“Wait until Fran sees you,” she tells me, peering up at me as she releases me and steps away.
“We won’t have to worry about that,” Rosie replies, earning a look from her grandmother and me. “She’s never going to lay eyes or hands on him.”
Grandma Gallo stares at her granddaughter with one eyebrow raised. “We’ll talk about that later, sweetie. Now, Mr. Dylan, are you handy?”
“I’ll give whatever you need my best shot, Mrs. Gallo.”
“Grandma,” she corrects me with the sweetest smile.
Damn it.
My heart flutters at the thought. People take their grandparents for granted and don’t realize how lucky they are to have caring elders in their life. I had one person, and he was a complete and utter asshole.
“Lead the way,” I say, unable to call her “Grandma.”
She’s not mine, but she is Rosie’s, and I’m not going to let myself buy into the lie of calling her something she isn’t to me.
Mrs. Gallo walks into the house, and I motion for Rosie to go in front of me, liking the view of her ass more than anything else. Especially in her high heels. She sways her hips with every step, calling to my primal need, and the memories of her riding me through my jeans come rushing back.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” her grandmother mutters, hurrying to the ladder where her grandfather is perched high above the foyer tile. “Damn it, Sal. Get down.” She turns to us, forcing a smile. “I’ve told him ten times, but men can be impatient, especially the older they get. No offense.”
I give her a quick smile before rushing toward the ladder and grabbing the chandelier from his hands before either he falls or the new light does. One of them isn’t going to make it down in one piece if I don’t take it from his hands.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” he tells her, taking each rung on the ladder very slowly and finally holding on to the sides with both hands.
“Grandpa, what in the hell were you thinking?” Rosie asks him before his feet even touch the floor.
He turns to her, his eyes lighting up when his gaze lands on her. “Rosie, baby, I’ve changed more lights than the years you’ve been alive. I could’ve handled it and survived.”
“With broken bones,” Rosie tells him as she wraps her arms around the old man. “I’d like you around for a while longer.”
“I don’t have any plans to go anywhere, doll, but based off the looks of you—” he backs away, soaking her in “—I’d say we interrupted yours.”
“Nah. Nothing big,” she says, smiling.
He peers over at me, holding the light, wearing the best clothes I have to my name. “No man wears a tie unless it’s a date, love. You should’ve told us you were busy.”
“It’s really no problem,” I tell him and move past him toward the ladder. “I can do this in a few minutes.”
“You’ll stay for dinner, though, right?” Rosie’s grandmother asks. “No need to go to a restaurant.”
“Marie,” he warns her. “Let the kids go out and have fun.”
“We’ll stay,” Rosie offers, and I’m not the least bit mad either.
I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in months, and that wasn’t anything more than a piece of chicken and some vegetables. Based on the smell, something a helluva lot better is cooking in this house.
“Dylan, do you like sausage and peppers?”
My stomach instantly rumbles, giving away my answer before I can say a word.
Mrs. Gallo laughs. “I make the best you’ll ever have. I even have tiramisu for dessert.”
“Tirami-what?” I ask as I start to climb upward, careful to hang on to the chandelier.
I take a moment to look around from my high vantage point. The house is pristine and palatial. Nothing like anything I’ve ever been in before. They don’t have working-class money, but the big bucks. I knew Rosie’s parents weren’t poor like my old man, but I never thought her family was dripping with cash.
Her grandmother gasps, and I glance down, thinking I’ve done something wrong. “You’ve never had tiramisu?”
I take a deep breath and continue up until I’m within arm’s reach of the hole in the ceiling. “No, ma’am.”
“It’s decadent. It’s hard to explain, but it’s like putting a spoonful of heaven in your mouth.”
“She thinks everything she makes is heaven in your mouth,” her husband says.
“Is it true?” I ask, balancing carefully and letting go of the ladder so I can use both hands to hook up the new light fixture.
“Sure is,” Rosie answers. “Gram makes the best of everything.”
“You’re more than welcome to come back for dinner tomorrow. We always have plenty of food, and it’s a big spread.”
“Gram!” Rosie gasps. “You can’t just invite Dylan to family dinner.”
“Why not?” her grandmother asks.
I concentrate on the light, letting them hash it out. All I know is I’m falling in love with her grandmother, but Rosie isn’t exactly happy about the invitation for her Sunday family dinner. I don’t want to get into why it isn’t a good idea. Joe is her son, and I’d never say anything bad about him in front of her. I am an asshole just like him, but I know when to keep my mouth shut and when to let the shit fly.
“He’s not my boyfriend, Gram,” Rosie says.
“So? You’ve all brought friends before. What’s the difference?”
This should be interesting. I keep working on the light, but I want to pay extra attention to the way Rosie answers this question.
“He doesn’t get along with Dad.”
I peer down, meeting her grandmother’s eyes for a second. “He doesn’t get along with your father, or your father doesn’t get along with him?”
Here we go.
All aboard the clusterfuck train. I am about to lose that home-cooked meal of sausage and peppers along with tirami-whatever.
Damn.
“Do you know about the family living behind Mom and Dad’s? The Walshes?”
“Your dad never liked that man. He was awful to his children.”
Rosie glances up at me and grimaces before she says, “That’s Dylan Walsh.”
“Okay,” Mrs. Gallo says.
“I’m not following here, kid,” her grandfather adds. “He’s not his old man.”
“Well, Dad doesn’t like Dylan either. He doesn’t like anyone in the family.”
“Oh lord,” her grandmother mutters. “I thought I taught that boy better than that.”
“Dylan left home more than fifteen years ago, but Dad still hates him. The other day, Dylan saved me from a sticky situation, and instead of being grateful, Dad had a bunch of horrible things to say about him.”
I glance down, seeing her grandmother shaking her head and making a tsking sound. “Your father should be grateful that you had a man around to get you out of whatever that sticky situation was. And no man should be judged by his father.”
“I wasn’t the best teenager, ma’am,” I add because I know I was an asshole. I had too many hormones and more anger than I knew what to do with. It took me a lot of years to move on from that bullshit and understand it wasn’t my fault and I could determine my own fate.