Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her start to reach for my hand. My heart jumps in my throat as I wait for it. She stops herself before our skin makes contact. That’s probably for the best because if she touched me right now, I think I’d lose it. She’d be ass up over the deck chair in front of God and Nana. I don’t even give a fuck.

Peering through the glass, I spy Nana at the farmhouse sink. She’s washing a mixing bowl while doing a little hip sway to a song I’m not privy to. I consider the ramifications of this. How she’ll be jumping to conclusions about me bringing a girl here. The fact that she’ll tell my brothers and I’ll be assaulted with endless questions tomorrow. I know she’ll even invite her to dinner tomorrow because she invites everyone to Sunday dinner. But how will Mariah take that? Will it be weird if she accepts? Will she think there’s more to it than there is?

“She’s adorable,” Mariah says beside me. “What’s on her apron? Roosters?”

“Third thing to remember about Nana. Don’t call them cocks. Machlan was a little hungover one Sunday at dinner and made a comment about all the cocks. That happened precisely one time.”

“Got it,” she giggles. “She’s just so cute. Look at her dancing in there!”

“Now you know where I get my skills,” I wink, shoving the door open. “Hey, Nana!”

My grandmother jumps, her hand going to her throat and wrapping around a necklace. “You scared the heavens out of me, Lance.”

“Sorry,” I say, picking up a cookie that’s still warm from a tray on the counter. It’s gooey and delicious as I stuff the whole thing in my mouth.

“You don’t take a cookie without hugging me first. Oh!” She gazes over my shoulder to where Mariah is standing. Her jaw drops.

Here we go.

“Oh,” she says again, her hands going to the hem of her apron. Drying the dishwater from her palms, she looks at me, to Mariah, then back to me. “You brought a girlfriend?”

“I—”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Mariah cuts in. “We’re just friends.”

Nana nods slowly. Removing her apron and wadding it in a ball, she sets it by the microwave. “Lance, I will love you regardless.”

“Regardless of what?” I ask, popping another cookie in my mouth. “These are really good, by the way.”

“Tell you what, let’s just have this conversation now. There’s no time like the present,” Nana says, throwing her shoulders back. “The doctor on television says the best thing to do when a child or grandchild tells you they’re gay is to tell them you love them anyway. That you will be their safe spot. I’m your safe spot, Lance.”

“Woah,” I say, taking a step back. Ignoring Mariah’s hiccupping giggle behind me, I look at my lovely grandmother. “Nana, I’m not gay.”

“Your parents would’ve loved you the same too if that’s what you’re worried about. And don’t worry about your brothers. They’ll understand.”

Mariah’s hand finds my shoulder. I don’t even want to look at her.

“I’ll still be your friend, Lance,” she giggles.

“Oh, stop it,” I say when my wits finally come back to me. “I’m not gay, Nana. I’m not.”

“Are you sure, honey?”

“Yes, I’m fucking sure.”

She gives me a warning look. “If you want to try coming in again, we can start over. But leave the language on the steps. I’ll love you if you love men, but not if you continue to use that filthy language.”

“Sorry.” I glance at Mariah. She’s eating this up. I can almost hear the jokes on the tip of her tongue. “You, I’ll deal with later.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” she whispers, eyes dancing. She winks at me, ignoring my glower, before looking at Nana. “I’m Mariah. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You can call me Nana. And I’m so sorry for the confusion, dear. It’s just that Lance has never brought someone to my house and I just assumed that’s why he was here. To show you off.”

Mariah’s cheeks split into a grin. “Please don’t apologize. I work with him and we’ve all wondered about his sexual orientation for a long time. It’s nice to finally know.”

“Shut the fu …” I say, shaking my head.

“No wonder she’s not your girlfriend with that mouth,” Nana chastises me. “You expect her to kiss a mouth that filthy?”

My eyes drag to Mariah’s. “It’d be nice.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can’t miss the rosiness to her cheeks. “I don’t kiss boys with mouths that dirty.”

“What if I promise to never curse again?”

“You should try that,” Nana interrupts. I jump, having forgotten she was there. “I made some pudding tonight. The old-fashioned butterscotch kind. Want some?”

What I want has nothing to do with pudding or butterscotch or Nana’s fridge.

“Oh!” Mariah walks by me, heading towards Nana. “I love old Pyrex dishes.” She picks up the light pink bowl with pudding inside and caresses it like I wish she would my cock. “My grandma had all sorts of these. We’d bake until we ran out of things to bake and they’d all be lined up down the middle of her table in little dishes like these,” she sighs. “I love them.”