“What’s going on out here?” Miriam appeared behind Zane. “Celeste, dear, is that you?”
“Hi, Mrs. Washington. I came to check if you were okay. I heard about what happened.”
Zane practically had steam coming out of his ears, but I ignored his heavy stare as I focused on the frail woman behind him.
“Zane Thackeray, have you completely forgotten your manners?” She tsked. “Invite the girl in.”
“Celeste can’t stay, Grams. She was just delivering some flowers and dinner for you.”
“That’s so sweet.” She flashed me a warm smile. “We haven’t eaten yet. Would you like to join us?”
Zane stiffened; his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. “Celeste needs to go.”
“Actually, I’d love to stay.” I flashed him a sickly-sweet smile earning me a low growl.
But I wasn’t going to be so easily intimidated by him this time.
“Zane, let the girl pass.”
“Yes, Grams,” he murmured, reluctantly stepping aside to let me in.
“And be a dear and put those beautiful flowers in some water. I think there’s a vase in the cabinet under the sink.”
He closed the door, slamming it a little harder than necessary, but I shoved down the awkwardness. Miriam wanted me here, even if Zane didn’t.
I could work with that.
Zane
One minute Celestewas standing at the door with a bouquet of flowers in her hands, the next, she was sitting at my table, eating the lasagna she’d brought for me and Grams.
What the fuck was happening?
I was in hell.
That was the only explanation.
I was in some living version of hell. Watching as she and Grams talked and laughed like they were old fucking friends.
“Zane Thackeray,” Grams snapped. “Stop being so damn rude and offer our guest a fresh drink.”
“Oh, it’s okay, Miriam. I can get one.” Celeste got up and went to the kitchenette, helping herself to another glass of water. “Anyone else?” She glanced at me.
“No.”
“No, thank you, dear. This bread is delicious. Where did you get it from?”
“My favorite store in town. They bake everything fresh. So good.” Celeste noticed my scowl and her smile dropped. “I thought it would go nice with the lasagna.”
“Perfect,” Grams replied. “It goes just perfect. What do you think, dear?” She patted my hand, and I blinked over at her.
“Uh, what?”
“The bread?” Grams raised a brow at me.
“The bread is… fine.”
“Boys.” She rolled her eyes. “No appreciation of good food.”