Page 135 of Death of a Grill Master

Earl stayed kneeling, blinking up at her, still clutching the clamshell.

Mona shook her head, eyes shining. “My first husband, Dennis, set the tone early. He spent our honeymoon re-grouting the shower and eating cold beans from a can. I should’ve poisoned the cake and saved myself twenty-five years married to a man who thought romance was letting me pick the TV channel during hunting season.”

Bruce choked on his coffee.

Hayley laughed through her tears.

Earl cleared his throat. “So … is that a ‘no’?”

“It’s a ‘not yet,’” Mona said, brushing his cheek with her thumb. “But it’s a ‘yes’ to more of this.” She gestured around the table. “The food. The Sundays. The us.”

Earl chuckled and pocketed the ring without offense. “Does this mean I still get to love you out loud?”

Mona grinned. “Long as you keep doing the dishes.”

Hayley raised her glass. “To unconventional love—”

Bruce added, “And very good frosting.”

Later, with the men on the porch nursing second coffees and talking about outboard motors, Hayley found Mona in the kitchen with the fridge door open, spoon-deep in the remains of a blueberry cobbler.

“Forks are clean,” Mona said, “but spoons have more surface area.”

Hayley grabbed one from the drawer without asking and leaned her hip against the counter. They stood there in companionable silence, eating straight from the dish like they’d done a hundred times before.

“You think you’ll ever bite the bullet?” Hayley asked casually.

Mona blinked. “You mean, try marriage again?”

Hayley nodded. “Your kids are all grown. Out in the world doing their own thing. You’ve got the house, the boat, the guy. Why not the ring?”

Mona let out a slow breath and scraped at a stubborn bit of crust. “I was never in love with Dennis,” she said, not looking up. “I liked him. At first. He was safe. Reliable. Built like a La-Z-Boy and had about as much personality. But I wasn’t in love.”

Hayley stayed quiet.

Mona finally met her eyes. “With Earl, it’s different. It’s the first time I feel like I’m … in it. Like I’m being loved for who I am, not just tolerated.”

Hayley felt her eyes sting. “Well, that’s kind of beautiful. And incredibly disturbing, coming from you.”

Mona snorted. “Don’t get used to it. It’s probably the sugar talking.”

There was a beat.

“Does that mean there’s still hope for Earl?” Hayley asked gently. “That someday, in the not-too-distant future, he might get to call you his bride?”

Mona laughed. “I mean, don’t go buying flower arrangements just yet. But I’m not ruling it out.”

She grinned, then added. “Though, if I do walk down the aisle again, I’m not doing the traditional thing. I’ll wear white, sure—but it’ll be a sweatshirt that says I’M NOT A TROPHY WIFE, I’M THE WHOLE DAMN SHELF.”

Hayley burst out laughing.

Mona scraped up another bite. “I think this time … I might actually get it right.”

Hayley smiled. “Seafood and love. Best when they’re fresh.”

Mona nodded. “And not overcooked.”

They clinked spoons like wineglasses and went back to eating.