Page 15 of No Time for Traditions

“Oh, she is. Come on in.” Sarah stepped back, her face the same as his mom’s whenever an old woman at church said she had a granddaughter his age. “She’s in the kitchen.”

Greg followed Sarah through the living room. It reminded him of when Walmart threw all the holiday stuff in one place and marked it down after New Year’s. He stopped at the kitchen entrance, locking eyes with Brittany sitting at the kitchen table.

Sarah walked to the counter, picked up a bag, and headed toward the door. “Well, I’m off to work. You kids have a nice day.”

“Mama—”

By the time Brittany spoke, Sarah had made it to the garage.

“Hey.” Greg nodded, feeling out of place. And not just because it looked like Santa’s workshop.

“Daddy’s not here.” Brittany stood from the table and crossed her arms.

“I know. I wanted to come check on you.”

“On me?” Brittany raised her brows, emphasizing her round eyes.

“Yeah.” Greg put his hands in his pockets and rocked back toward the wall. When he did, a few cards fluttered to the ground. He bent down and picked them up, then studied the wall, trying to see where they belonged.

“Here.” Brittany was now beside him, holding out a hand.

He stacked the cards in his hands and gave them to her. Their fingers brushed for a second, making his chest tighten. He swallowed hard and looked down.

“You said you were here to check on me. What for?”

Greg slowly raised his eyes. Brittany blinked, waiting on him to answer.

“Friday. You rushed in the house, and I think you were crying. Are you okay?”

“Yes and no.” Brittany twisted her lips and crossed her arms again.

Why did women do that? Say contradicting things and stay all mad.

“So which is it?”

“I’m better, thanks. But I was upset and mad about Grandpa Barnes’s house.”

“Oh.” Greg tilted his head back. “I called it old. I’m sorry. I call a lot of things old. My truck, Mr. Puttman—”

“Mr. Puttman is old.”

“No kidding.” A nervous laugh escaped Greg’s mouth.

“But Grandpa’s house is, too. What upset me is that they want to sell it.”

Duh, Greg. How had he not picked up on that before? Greg remembered how much he liked going to his grandparents’ as a kid. And with Brittany’s a driveway away, she was probably there as much as she was at home.

“So you’re mad at me for that?”

“Not entirely. But you are helping with it.”

Greg rubbed his jaw. How did he get into such a mess? And better yet, how could he get himself out? He thought for a second.

“I like to think of it more as me helping to save the place. Instead of selling all twenty acres around it, I’m cutting out a smaller piece to give your dad and Thomas more land to keep.” Greg put on his most charming smile. But it didn’t work.

Tears came up in Brittany’s eyes. She sniffled, and without meaning to, he touched her arm.

“I’m so sorry, Brittany.”

---