Page 43 of Between Us

With the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her, Blake looks back to me. “That’s you!” She points to the photo.

Chuckling, I rub my hand down the back of my neck. “Yup, that’s me. Seventeen, a cocky little asshole, and counting down the days until graduation.”

Her eyes stay trained on seventeen-year-old me as she gently shakes her head. “No, I don’t believe you were an asshole for a second.”

I just shrug. I was a cocky little shit in the way most young boys are—even the ones that were kind of nerdy in the chess club and only found his physical strength when he turned sixteen. But I like to think that I was kind and tolerant, that I never picked on anyone. Never had a girlfriend that I wasn’t faithful to, but when I was single, I was single.

I wasn’t the worst kid, though I don’t think anyone would call me the best either.

Breaking up our conversation, an older woman with dark olive skin and silver hair sets two milkshakes on the table. “Adrian Ray, it’s been too damn long. Do you hear me?”

I look up at my grammy. Sunny Klein. Technically she’s my godmother’s mom but she’s always loved me harder than that. And I freaking adore her in return. I catch Blake’s head whipping back toward me, catching my middle name, the second half of the diner’s name.

Grammy’s tone is stern, but her gaze is affectionate. I learned a long time ago there’s not much this woman would get mad at me for. Sliding out of the booth, I tower almost a foot over her at six foot four but don’t get it twisted on who is in charge here. It sure as hell isn’t me.

“Come here, you old bat.” My tone is full of love, and she laughs as she half-heartedly swats at my arms that wrap around her. “I didn’t think you’d be here so late. That’s all.”

“You know this is my favorite time of the year.”

She means Halloween, and from a single glance around, you might guess it’s her favorite holiday. There are fake spiderwebs tacked up alongside plastic jack-o-lanterns and floating bats. She has tablecloths with a variety of patterns on almost every surface and different shaped lights hung around. One of her regulars does window murals, and this one is a coven of witches around a cauldron in a graveyard.

Christmas is my favorite time to visit, but you can count on a monthly theme despite what time of year it is.

Grammy’s wearing an apron with black cats printed all over and little candy corn clips throughout her wavy, gray hair. She’s getting to that point in life where it seems like there’s new indications of her age every time I see her—deeper lines around her eyes and fresh sunspots from her free time spent in her garden. In spite of that, she’s had one of the most youthful, loving souls for as long as I’ve been born.

“Yeah, I should’ve figured,” I smile down at her. “Is Pop here too?” My pop, Ray Klein, is where my mom got my middle name from. My mom’s dad and Ray have been best friends since they were five years old.

Snorting, she shakes her head and tries to push me back into my seat. “You know he can’t miss his evening shows.”

Looking at Blake, I explain, “Pop lovesThe Real Housewives. He watches the reruns almost every night.” She snorts and glances back toward Grammy, who is currently smiling like the cat that caught the canary.

“Hello, dear,” she interjects before I get the chance to introduce them. “Who are you?” The question is blunt but it’s just how she is, not her being rude.

Unsurprisingly, Blake just smiles wider. She doesn’t care about niceties—that’s why she loves Polly even if neither of them ever admits it.

“Hi, ma’am, I’m Blake. Adrian’s… uh…” She trails off, eyes flashing to me. I don’t try to fight the grin that pulls at my lips, even as Grammy’s eyes assess her then flit to me. She could’ve said friend, it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings even if I wish we were more. And as much as I like watching Blake flustered, I throw her a rope.

“My date,” I declare confidently. Blake’s eyes grow in surprise but she’s still smiling. And blushing. I’d never really been a fan of pink before she came along.

I just shrug implying,I gave you the chance first.

“Adrian Ray,” Grammy starts, “how long have you had a girlfriend? Do Cami and Maria know?”

“My mother and godmother,” I clarify to Blake. “And no”—looking back at my grandma—“because this is only our firstrealdate. I’m in the process of courting.”

Blake snorts, loud. “Courting? What is this, a Jane Austen novel?”

Grammy cackles next to her. “Oh, I like you, girl. Don’t make it too easy on him.” She winks and Blake preens at the attention.

“Oh great, a mutiny is forming,” I mutter playfully.

“Just wait until your momma and Maria get their hands on her, then we can talk about a real mutiny.” She sets a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Any allergies?” Blake shakes her head. “Picky eater?”

“I don’t like mustard or turkey alternatives. Pig bacon and ground beef only.”

Grammy laughs and pats her head. “You are perfect. I’ll bring out some food for you two, trust me.” Blake nods, and I do too, liking the way that Blake trusts the old woman simply because she’s connected to me. Maybe Blake trusts me more than either of us have even realized.

Looking at me for a long time, with a small, smug smile that looks delicious—like something I’d love to get my own mouth on—I can see the wheels turning in her head. Finally, in a low voice, she leans forward on the table and asks, “Courting, huh?”

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