Now mildly annoyed that I’m cutting up vegetables instead of kissing the heck out of Becca, I chop with more force than required, bruising some of the lettuce. Is Becca going to notice and then get annoyed, using the same logic that got her annoyed about a hickey I didn’t even get a chance to put on her neck? Nobody’s going to look at their veggies too closely. I certainly don’t.
After I dump everything into a bowl, I realize I’ve messed up. I could’ve just made Caesar salad. Oh well. I, Devlin Marsh, made the damn salad, and they’ll eat it with smiles on their faces. I don’t cook for anybody, not even for my mother, mainly because she told me she doesn’t like to have her taste buds violated.
The oven dings, and Becca takes out her pie. I look at it over her shoulder. Although it didn’t stay in the oven long enough to cook, it’s bubbling and looking like a proper pie. It even smells like a proper pie. Maybe it doesn’t need a lot of time because she used canned peaches.
My mouth waters as her scent mingles with the aroma of hot peaches. My body’s still simmering from earlier. Hers too, probably. Maybe I should just turn her around, kiss her until she can’t think straight. Then we can have our way with each other.
I start to move forward, but she suddenly spins around to look at me.
“Okay, we need to get going.”
“Now?” I glance at the clock. It’s six thirty. There’s no way any place in this town takes thirty minutes of driving.
“Yes, because Grandma’s going to want us to help her set up the table and stuff.”
“Have your cousin do it.”
She snorts. “Sylvie will be late. She’s always late.”
So we take my Maserati. Becca doesn’t say much, just giving directions to her grandmother’s house. It’s not even ten minutes away. A sprawling single-story home with lots of white windows set into walls painted spring green. It’s located on a quiet, shady lot, and when we go in, the flooring proves to be mostly carpet, muffling our footsteps.
Unlike Becca’s place, her grandmother’s home is full of framed photos and knickknacks. There are lots of small black-and-white cow dolls with wide eyes and mouths so flat they look like they’re sitting in judgment for some sort of bovine inquisition. I stop in the middle of following Becca to the kitchen and shudder. Creepy.
“Do you like them?”
A woman is standing to my left. She has to be at least in her late sixties, although she’s done a good job of dying her hair a light brown, to where it looks natural. She’s wearing a fair amount of makeup, too, and her lips are bright red, like she just ripped into a mouse or two before Becca and I showed up.
The old lady’s gaze is eager, but I can’t think of anything nice to say about the cows. So I just smile.
“I made them,” she says.
“Did you?”
She nods. “They’re my hobby. I call them ‘the divine bovines.’” Behind her, the cows stare.
“Ah.”
“My son inherited my artistic talent,” she says. “Which he then passed on to Becca.”
“Ah.” I don’t remember Becca’s art being this…grotesque. Her paintings didn’t make whole lot of sense to me, but they didn’t send chills up my spine. I don’t think even the clingy blonde from New York could think of anything to say about these cows.
“But my goodness. Where are my manners? I’m Margaret, Becca’s grandmother.” She extends a hand.
“Margaret. What a lovely name for such a lovely lady.” I take her hand and kiss the back, all gentlemanly and proper. Thank you, Mom, for teaching me a few tricks.
“You’re in Max’s band, is that right?”
“Yes, ma’am. My name’s Devlin, and it is a downright pleasure to meet you.”
“Beg pardon? I do apologize, but I have a little trouble hearing these days.”
I raise my voice slightly. “No need to apologize. I said, my name’s Devlin, and it is a downright pleasure to meet you.” I give her my best smile.
She flushes. “Such a nice young man. And so handsome, if I may say so.”
“You may indeed, ma’am. And you’re the loveliest woman I’ve met in a long while. I can see where Becca gets her looks from.” I squeeze her hand softly before letting it go.
“Oh.” The high-pitched sound lands somewhere between genuine pleasure and not knowing exactly how to deal with the situation because she hasn’t been this flattered in a long time.