“Eva—”
“Good luck with the book and try not to let all that dark stuff you write about color the way you look at the world. You seem to think that all interaction is manipulation or interference, but sometimes it’s just because people care. Have a good Christmas, Lucas.” She tugged her hat onto her head, hoisted her backpack onto her narrow shoulders and walked toward the door.
He reached out a hand to stop her and then pulled it back again. What was he going to say? Don’t leave.
It would be better for both of them if she did leave.
He’d be able to get on with his book in peace and quiet. He’d be able to forget her soft curves and her sweet smile, her infuriating optimism and the way she sang while she cooked.
He’d be able to focus on his book, one hundred percent of the time.
Which was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it?
Eight
Everyone has baggage, but when traveling through life take hand luggage only.
—Frankie
Mary Eleanor Blade, known as Mitzy to her friends, of which she had many, sat in the winged Queen Anne chair that had been a gift from her son, and was now carefully positioned to make the most
of the charming view from the window.
Right now, though, she wasn’t looking at the view. She was looking at her grandson.
She might be ninety, but she could still recognize handsome when she saw it, and Lucas was most definitely handsome.
He’d inherited his mother’s beauty and his father’s strength. He topped six-four, and those wicked good looks, combined with an aura of strength and command ensured him a fan base of women who probably hadn’t even opened one of his books.
Mitzy felt a twinge of envy as she admired his glossy dark hair. She’d long since made peace with her smooth bob of elegant gray, but she could clearly remember the time when her hair had been as black as his.
One less seriously minded magazine had described him as perfect, but Mitzy knew better. He was smart and had a sharp sense of humor, but he also had a fierce temper and a single-minded approach to life that some had described as ruthless.
Mitzy didn’t see it that way. She knew he wasn’t ruthless, so much as driven. And what was wrong with that? Who wanted perfect anyway? She’d always been suspicious of perfect. Never found it interesting. She and Robert had been married for sixty years, and she’d loved his flaws as much as his strengths. Lucas was the same. He was interesting. He was also troubled, and she desperately wanted to fix that. His mother, her daughter-in-law, would have told her to step back and let him find his own way, but Mitzy figured that if you couldn’t try to fix things when you were ninety, there wasn’t much point in being here. And the good thing about her age was that people were more indulgent of interfering behavior. They saw it as endearingly eccentric. Mitzy played along, even though her brain was as sharp as it had been when she was twenty. If it was interfering to try to help someone she loved, then yes she was interfering. It gave her purpose.
“How was Vermont?” She used her most casual tone but she knew from the incendiary glance he sent in her direction that she was going to have to work a little harder if she wanted to appear innocent.
“We both know I wasn’t in Vermont.”
“You weren’t?”
“Gran—” his tone bordered on the impatient “—let’s cut the crap.”
She blinked. “You’re a writer. I would have thought you could have found a more eloquent expression than that.”
“I could, but not one that so perfectly describes what’s going on here. Why did you do it?”
He towered over her, but she was too long in the tooth to be intimidated by anyone, least of all her own grandson. She’d driven ambulances during the war. It would take more than a black look from Lucas to make her lose her nerve.
“Do what? Would you like tea? I’ve discovered this new brand and it’s delicious.”
“I don’t want tea. What I want,” he said tightly, “is to understand why you would enlist someone like Eva in your plans. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that you needed to eat. And Eva is a most excellent cook, as I hope you’ve discovered.” She kept her head down and poured the tea, resisting the urge to smile.
If she smiled now, all would be lost.
“Do you think I’m stupid, Gran?”