Page 85 of Long Story Short

“You didn’t have to.”

I laugh. “You’re impossible. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about Tyson Bishop.”

Now my mouth does hang open. How does my grandfather know about Tyson? Does word really spread that quickly around here?

“All my buddies were talking about it over breakfast this morning,” he offers casually. “How you and Tyson were spotted together at Pembroke.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “You old men are a bunch of gossips.”

He shrugs. “Obviously. What else are we going to do?”

I can’t help but laugh at him and the mental picture of Pop and all of his friends during their weekly morning breakfasts together, all of them huddled in gossip like a bunch of teenage girls.

“Don’t act so surprised people are talking,” Pop adds. “That boy doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially not at somewhere like Pembroke.”

I roll my eyes at him, but my cheeks are still hot from him calling me out. “We weren’t doing anything other than having breakfast.”

“Well, that didn’t stop everyone from talking.”

I groan as I scrub my hands over my face. “I’m learning that,” I mutter. First Scarlett and now Pop. Why is everyone suddenly so interested in my dating life?

Pop chuckles, clearly enjoying himself, before he takes another bite of his food. “So,” he gets out, mid-chew, “Tyson Bishop…” he prods.

I shake my head as I try to play it cool. “We just spent some time together.”

“Mm-hmm.” That’s all he says. Like he knows exactly what I mean, and he wants me to know he sees right through me.

“What’s that ‘mm-hmm’ supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re lying to your grandfather’s face and trying very hard to make it sound like nothing.” He sets his fork down and pins me with a stare that dares me to lie to him again.

I open my mouth to argue, but then close it.

I don’t have a good response to that.

After a few moments, he gives me a smile. “He’s a good man,” he offers before sitting back in his chair.

My eyebrows rise. “You know him?”

“Not really. But I know his father.”

I don’t miss the slight shift in his tone at the mention of Tyson’s dad. I wait and watch Pop closely, hoping he’ll elaborate more. He doesn’t. Instead, he looks back at me. “And from what I’ve heard, he’s nothing like his father.”

I don’t know much about Tyson’s dad—but after the way both Tyson and Pop have spoken about him, I have no desire to ever meet the man.

“Yeah,” I begin, my voice soft. “Tyson’s a good man.”

Pop studies me with a knowing look. “And you like him.”

It’s no use trying to dodge his statement, so instead, I opt for the truth. “I do.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” He pauses for a moment, running a hand over his mouth as he thinks through my question. “Like you aren’t completely guarded. Like you’re maybe open to the idea of letting someone in.”