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“How does Marcy know what I threw out?”
Grandpa shrugs, nonplussed. “I imagine she lifted the lid and looked.”
“In my trash,” Ves says slowly, offended and appalled at the same time.
“Well, yes.” Grandpa Dave looks at Elisha. “How about vanilla. Can’t go wrong with a classic.”
“She nosed through my trash just because? Does she want something? A memento to remember Maeve by or—” Ves flaps his hands in an aggravated manner.
“Oh, Marcy keeps an eye on everyone,” Elisha says with nonchalance.
“Two, usually,” says Grandpa Dave.
Ves’s mouth hangs open. Elisha waves a hand. “We’re all used to it—”
“Imagine getting used to it,” he mutters. “Which house is hers, anyway?”
“The one with the herd of lighted reindeer in her front yard,” says Elisha.
“And the second-story telescope,” adds Grandpa, sotto voce.
“Doesn’t exactly help clarify,” grouses Ves. “When you consider every house in this neighborhood has gone completely overboard with their decorations.”
Hmph. Overboard or just enough board? She coughs. “Except one.”
He shoots her an irritable glance. Oh goody. This, at least, she knows how to deal with.
“You’ll get used to the, um, prying,” says Grandpa. His blue eyes twinkle. “Folks here are very friendly, and everyone knows everyone, so naturally a newcomer invites a little curiosity. Now, ice cream.” He wags his finger. “Speak now or forever hold your peace. I don’t want to get back from the store and you kids tell me that vanilla is the most boring flavor.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” says Ves. He rests his forearms on the back of the nearest chair. “That’s very kind of you, but this is all a little...”
Grandpa Dave seems to understand that this is about more than just indecision over the ice cream. He reaches out to pat Ves on the back. “Not to worry. I’ll get vanilla and butter pecan. Never did like cold raisins in my dessert.”
He bustles out, calling over his shoulder, “Three hundred degrees, Elisha! Back in a jiff.”
A moment later, the front door shuts, leaving Elisha and Ves alone.
Chapter Seventeen
Elisha
Well,” says Ves. “At least one of you rang the bell.” A smile inches over his face, begrudging and barely there, but there nonetheless. “He reminds me of movie grandparents. All kind and jolly. I like him.”
The warmth Elisha felt only moments ago now travels up to her heart, going in circles a few times like a cat curling up in a basket. And then settles in, tail tucked in tight, all cozy and snuggled up for the foreseeable future. It means something that he likes her family, their bebinca, their town. Her.
“I’m glad,” she says simply. “Sorry he was kinda giving orders in your kitchen, but um, I told you before, right? Maeve was family. That makes you...” She can’t look at him while she says this. “That makes you family, too.” Even though the way she feels about him definitely isn’t familial. Or even neighborly for that matter.
And then she grabs the vegetarian lasagna and hurries to the oven before Ves can see her blush. She ignores the tickle on the back of her neck, which is either her messy bun coming undone or the prickly sensation of his stare. Either. Both.
After a moment of stalling, she turns around, expecting him to be doing something else, or at least pretending to, like she is. But no. He’s waiting there. Waiting for her. She fidgets, not sure what to do or say. Whether he expects her to say anything at all.
She likes him, and even though his response to her earlier was nonverbal, her gut tells her that he likes her, too. But again, she isn’t sure what to do with that. Because as tempting as the vision of Ves spending time with her family is, she can’t ignore how uncomfortable he seems with anyone getting close enough to know him.
What is he so scared of? That someone might actually like him? Or that someone won’t?
Her daydream doesn’t feel so solid anymore. It’s less and less of a possibility with every passing second, floating away like a wisp of dandelion fluff scattering in the wind. Maybe that’s a good thing, because if it weren’t for that bolt of yearning earlier, she would never have flirted with him.
Oof, all this is making her head hurt. He’s like one of those nesting gift boxes, all wrapped up in pretty paper and sparkling string, one leading to another to another to another until finally the prize is reached. Something tells her that he could be worth the effort, but is it even doable in the time she has?
