Page 28 of Fireworks & Forehead Kisses

My SUV was waiting for me in front of the building, and Lester was leaning beside it.

“The Capital?” Lester asked as he opened the back door.

“No, home.”

I was supposed to have a dinner meeting at The Capital Grille tonight, but it had been canceled, which I could not be happier about. It was with several of the Alfaro Brothers, who were the original investors of Wolfe Tequila. They were college friends of my grandfather andlovedto tell stories. The annual dinnerusually lasted four to five hours, but tonight’s might have been six since it was the first time I was seeing them after his death. They had to leave town early due to a family emergency, so they messaged thirty minutes ago saying they wouldn’t be able to make it.

I thought about taking advantage of the reservation and texting Serena to meet me there but decided that it would be better to have our talk in the privacy of our home.

When I settled into the backseat, I called my grandmother’s cell phone. She didn’t answer, so I called the landline.

“Wolfe residence,” Fred answered after the third ring.

“Hi Fred, may I speak to my grandmother?”

“She retired early to her room.”

I glanced at my watch. It was seven-thirty. That was very early for her to be going to bed. She was a notorious night owl.

“Is she feeling okay?”

“I think she just wore herself out. She and Miss Thompson were working very hard all day.”

“Did she eat?”

My grandmother was naturally very thin, and when she got busy, she would forget to eat.

“Oh yes, your grandmother didn’t want to stop for lunch, but Miss Thompson insisted. She made octopus noodles.”

“Octopus noodles?” I’d heard of exotic dishes before but never octopus noodles. There was a Korean dish of a similar name. “Do you mean spicy octopus?”

“No. Octopus noodles. She said it’s one of her niece’s favorites. It’s macaroni and cheese topped with a hot dog cut in the shape of an octopus.”

“My grandmother ate macaroni and cheese with hot dogs?”

“She did. It paired very nicely with Miss Thompson’s brownies.”

“My grandmother ate a brownie?” Again, I found myself repeating what I was being told, but I honestly couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

My grandmother did not eat brownies, cookies, or pies. Her palate was much more refined. Her dessert tastes ran toward truffles, tiramisu, crème brûlée, ganache, Grand Marnier soufflé, and French crepes.

It wasn’t only dessert. In my thirty-six years, I’d never known my grandmother to eat macaroni and cheese. Or hot dogs. Or hamburgers or pizza. She ate ‘real’ food, not junk food.

“No, she atetwobrownies.”

“Miss Thompson made brownies for lunch as well?”

“No, she baked them over the weekend and brought them in for me. I must have mentioned my sweet tooth, and she remembered. After lunch, they worked for a few hours, then watched a couple of episodes of Project Runway before Miss Thompson left for the day. Your grandmother had a light dinner and then retired to her room.”

“Would you please tell my grandmother I’ll speak to her tomorrow?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Fred.” I disconnected the call as Lester pulled up to my building.

“Tell Maribel I said hello.” I patted the back of the seat. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” Lester lifted his hand and waved as he stared at my reflection in the rearview mirror.

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