Page 33 of Four Steps to the Perfect Fake Date

“I don’t want to talk about this right now, Grandma.”

“I’m sorry if I teased you too much,” the older woman said. “It’s just so rare to see you get fired up about anything. You’re usually so stoic. I got carried away.”

Daphne unlocked the lobby door and held it open for her grandmother. The apology had softened her, and she found herself sighing. “It’s okay. It’s just gossip. It’ll pass.”

“I think he likes you.”

“Grandma,” Daphne said with a groan.

“I do!”

“He hates me. He has for years.”

“Maybe.” Grandma Mabel took her time on the stairs to the second story, and Daphne kept her arm free so she could support her grandmother’s elbow on the way up. When they reached the top landing, Mabel glanced at Daphne and smiled sadly. “Maybe I was just excited about seeing a little spark between you and someone else after everything that happened with the dog.”

“The dog” was Grandma Mabel’s name for Pete, Daphne’s ex-fiancé, which was pretty rude to dogs, all things considered. But only a cowardly mutt of a man would turn around and break things off in the way Pete had, Grandma Mabel said.

“That’s old news, Grandma.”

“Is that why you still get that sad look in your eyes whenever anyone brings him up?”

Daphne busied herself unlocking her apartment door, then kept her eyes averted from her grandmother’s while she went to the kitchen and brewed a pot of decaf. “I’m not sad about it anymore,” she finally replied. “It’s done.”

“He hurt you.”

“He did. I survived.”

“I want more for you than just survival.” Grandma Mabel let out a tired groan as she sat on one of the chairs at Daphne’s tiny kitchen table. “My legs are too old for dancing,” she complained.

“You looked pretty good to me,” Daphne said with a smile as she prepped the cups. She didn’t have any treats, except for a packet of half-stale cookies in the pantry, so she set a few of them on a plate and sat down across from her grandmother.

“You really have no interest in the Flint boy?” her grandmother asked, eyes sharp as she looked at Daphne.

“I really don’t,” Daphne replied, but the response felt hollow. He was handsome, and she didn’thatethe way her heart sped up when they bickered. On a few occasions, she’d thought maybe he was looking at her with the eyes of a man who was appreciating a woman. But he was also Calvin Flint, who took pleasure in tormenting her. He’d probably love it if she made a fool of herself with him.

“You deserve a second chance, honey,” Grandma Mabel said quietly.

The coffee machine sounded like it was about done brewing, so Daphne got up and poured a couple of cups. When she sat down, she took a sip and tried to put her feelings into words. “Maybe I deserve one,” she finally replied. “I’m just not sure I want it. When Pete told me he wanted more passion, it ... I don’t know, Grandma. It’s like it broke something in me. I’m not passionate or spontaneous or fiery the way you and Mom and Ellie are. I can’t change who I am.”

“You sure about that? You seemed passionate enough, the way you and the sheriff were glaring at each other.”

“That’s different.”

Grandma Mabel narrowed her eyes as she sipped her coffee, then bit into a cookie and chewed. “What would you call it when you got in the way of that man trying to steal the cashbox at the farmers’ market? Or stepping in front of me when that maniac came barreling toward us for the accident that he caused?”

“Temporary insanity, probably.”

Grandma Mabel snorted, derision dripping from the sound. “Daphne, be serious. You have a spine. Yes, you like numbers, and you cared about your grades, and you wanted more than this island could provide for you. But you are my granddaughter, just as much as Ellie is. I love you both. Just because you enjoy sinking your teeth into problems that make most people want to fall asleep doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you.”

Tears stung Daphne’s eyes, and her throat was too tight to speak.

“Maybe the dog just wasn’t the right man for you.” Grandma Mabel continued: “I don’t believe for a second that you’re not a passionate person, Daphne. He just said those things to excuse his terrible, cowardly behavior and make it feel like it was your fault. His words shouldn’t define you.”

“They don’t. It’s just that at least for now, I’m done with men. The way you were done with baking when you lost the pot.”

“It was stolen, not lost,” Grandma Mabel shot back.

Daphne put up her palms. “Right. Sorry. But my point stands. The pot got taken, and it changed you. You could have bought a new one or baked bread without one. But you didn’t. You stopped. I have a right to stop trying to date when my vision for my future was taken from me.”

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