“Oh, handsome. It’s like you forgot it’s me you’re talking to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She tosses the rag on the counter behind us. The movement causes the scent of lemons and bleach to waft through the room. Memories of my grandmother strike me out of the blue, and of how her living room always smelled exactly like this.
My heart twists around a hollow spot deep inside my chest.
“It means that I’ve been a vet tech for longer than you’ve been alive,” she says. “And I know a thing or two about pheromones.”
“We aren’t having this conversation.”
Her laugh is full and bright. “You can’t hide attraction from an expert in the field.”
“You’re right,” I say, grabbing my coffee again. “That’s the exact methodology I used to determine that you have a thing for Jake. Jack. What was the floor mat salesman’s name?”
“Joe? You’re out of your mind, Holden.”
I wink. “It’s okay. I won’t tell.”
Her jaw falls to the floor, a wicked glimmer in her eye. She tosses her long braid off her shoulder as she prepares a comeback that I’m sure will have my jaw hitting the hardwood. But before she can do that, the chimes on the back door—the one no one uses—ring.
“Now that’s a sight for sore eyes,” Pap says.
His smile is bright and white, much like the color of his hair these days. Of course, they could just look snowier thanks to the apparent tan he got because of the Florida sun. His navy-blue scrubs complement his fit frame, and the running shoes on his feet are worn. Probably from running. Because he’s still a three-miler-a-day, even at his age.
All bickering is forgotten as I take in my grandfather.
“Hey, Pap,” I say, walking toward him.
He pulls me into a deep, unabashed hug. Despite the fact that I’m a good five inches taller than him, I still feel like a little boy in comparison. My heart fills with emotions I can’t quite name. And when he leans back and looks straight into my eyes, I hold my breath.
It’s funny how you can forget what people really mean to you until you’re standing face-to-face with them. I’ve always loved my grandfather. I have the best memories of spending time with him, growing up. No matter where we went or who we encountered, everyone loved him. Respected him. Talked to and about him as if he were a legend.
That’s what I wanted, growing up. Even as my dad would make fun of the hick town and hillbilly people, calling them backwoods and simpletons, I didn’t care. I wanted that. I liked it. While I remembered those things as I went through college and forged my own way, I think it all got a little blurry, because right now, I remember. Vividly. And those feelings I had as a ten-year-old kid are the same emotions flowing through me now.
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.