Page 74 of Turmoil's Target

Trust Alfred to know exactly what to say. “We’ll see,” I murmur, letting him guide me up the steps. “I make no promises.”

“Of course not, Miss.” He pats my hand, his touch gentle. “But I have a feeling your grandfather will work his usual magic. He’s quite determined to cheer you up, you know.”

I sigh, shoulders slumping.

Everyone's so bloody concerned, so eager to fix me.

But I’m not sure there’s enough glue in the world to piece me back together, not after what Abe—no, what the Reapers Rejects did.

The betrayal cuts deep, a jagged wound that refuses to heal.

How could I have been so naive, so stupid?

I let him in, let myself feel, and look where it got me.

Alfred ushers me over the threshold.

The scent of sautéed onions and garlic wafts through the air as Alfred escorts me into the dining room.

Grandad sits at the head of the long mahogany table, a glass of deep red wine cradled between his weathered hands.

He looks up, blue eyes crinkling at the corners when he sees me.

“There’s my girl,” he says, voice warm as honey. “Come, sit. You look like you could use a drink.”

I manage a weak smile, sliding into the chair to his right. “That obvious, is it?”

“Only to those who know you best, poppet.” He signals to Alfred, who materializes at my elbow with a bottle of Cabernet.

The ruby liquid glugs into the crystal glass, catching the light. “Rough week?”

“You could say that.” I take a sip, the wine rich and smooth on my tongue.

It does little to dull the ache in my chest, but it's a start. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly feeling the warm and fuzzies toward men at the moment.”

Grandad hums, swirling his own glass. “Well, not all of us are complete wankers. Present company excluded, of course.”

His mustache twitches, a sure sign he’s trying not to smile.

Despite myself, I feel my lips curving.

Trust Grandad to cut right to the heart of it. “Of course,” I echo, inclining my head. “I’d never lump you in with the rest of them.”

“Glad to hear it.” He reaches over, patting my hand.

His skin is soft, marked by time and age. “Now, what do you say we put all this unpleasantness behind us for the evening? I’ve had Cook prepare all your favorites.”

As if on cue, Alfred appears bearing two steaming plates.

The scent of steak and kidney pie fills my nostrils, rich and savory.

My stomach rumbles despite my dark mood.

“Dinner is served,” Alfred intones, setting the dishes before us with a flourish. “Please let me know if you require anything else.”

“I’m sure we’ll be just fine, Alfred.” Grandad smiles up at him, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “My compliments to Cook. It smells divine.”

“Indeed, sir.” Alfred bows, backing away. “I’ll pass that along. Enjoy your meal.”

---