Page 50 of Until Then

The men look like they’ve had plenty of sun. Some sip coffee—probably extra bitter and extra black—and watch me like I’m a worm. The kids are pulling up video clips ofWicked Darlings—I wince when one is a particularly emotional scene where my character rants in a slew of colorful words.

Before I can catch another breath, someone yanks on my arm, forcing me to bend forward. I recognize her as Hayley’s grandmother who was at the rehearsal. Her long, peppered hair is braided around her head like a crown. Lines across her cheeks give up years of laughter, and sharp, blue eyes look at me over the rims of hot pink reading glasses.

“Ma’am,” I say through a crack in my voice.

“So, didn’t want to mention you’re the new guy when we met the other night?”

I swallow. Years of living close to my own fiery grandma left me with a heady respect for women over sixty-five and a bit of trepidation. “Sorry, ma’am. We, uh, weren’t sure where we stood until tonight.”

She narrows her eyes. “You have plans to mess with my granddaughter, boy?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Mistreat her?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Exploit her.”

Who does she think I am? I shake my head. “Not at all, ma’am.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “You going to sleep with her, boy?”

“Nan! Oh, my gosh, please, I beg of you, stop.” Hayley looks ready to dissolve into the floor.

Her grandmother doesn’t budge, doesn’t look back at her granddaughter. “Well? You plan on getting her where you want, then walking away when you’re done?”

I’m pretty sure Hayley’s soul just exited her body because she practically crumbles onto the stairs to hide her face in her hands.

I swallow and look her grandmother in the eyes. “I plan to stay as long as your granddaughter will have me, Ms. Foster.”

The teenage girl squeals, someone clicks their tongue, but Nan, here, studies me for another long, terrible moment.

At long last, she pats one side of my face, then takes hold of my arm. “Good. Well, we all were just about to have ice cream and some pie. So come on, then. You can help with the dishes and tell me all about yourself.”

“Nan, we just had ice cream.”

“I don’t care. I want to know the boy, and I’m easier to stomach when I have pie in front of me. Now come on.”

Hayley watches with a bit of horrified stun as I’m dragged through the huddle of other bodies into a large, white and blue kitchen.

Most of the men are uncles or employees of the ranch. Justin speaks maybe a total of two words at a time, and I’ve since learned he’s known Hayley since she was a toddler. His daughter, Adaline, had to have her phone taken away and a long lecture about keeping mine and Hayley’s business private.

Milton is Hayley’s uncle, so is Greg. Both help run the ranch, but live in the city and have day jobs.

They came after the report that their niece was coming home with a guy from the TV. Again. Stupid Jasper must’ve done a number on this household. They have more aversions to people in my industry than the conspiracy theorists convinced all entertainment is government propaganda.

But the Foster house took a solid twenty to thirty minutes over pie and ice cream to start looking at me like I’m human, not some criminal about to rob them blind.

“I thought you were tatted up, kid.” Greg says, using his fork to point at me. “I know I’ve seen your face somewhere, and it wasn’t that show.”

“He’s a twin,” Adaline bursts out. Her cheeks flush when I look at her, and she never meets my gaze.

“I am,” I say. “You like hard rock?”

Greg arches a brow, then slowly, a smile curves on his face. “You’re in that band”—he snaps his fingers at Milton— “we just heard that song. What was it? We liked it.”

“Come Down,” Milton said.

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