Page 19 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

And the air leaves my lungs when her head snaps up and her gaze clashes with mine.

It happens too quickly for me to move, to hide, so that this doesn’t look so bad for me. She sees, without a doubt, and although her initial reaction is surprise, her wide eyes quickly narrow in my direction as she sinks a little further beneath the water.

I run one hand through my hair and exhale loudly. This makes me look like a complete weirdo, and that’s what she’s going to think unless I convince her otherwise. Resigning myself to my only course of action, I step away from the window, grab my phone, and head downstairs, exiting through the glass sliding door and stepping out onto the patio.

Maya watches me approach, a speculative look on her face. I’m not sure how long I have before that speculation turns into something stronger and more volatile, so I don’t waste any time speaking.

“I wasn’t—”

“Were you watching me?” she cuts me off, her eyes narrowed on me.

Well, it was a good thought, at least. “No!” I say quickly. “No. I just heard you say ‘crap,’ so I looked out the window to see what was wrong. I wasn’t watching you like—like that.” I pause, feeling suddenly very stupid. Did I actually need to come out here? “Do you need help?” I say, getting my head on straight.

Of course she doesn’t, idiot,I think to myself.If she needed help, she’d have asked for help.My inner self is not at all impressed by my current attempts at non-awkward conversation.

“No,” she says curtly in answer to my question. Under her breath she adds, “Not from you, anyway.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing,” she says, smiling sweetly at me. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Mm-hmm,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re acting like a child. You know that, don’t you?” I shake my head. “This is a waste of time. Sorry I asked.” I turn my back on her, relief spilling through me that I can return to my room, where I feel infinitely less awkward and tongue-tied.

“Wait! Just—wait,” she says from behind me, and I turn to look at her. “I’m…sorry. I’m being stupid,” she goes on, sighing. “If you’re sure, I actually could use—”

But she breaks off when my phone starts to ring. I hold up one finger to her, and I find that I don’t at all feel bad about making her wait—not after she was so rude.

“Hello?” I say, my eyes still on the irritable woman in the hot tub.

“Dexter, sweetie?”

I jump as my grandmother’s voice blares through the phone. Then I frown, pulling my gaze away from Maya. “Hi, Gran,” I say. It’s unusual for her to call me, and a spike of worry hits. “Is everything all right?”

There’s a pause. Then, louder this time, Gran repeats, “Dexter? Are you there?”

I sigh. “Hi, Gran,” I all but shout. “How are you?” I chance a glance at Maya, just to see—and yes, it appears she’s amused by the very loud conversation now taking place in front of her.

But really. It’s not my fault my Gran is half deaf.

When Gran answers, it’s in the same eardrum-shattering tone. “Oh, I’m just fine, sweetie, just fine. Listen, I need to know if you prefer blondes or brunettes.”

I blink once, then twice. “I don’t…have a preference…” I say slowly, my frown deepening. I manage not to let my gaze drift back to the hot tub, and I also manage to keep myself from telling Gran that brownish-black is a very nice hair color.

“If you had to choose?” she shouts. “I’m helping your mother find a nice girl for you to settle down with and—”

“For the love, Gran,” I say, cutting her off. I rub my temples and try to ignore the heat rushing to my cheeks. I turn my back on Maya and the hot tub, and for a second I even try to shield my mouth with my hand as I speak, but it’s no good—Gran won’t hear unless I talk at least as loudly as she is. “I will find my own date to the wedding,” I say, finally giving up on my attempts at discretion. “Please don’t try to find one for me, and tell my mother not to, either. I’ll find someone, okay?”

“What about redheads?” she says, ignoring me completely.

“No redheads,” I say firmly. “No dates. I will bring someone, all right?”

“If you say so,” my grandmother grumbles. “Oh, and I almost forgot—do you think you could come take a look at my microwave?”

“Your microwave?” I say, blinking at this abrupt change in subject.

“Yes. It’s not working. The display lights are off and none of the buttons work.”

I frown, thinking. “I can come look at it. Not sure if I can fix it, but I’ll try.”

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