Maybe a thousand. The return would probably be worth it.
I followed her into the kitchen.
“Where are your pans?”
“Uh.” I looked around the kitchen. “That box.”
“Well? Get them, boy.”
I was a twenty-eight-year-old father of one. It’d been a long time since anyone had referred to me as ‘boy.’
Still, I jumped like I’d been whipped and dug three pans out of the marked box and put them on the kitchen counter. I knew better than to argue with a Southern woman, especially an elderly one.
There was no doubt that Immy’s grandmother could kill me with one look and bury me with a single word.
I wasn’t a fan of either of those things happening.
Instead, I stepped back and let her get on with her sweet tea making escapade in my kitchen. I’d barely cooked in it yet, but this seemed a fitting way to break it in.
All right, I hadn’t cooked in it at all. I’d ordered take out every single night since I’d moved in. I wasn’t ashamed of that. Moving house was exhausting, and I sure as shit didn’t want to cook every single night.
Or at all.
I cooked when Maya was here because I was a responsible father. A responsible single man was another matter.
I was not that.
“So. You have a child. Is it my granddaughter’s?”
“I would like to think she’d know if it was, ma’am.”
Jen sniggered, stirring the tea. “Good answer. Who’d you knock up? I know you’re not married.”
“How do you know that?”
“No woman would let a man move a house without her directions,” she answered simply. “Lord knows y’all can’t find a damn thing without our help, so you’re sure as shit not puttin’ it where it needs to be in the first place.”
Well, that was logic that was hard to argue with.
“Plus, you’re not wearing a wedding ring.”
And that.
“I’m not married,” I confirmed, leaning against the island with a breakfast bar that seated two. “Never have been.”
“Knock up the mother and run?”
I almost choked on my own spit. “No, ma’am. We dated for a year, then broke up before she found out she was pregnant. We tried again then, but realized we were better off as friends.”
“Mm. I’m sure. Where’s her mother now?”
“Forgive me for saying so, but you have an awful lot of questions for someone I just met.”
Jen turned around and held up her wrinkled hands. “I’m just being neighborly.”
I stared at her.
“Also, nosy.”
I appreciated that she admitted it. “Fine. Here’s what you want to know: Francesca lives in the next town over. I requested a transfer and got offered a job here with my law firm and took it so I could be closer to her and Maya. We’ve been good friends ever since we broke up, and I get along well enough with her fiancé that we have a beer together every now and then. I have no romantic feelings toward Fran whatsoever, and no, she doesn’t give a damn if I date,” I finished dryly.
Jen nodded firmly. “You’re smart. That’s a good trait for my future grandson-in-law to have.”
“Have you spoken to Imogen about that little plan?”
“No. She’ll just growl and tell me to shut up, but she’s mad at you, so you should probably grovel some.”
Jesus Christ, this woman was a hoot. “Grovel?”
“Yes. For not calling her.” She took the pan of tea off the heat. “She’ll never marry you otherwise.”
I honestly didn’t know if she was being serious or not at this point. “I’ll keep it in mind,” I said vaguely. “What should I do with that tea?”
She was clearly happy to change the subject, and I noted the instructions in my phone and, with a promise to stop by if I got confused, I led her out of my house and walked her back to her front door.
I was two seconds away from saying goodbye when a black Mazda 3 pulled into the driveway. There was a dent on the driver’s side wheel arch that I could see from my position on the porch, and I swear to fucking God, I felt Immy’s glare the moment she realized I was here.
She killed the engine and climbed out of the car. I wasn’t sure I was quite over the sight of how fucking gorgeous she was now, even if she did have a huge streak of red down her left cheek.
Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy ponytail that swung around her shoulders as she stalked toward me, and her blue eyes darkened with every twitch of her narrowing eyelids. “Can we help you?”
“He was walking me home, you rude little hippy,” Jen said, putting her hands on her lips. “Is that how we treat people in this house?”
Immy’s nostrils flared as she shot her grandmother a dark look and turned back to me with a saccharinely sweet smile on her lips. “Hello, Mason. Thanks ever so much for walking my grandma home.”
I fought my own broad grin. “Hey, Immy. How are you?”
“I’ve been better,” she replied tightly. “Yourself?”
“Not bad. I’ve got some sweet tea from your grandma.”
“She makes the best sweet tea.” She softened ever so slightly. “Where’s your daughter?”
“With her mom. I have her this weekend.”
“He’s not married to Francesca, and she’s engaged to someone else anyway,” Jen said, stepping aside. “I’ll tell you everything else you need to know when you get in here and put my chicken in the oven.”
“Have I ever told you that you’re incredibly rude?” Immy asked.
“Yes,” her grandma replied, looking straight at her. “When have I ever responded in a way that makes you think I give a damn?”
I choked back a laugh. Living in their house must be a rollercoaster.
Immy pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’ll put the chicken in the oven if you turn it on.”
“Seems fair.” Jen turned around and reached over to pat my cheek. “Good talk, Masey baby. Let me know how that tea turns out.” She turned and tugged the front door shut behind her.
“Did she just call me ‘Masey baby?’” I looked at Immy.
She pushed her hair behind her ear and grimaced, staring at the front door. “Yeah. Ignore her. She’s a weirdo. Why was she at your place making tea?”
“Why? You jealous?”
“As jealous as I’d be if you’d given her the plague,” she replied wryly.
“She came by with muffins and invited herself in before taking command of my stove and making sweet tea. I didn’t really get a chance to say no.”
“Yeah, that sounds like her.” Immy sighed and ran her fingers through her hair before she realized it was in a ponytail and she couldn’t get it all the way through. “Sorry about her. She’s… well, she’s crazy.”
“She’s interesting,” I said slowly. “By the way, when she gives you a full rundown of my personal life, just know that she made me tell her.” I stepped back, holding my hands up. “Before you accuse me of something.”
Immy quirked a brow, raising it in a look that was one part amusement and, well, fifty parts derision. “Why would I accuse you of anything? I don’t care what you do with your love life, Mason.”