Page 80 of Raised On It

Before Krista can reply, Elsie exclaims, “Oh, Miles, I couldn’t agree more. You must be Mason. Here, stir this,” she says, handing Miles the large spoon in her hand.

He does as he’s told, and she crosses the beautiful dark wood floors with her arms wide open once again.

“It’s so nice to meet you, my dear.” She pulls me down to hug her, treating me like I’m already part of the family. “I’ve heard so much about you from not only my grandson but from Mitch and Krista too, and I’m so happy to finally meet the girl who has my sweet boy’s heart wrapped around her little finger.”

Whoa.

“It’s very nice to meet you too, Mrs. Montgomery.”

“Call me Granny, and if you’re not ready for that, call me Elsie. But only for now.” She winks and directs me to one of the stools at the kitchen island. “Sit, and tell me all about yourself.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to just sit here while all of you cook.”

“Don’t worry, from here on out, we’ll keep you busy helping, but today, you tell me all about yourself.” She takes the spoon from Miles and places herself back at the stove. “You, go on and get. Your dad and Pops are out back. Go say hello and give us ladies some time to ourselves. Go on and get.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Miles breezes out of the kitchen but not without closing the blinds on the window above the kitchen sink, placing a kiss on my cheek, and leaving me with a whisper of, “I love you,”in my ear.

Thirty minutes later,my life story has been told.

My reward, childhood stories about Miles. Sweet stories, hilarious stories, and stories revealing what makes him the man he is and have me falling deeper in love with him than I was when we pulled up the gravel drive.

Behind me, the bang of a slamming door signals the men. Most importantly, Pops, who I haven’t met yet.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the famous writer.”

I’m off my stool in a flash and turning around to greet Miles, Mitch, and the man who began Montgomery Farms decades ago. It feels like I’m meeting the president or something.

“Mr. Montgomery, it’s nice to meet you.”

My extended hand is trembling, but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t take it.

“Sorry, my dear. We’re huggers in this family,” he says, wrapping his big arms around me. He asks me to call him Pops or George. His father was Mr. Montgomery.

“Thank you, for having me, George. You have a beautiful home.”

“And you’re quite the beauty as well. I see what has my grandson so smitten. Brains and beauty are hard to come by. Isn’t he a lucky boy?”

I guess the Montgomery genes are pretty strong. It’s pretty clear where Miles gets it.

We chat for a couple of minutes before Miles asks his grandmother how long we have until dinner. She tells him he has twenty minutes before he has to set the table and he says we’ll be back in time to do just that.

He takes my hand, and we walk out of the kitchen and out the French doors that lead outside.

“Miles, they're great. Thank you so much for bringing me along today.”

“You’re welcome…”

“Oh, and your Granny loves you so much and…”

“Mason.”

“…Miles, she is so proud of you, and you look so much like Pops and your dad of course, but…”

“Mason, baby.”

“Sorry, am I rambling?”

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