He pats me on the shoulder. “I have to say that walking in here and seeing my only grandson at the helm makes me prouder than a peacock.”
I look away so he doesn’t see the silly grin on my face. “Thanks, Pap.”
“He didn’t do too bad while you were away,” Dottie says. “I had to set him straight a few times, but he did all right.”
She and Pap exchange a grin.
“I’m going to pretend like I have some sorting to do in the back so y’all can talk in semiprivate,” she says, starting toward the storeroom. “But you know I’ll be eavesdropping when I can.”
We chuckle as we watch her go, her braid swishing behind her.
Pap turns to face me again. “So does this mean you’re going to stick around?”
The question throws me off. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The anticipation in his eyes, the hope, clobbers me.
“I just thought since you got married and all that you’d want to take over the shop for me,” he says, puzzled. “I mean, if you don’t want it, that’s fine, but . . .”
I blow out a breath. It’s shaky as it passes my lips, and I can feel my chest tighten.
“Sophie and I are still talking about that—about what to do,” I say as gently as I can. “We, um, sort of jumped into this pretty quickly.”
He ventures over to the coffeepot and pours himself a steaming cup. “I just figured there was no way Sophie would leave the Honey House.”
“Yeah, I’m, um, I’m not sure.” I pick up a pen and tap it against the counter. “How was Florida?”
“Really nice. I could get used to spending some time down there on the water.”
Seeing an opening, I take it. “Well, if I move down to Orlando, you’ll have a place to stay.”
He sips his coffee, watching me carefully over the brim. “You are still thinking about taking that job?”
“Yeah. I guess it’s more complicated now with Sophie in the picture,” I say, dancing around the topic. “But she knows that’s what I’ve always wanted to do. And she respects that. There are no secrets between us.”
“That’s good. And it’s good you’re not ignoring what your dreams are. That’s important for a successful marriage—not hiding things from your spouse or yourself, no matter what it is.”
I think about my situation with Sophie and how honest we are with each other. My chest shakes with a suppressed chuckle as I consider what a good start we’ve gotten on our marriage.
“Take me, for example,” he says. “Veterinary medicine was my passion. Your grandmother loved the beach. We’d go there every year so she could get some salt in her system. And every year she’d talk about how she’d do anything to live by the ocean.”
“Why didn’t you just move down there and work?”
He smiles. “Our roots were here.”
“So?”
He swirls his coffee around in the mug and looks pensive. “You’ll understand that more as you and Sophie build your family.”
I stand, frozen, as his words wash over me. I try not to live in them, to really take them to heart, knowing the truth.
My chin dips as I keep my grandfather from looking into my eyes. He, however, carries on as if he has no indication that I’m hiding anything.
“There’s something to be said about walking the same streets that your family has for ages. When I walk into Tank’s and remember taking your gran for breakfast there—or into the Lemon Aid and know my father used it as his pharmacy too—there’s something special about that. It’s secure and real. It’s hard to explain. But you’ll know. I promise you’ll know.”
A silence that grows more uncomfortable by the minute fills the space between us. Pap just sips his coffee like he has all the time in the world for me to consider his thoughts. After a couple of minutes and a dropped box from Dottie in the storeroom, I can’t take it.
“Well, Sophie and I will have to talk about it,” I say. “We aren’t sure what we’re going to do.”
He shrugs. “That’s marriage for you. Taking two people and their hopes and wishes and passions and creating one life out of all of it.” His head twists to the side. “Can I give you some advice?”
“Please.”
He sets his mug on the counter. His features wrinkle, his brows pulling together.
I force a swallow. The uncertainty of what he’s going to say is like a wet blanket on a blazing-hot day. My chest struggles to take in enough air as I watch him choose his words.
“Everyone says that love is the key to marriage,” he says quietly. “But it’s not.”
“It’s not?”
He shakes his head. “The key is respect. If you don’t respect Sophie and yourself, it doesn’t matter how much you love each other.”