Page 90 of Whirlwind

“That is what you need to feel,” Gigi continued. “You can’t feel ‘making sense.’ Honey, you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid. I guess I don’t trust it.”

“It’s magical. When you’re falling, you’re tumbling, but the whole time, you’re the most rooted to the earth that you have ever been. Soaring yet solid.” Her eyes filled with water, her voice shook. She put down the knife, and wiped her hands on her apron.

“Gig—” She missed Grandpa Owen. My grandparents were all the couple goals. In fact, both sets of my grandparents had been.

“You, my darling grand-daughter, deserve to be one hundred percent happy, not just kind of, not just sure, okay. There’s splendid out there for you, magnificent, blazing, but you have to keep that door open and let the sun in.”

I just couldn’t lie to her. I’d already fibbed a mini about never having been to Lenore’s house before. I could always be frank with my grandmother. I peeled the cucumbers in the sink. “Actually, I met someone and—”

“You did?” she said loudly.

“Gran—” My gaze darted to Lenore in her backyard, folding those pretty napkins. “Can you not?”

“Who is he?”

“I really don’t want to get into it right now.” My lips pressed together as I wiped my hands on a striped kitchen towel.

“Why are you whispering?” Gigi moved closer to me at the sink. “You’re blushing.”

“Lord, save me.” I flung the towel on the counter.

“Is that why you went to Nashville? Kept your phone closed?”

I glanced at the garden. Lenore arranged flowers into tiny vases on the table. “Yes, that’s why I went to Nashville.”

“Well, well. That’s what I’m talking about.”

“You weren’t talking about a fling. You were talking about finding Mr. Right.”

“Oh, don’t spout clichés at me. You’re so much better than that. See, this is how I know something is up—you’re on the defensive, hiding something. Something big.”

I handed her the cucumbers and busied myself curling up slices of prosciutto on the slab of wood.

Gigi arranged the pickles on the slab. “Was it blow your socks off good?”

I shot her a glare.

“I’m not talking about technique.”

“Gigi…”

“I’m talking about chemistry, communication. Desire that calls to your blood and brings you together.”

My own blood was heating in my veins, listening to her dig into each word as I emptied a jar of Kalamata olives into a bright yellow ceramic bowl. Gigi meant it. She felt it. I loved that she knew what all that was like. But did I? My teeth dragged along my lower lip.

Chemistry. Communication. Desire.I’d only ever had that with Beck. Only with Beck.

I popped an olive in my mouth and bit into the briny meat. “Hmm, these are really good,” I garbled. My grandmother shook her head and pursed her lips as she took hold of the last baguette.

“We’re here!” came female voices from the backyard. Alicia, Tania, Jill, Grace, and Mom swarmed the patio, taking turns hugging Lenore.

Saved by the sisterhood.

I got rid of the olive pit as Gigi sawed off the final slices of baguette. “This convo is not over, missy.”

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