“And pecorino?”
“I have the internet, Gran. There are recipes on the internet.”
She crosses her arms. “Not like mine. Do you want this girl to like you or do you want her to think of you as a serial killer?”
“Which one gets her into my bed faster?”
Gran snatches her slipper and throws it at me. “Nicholas Merritt Hall! You watch your mouth.”
Shoulders shaking from my silent laughter, I pick up her slipper and return it to her. “Yes, ma’am,” I say.
She sighs and sticks her toes into the footwear. “If I wasn’t so old, I’d get up and beat you with this but I guess I’ll just sit here and enjoy ordering you around. But pay attention! We can’t run this girl off since you think she’s the one.”
“She’s the one,” I reply. “That’s how it happens for the Hall men.” I take two pans out of the drawer and start to fill one up with water.
“Your uncle is a Hall.”
My fingers tighten around the pot. “He isn’t a man. He’s a monster.”
There’s a short silence and then Gran clears her throat. “You’re right, child. I’m sorry I said that.”
I force my fingers to unclench. “It’s no big deal.” I turn off the faucet and go give Gran a peck on the cheek so she doesn’t worry herself into being sick. “We were just joking around.”
“Jokes shouldn’t go that far,” Gran replies. I smooth a hand over her shoulder. It’s small and feels frail. I guess I don’t really care what the jokes are as long as she’s with me to make them.
“You’ve done nothing wrong.” I squeeze her shoulder gently. “Now tell me how to make this special recipe of yours for my future wife. They say the way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.”
“I don’t think that’s the saying, boy.”
“Pretty sure it is. What kind of cheese did Nurse Ratchet buy?” I stick my head in the refrigerator.
“It’s ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.’”
“Well, that’s dumb because I’m not marrying a man, am I?” I grab the four blocks of cheese and back out of the fridge. “Which one of these?”
Gran’s back to smiling. “You’re incorrigible, you know that, right? What’s this girl gonna do with you?”
I stick my tongue in the side of my cheek so the first words that pop into my head–everything, I hope–stay in my head. I don’t need another slipper thrown at me. “There’s no cheese called incorrigible but there is one that says pecorino so mystery solved.” I toss everything on the counter, rub my hands together, and say, “Let’s get cooking.”
Chapter Six
Birdie
“She sounds feisty. I like her,” Mr. Higgins says with a smirk. I stare at my phone. Did he hang up on me? “You better get a move on it if you don’t want to be late.”
“I’m not going.” I look at Mr. Higgins like he’s lost his damn mind. I can’t believe he said that. Why would I go over there? That’s crazy. This guy could be a lunatic and holding that old lady hostage, making her say things to lure me over to his place.
“You know I don’t like when people are late. Chaps my ass.” He shakes his head. Oh, I know he doesn’t like when people are late. He says nothing is more rude than people who have no respect for others’ time. That I might balance his checkbook, but time is the most costly thing in the world. Ironic because before today, he was making me do his accounting the long way. Everyone is crazy around here. It must be the season changing. It’s got everyone acting weird or something.
“Are you going to get a move on it or what?” Mr. Higgins breaks me from my thoughts. “I’ll drive you so that I know exactly where you are.”
“I don’t even know where it is.” My phone dings on cue, the address coming through.
“I know where that is. That’s the old Alison place.” I have no idea what the Alison place is. The town is small but not that small. I do know the road though. “I’d wondered who moved in there.”
“Then you don’t need to take me. You already know where it is.” I snatch my phone up from the desk.
“So you’re going?” he asks, his gray eyebrows raising on his forehead.
“No. I’m just saying if I come up missing maybe look there.”
“She said he wasn’t a serial killer.” Mr. Higgins tries to reason with me. “She looked trustworthy.”
“First you say I can switch our accounting over, and now you’re saying I should go on this date?” I reach out, touching his forehead. “You feeling okay?”
“It’s not a date. You’re having dinner with a man and his lovely sounding grandmother.” She didn’t sound lovely, she sounded kind of sassy to me. I think she was going to lay into me before her grandson cut me off.