Page 33 of Mountain Bean Dream

Pushing himself to a stand, he cleared his throat and pulled at the collar of his sweatshirt. “So, to do a couple of things at once, what I was thinking was…” He inhaled, holding his breath for a quick second. “Why don’t you join me as I go to see Grandma, and on the way back, we can grab your car?”

“How’s that?” Pretty sure my question was directed to the first part of his. He wanted to introduce me to his grandmother?

“We’ll park my truck there at the Coffee Loft, and I can drive your car here.”

“And what about your truck?”

He dismissed my out loud thoughts. “I can walk back tomorrow morning and pick it up. It’s no biggie. It’s only a few kilometres, and with the fresh spring air, it’ll be a nice walk.” He leaned on the desk. “So what do you think? Want to come and meet Grandma Jesse-Marie?”

Grandmas were tough creatures. What would she think of me? I’d run away from my family and the familial responsibilities and I’d moved around like a nomad. I had noroots here, or roots anywhere near here. I wasn’t anything professional; I didn’t run my own business. I was a barista, and I had no aspirations for anything else. As my mother had whispered under her breath when I left, I was being the stereotypical rebellious teenager, just a dozen years late.

Putting my feet flat on the ground, I stood up, swaying just a tad from my latest spin. “To be honest, meeting a grandmother, especially your grandmother, makes me nervous.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’s just… Well, I’ve never met anyone’s grandparents before.” I’ve never even met their parents. It’s one thing to hang out with someone, and to be introduced to a family member is a huge catapult into a different level of our friendship, at least to me. However, the casual way he asked, led me to believe it wasn’t that big a deal. Even if it was huge.

“You have met people before though, right?”

“Well, yeah. It’s just…”

“She’s no different than any of your customers. You’ll be fine. She plays a mean game of rummy, so she’ll enjoy spanking someone new as she’s probably tired of always beating me anyway.”

“I don’t know.” It was tempting, and it would be nice to meet someone new, but still. That was a lot of pressure to drop on someone. And what the heck was rummy?

Chapter Twelve

The winner of theNever Tardy Awardwent to Jeremy, who knocked on my motel room door at precisely three forty-five. Mostly dressed, I still hadn’t finished doing my hair as it was a little hard one-handed; lifting my left arm was still painfully sore.

“Sorry, I’m just about finished.”

He stood at the doorway, his mouth open.

“I know. I know. Tardiness just isn’t something I can control apparently.”

“It’s not that.” His feet remained glued to the spot. “You look… well, you look nice.”

I glanced down at my outfit as a warmth flooded across my chest, and I hoped it wouldn’t land on my face. As I needed easy to pull-on-clothing, I opted for a black knee-length skirt, knee-high boots, and an earthy toned green sweater, which took longer to put on than I expected. There may have been some tears too. Ironically, the sling was the easiest to slip on. Go figure.

“It’s acceptable?”

“Definitely. In fact, I feel underdressed.”

“You look fine to me.” He may have thought he was underdressed, but he was the Jeremy I knew; jeans, hoodie, vest, and work boots. It was comfortable like he wasn’t trying too hard, unlike me who was trying to make sure I made a good first impression.

“You’re ready to go?”

“I just need to finish putting on my makeup.”

“Oh, okay.”

He remained at the door while I dashed into the bathroom and brushed some mineral powder across my cheeks,trying to blot out the freckles. I swiped the mascara wand over my lashes, adding more length to them than I was blessed with, and finished with a dab of diamond sparkle lip gloss. Taking my good hand, I ran it through my hair and gave it a fluff. There was no way I’d be able to do anything else with it and I made a mental note to search YouTube for one-handed hair videos.

I exited the bathroom and stopped by the counter to pick up a container of cookies.

“I wasn’t sure if you or your grandmother were allergic to peanuts, but I made some chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. The chocolate was processed in a plant that may contain traces of peanuts.” As I didn’t want to be responsible for any anaphylactic reactions, I researched all my ingredients. Only the chocolate was an iffy one.

“That’s super sweet of you, thanks.” He took the container. “And nope, neither of us are allergic to peanuts.”

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