Page 6 of Royal Agenda

“We’ve found her a wonderful place not too far away. The doctors agree that if she keeps working, she won’t live much longer. Someone needs to think about her health, even if she won’t,” Mom replied.

The timing was horrible—what with Mom getting married and going on an extended honeymoon. Somehow they’d made it through and from what Elizabeth said, Grandma had adjusted to The Palms quite well.

Grandma turned in her seat. “Ah, good, you’re finally up. We need to have a talk about your guest.”

Grace ignored the fact that Grandma didn’t use Stephán’s name, even though she knew it. She also ignored the way she said finally, as if sleeping until mid morning was some kind of crime.

As they’d pulled into The Cove late last night, Stephán told her that he used to teach yoga here. He’d said he enjoyed the lifestyle and that the classes were a piece of cake. He’d mentioned that Nancy was not a regular in his yoga class, but he wished she had been.

“Stephán speaks highly of you, Grandma.” She went to the kettle and poured herself a cup of boiling water. Opening the cupboard next to the stove she found the tea bags—just like at Grandma’s house in the city. Predictable. Organized.

“That’s nice.” Grandma set her mug down. “He’s . . .” her gaze darted from Stephán’s beach shoes by the back door—not the ones he wore on the beach but the ones he wore everywhere else—to his shirt draped over one of the chairs to dry and then his dishes in the sink. “. . . messy.” She wrinkled her nose.

Grace ignored the clutter. Stephán could and would clean up after himself. He was excited to return to the waves he loved so much.

“Are those cookie crumbs?” Grace nodded toward Grandma’s front.

Grandma looked down, frowned, and brushed them away. “I’ve made you an appointment at the hair salon this morning at eleven.”

“What for?” Grace blew over the top of her mug.

“You said you were ready to take your—” She motioned to Grace’s dreads, “out. And I agree wholeheartedly.”

Grace’s free hand flew to the synthetic hair. The dreads were braided in—not made from her own hair. They allowed her to be in places where she couldn’t wash her hair often and kept her from feeling grungy. They also protected her natural hair from damage and helped it grow out. She’d had this set in for six months, having them rebraided every six weeks. They were brown, caramel, blonde, and white, with teal thrown in for fun.

Grace chaffed. “I planned to see my stylist.” On my schedule and when I’m darn good and ready, she added silently. “Why don’t you cancel it, and we’ll have a long, leisurely lunch on the pier?”

Grandma’s eyes widened with . . . was that fear? No. Grandma wasn’t afraid of anything. This woman built a business from nothing while raising children. Mom said that Grandma had changed—that retirement helped her relax and see the world through fresh eyes. Grace didn’t buy it for one moment.

Grandma traced the mug handle. “The appointment is under my name.”

Grace caught the panic, mixed it with what Elizabeth had told her about Grandma fitting in, and understood that she would embarrass Grandma if she didn’t show up. Her hair may also be an issue with Grandma’s friends. She’d not met any of them, but if they were like Grandma, they’d think she was a hippie.

Her gaze fell to Grandma’s hands, where blue veins were visible. Before she could work herself up into an argument, Grace relented. “Maybe we can do both.”

Grandma brushed at the front of her shirt again. “That’s very diplomatic of you. There’s a new boutique in town that specializes in bohemian clothing for women. It sounds like it’s right up your alley. We could get in some shopping, too.”

Grace hid her smile behind her mug before taking a sip to test the temperature of the tea. It was just shy of too hot, and she enjoyed the freshness.

“Bohemian?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Grandma, I’m impressed.”

Grandma lifted her chin. “When Elizabeth came to visit, I took her shopping too. Different store, but it was fun to spoil her. Do you remember when we used to go back-to-school shopping?”

Grace smiled. “I loved that.” Grandma would book a whole Saturday for just the two of them. She let Grace pick the stores, the styles, and the shoes. Anything went. Anything. She could have bought booty shorts and crop tops, and Grandma wouldn't have said a word. Well, she might have told her that she had the legs to pull off the shorts and then winked. There was a wild side to Grandma that rarely appeared, but when it did, Grace thrilled to see it.

“Me too. You were always so daring with new trends.” She tucked her short hair behind her ear. “In truth, I was jealous of the freedom you felt to express yourself.”

Grace’s mouth fell open. “Shut the front door! You were not.”

Grandma smiled and blushed slightly. “Hurry up now.” She got quickly to her feet and pushed her chair in, cutting off any more grand revelations.

Grace checked the clock. “It’s not quite ten.” And they had just scratched the surface of things. She wanted to explore Grandma’s wild side—see if there was a hidden hippie in there just dying to come out.

“I have a class at ten.” Grandma tapped her watch. “It’s important to me, and you’re coming.”

Grace blinked. Classes? Elizabeth’s warning about not ruining Grandma’s social life rang through her head. “I’m ready when you are.”

Grandma glanced over her cotton shorts and wrinkled tee shirt. “You have great legs.” She patted Grace’s knee. Grace took a moment to wash out her mug and set it on the drying rack.

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