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In a normal dating situation, he’d be the guy I’d unmatch the second he goes off about sugar being devil dust.
But I, Juniper Winkley, am a terrible coward.
And even if my honesty cost me everything and I had to pay back Dexter Rory every red cent, leaving the Sugar Bowl stuck in nowhereland, it still wouldn’t be a fraction as scary as facing Nana when she thinks she’s seen Granddad’s second coming. If she finds out we’re pulling one over on her…
My eyes sting.
I decide to keep my dumb mouth shut while she stands up and turns, cradling a bottle of blueberry wine. “Too sweet for his palate?”
“He’ll live,” I tell her. “I forgot you had that stuff since we usually have it in the fall. Great choice.”
It’s definitely not as fancy or rare as the ambrosia Dexter keeps in his atmosphere-controlled wine cellar, but then, he’s driving. If he hates it, he won’t be drinking much.
“Are you sure, though, Nana? Grandpa was—” I stop. The man was a pretty big grump, but I don’t want to say that. “They were different, I think. I’m just surprised you think there’s a connection.”
“June bug, he looks at you the same way your grandfather used to look at me. It’s right there in his eyes.” She gives me a wink. “I was worried you might not find someone who’d make you as happy as Paul made me.”
She doesn’t know the half of it, but there’s nothing more I can do but follow her back out into the kitchen and then to the table, where Dexter waits with his phone. He sets it down the instant he sees us coming.
I’ve seen pictures of Grandpa.
Old ones, now, but they’re the only reason I can remember his face. Maybe the resemblance wasn’t totally off. He was dark-haired, too, with blue eyes that glowed like the sky.
Dexter’s eyes remind me more of the sea and its endless mysteries. Dark sometimes, stormy with that veiled threat the ocean always seems to carry, but when he smiles, like he does now, they almost gleam.
Yeah, let’s blame it on the wine.
I’ve officially had too much if I’m buying into his BS too.
But I don’t object when Nana pours me another glass. The hazier and warmer the world around me feels, the easier I can get past the guilt that’s eating me alive.
She stays to watch Dexter finish the cake—who knew she was a masochist—before making the fakest jump I have ever seen in my life.
“Oh my!” she says. Another reason to know it’s a ruse—I’ve never heard her say that genuinely. “I just realized I’ve got to call your great aunt Mary in Tucson. She’s trying to throw together a bunch of key lime pies for a church thing and she wants my advice. Would you mind if I made it now? The garden’s lovely this time of year and it’s stopped raining, if you kids want to step outside.”
Another lie, though Nana’s garden rocks any time of year.
When she shoos us into the backyard, under the little golden string lights hanging around the patio and across the trees, I start to understand her plan.
We might be the schemers tonight, but we’re hardly alone.
Nana dressed this place up to lookromantic. She did it for us.
Maybe she wants to convince Dexter as much as he’s been fighting to convince her he’s genuine.
My heart starts spiraling.
Especially as Nana slams the back door shut behind us and it’s just Dexter and me standing awkwardly on the patio, the lights splashing gold over his face.
We’re a little too close, but I don’t have it in me to pull away.
The world wobbles just a little.
I take another sip of wine, tangling my fingers around the stem so I don’t lose my grip.
“Sorry about the blueberry stuff.”
“It’s drinkable,” he says with a shrug, finishing his glass.
