve been alone.

That’s not much to go on, even though it already feels like I’ve been part of the family a long time.

I realize I might ought to be saying something. “He’s a nice boy. You all raised him well.”

Grandmama’s eyes narrow, but she catches herself and takes a sip of tea. “I hear you’ve been a big help to everyone, even if you did drink excessively last night at the dance.”

I guess nothing gets by this woman. “I’m not used to the deep pours of Glass.”

She harrumphs a short laugh, and I think this is a good sign, but then she goes on. “I hear you’re staying at the homestead with another man.”

That probably is a bigger deal. “We’ve worked together for years.”

“Why did you come to Glass for your work? Are you a journalist? Trying to get to know the locals?”

“No. I—well, I like to learn about communities. That’s true. But I’m not a writer or a journalist.”

“Then what is it exactly that you and this man do?”

I have a feeling my vague explanations from the last few days, that we file reports and do research, won’t work on Grandmama.

“We work in the movie business.”

This gets her attention. “In what capacity?”

“We help connect the actors with the roles that are best suited for them. We research past projects and keep a database of headshots and résumés. We don’t generally put the leads in place, as they’re often attached as part of the package that goes to producers to secure funding, but all the supporting roles, the bit parts, and the extras are chosen by us to be approved by the director.”

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