“How many people are we talking?”
“Just four of us. Goodness, I barely like May, Dawn, and Susie, never mind anyone else.” She sniffed. “We’re meeting next week. I’ll make sure you get the details.”
It didn’t sound like I had a choice.
“I would love to come,” I replied, only half-lying.
“You’re a dreadful liar, but now you’ve said it, you have to come.” She grinned and stepped back. “I shall leave you to get settled now, Ellie, dear. But it was lovely to meet you and Sir Winston Purrchill. Vincent, let’s go.” She tugged the leash and pulled the goat away before he could decimate a patch of irises, and the last thing I heard was her grumbling about him eating all her hard work across the estate and that was why he had to be on a leash.
I looked down at Winston with a smile. It looked like his soulmate was a goat.
CHAPTER THREE
MAX
Here We Go Again
My grandmother’s gaze followed me from the kitchen door to the fridge. She sipped her tea as she kept her attention studiously focused on me and my every movement.
“Good morning,” I said. “I didn’t expect to see you here this early.”
“Can’t I drop in on my grandson for a spot of breakfast?”
“You never drop in for breakfast. I keep the liquor cupboard locked until six p.m. so you’re not interested in being here this early.”
“A woman can change her mind.”
“I am aware.” I pulled the orange juice from the fridge door and retrieved a glass from the cupboard next to it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She gently set her teacup down. “I went to see the girl at the lodge. Ellie.”
“Have you informed the BBC? Surely that should be on the next breaking news bulletin.”
“You have far too much of my attitude in you, child,” Grandma grumbled. “She said she ran into you, and you didn’t introduce yourself.”
I finished pouring the juice and looked over at her. “I was coming back from my run, and she’d just arrived. You’d hidden the bloody frog in an impossible spot again, so I told her where it was and left. I didn’t see a need to introduce myself.”
“It was the polite thing to do. I raised you with better manners than that.”
“She didn’t introduce herself properly either,” I pointed out. “I asked if she was the writer, she said her name was Ellie, and that was that.”
“That’s still an introduction,” Grandma argued. “You could have said your name was Max.”
“Well, given that you spoke to her, I don’t suppose I need to introduce myself either way, do I?” I put the juice back in the fridge. “Why did you go over there? She’s a tenant here.”
“I always introduce myself to the tenants.”
“Nothing to do with the fact you have her books on the shelf in your cottage, hm?”
Her lips curved into a smile. “She is coming to the book club meeting next week.”
“Oh, good. The Busybody Book Club. Now she’ll never get any peace. Didn’t she say in her booking form that she wanted a nice, peaceful retreat to get some writing done?” I raised my eyebrows. “Grandma, that is the opposite of what you’re offering her.”
“Oh, come on. Ever since May got that mystery author guy to come last year, I need to reclaim my spot as the coolest member. Who better than Ellie Aarons to help me do that?”
“For your smut books.”
“You’re such a misogynist, Maximilian.”
“My name is Max.”
“You’re whatever I want to call you while you’re being a pig-headed pain in my backside,” Grandma scolded me. “My books are not smut. Smut implies poorly written, badly executed stories from the dark underbelly of the Internet.”
The dark underbelly of the Internet? Good grief. She was on fire this morning.
“The books I read are tasteful, thank you very much. They’re love stories.”
I eyed her speculatively. “With X-rated scenes.”
“Well, people who love each other tend to have sex, my dear. And some of them like it spicy. It’s not for me to judge. Goodness knows I wanted to choke your grandfather on occasion, although that had absolutely nothing to do with the bedroom, if I think about it.”
“It’s far too early for this kind of conversation,” I muttered. “Did you really come here just to berate me for not introducing myself to someone I’m probably only going to see in passing?”
“Yes. She’s very cute, you know.”
“No. We are not having this conversation, either.”
“Max—”
“No.” I looked at her firmly. “You know my feelings on marriage and children, and you agreed that you’d drop the topic. I will introduce myself to the woman if that means you will leave it well alone.”
Grandma sighed, picking up her teacup. “Very well. You are correct; I am aware of your feelings on the matter and my previous agreement to drop the matter.”
“Thank you.” I peered down into my glass. “I know it’s difficult for you to accept my decision not to start a family, and I hope you know that I do understand how much you’d love for me to change my mind.” I reached over and touched her hand.
She looked up at me with a smile, although it was a little sadder than usual. “I know, Max. I will drop the discussion, but I’m still going to point out pretty girls. Just in case.”
“And I will sigh, make a noncommittal noise, and change the subject.” I patted the back of her hand and straightened up again.
“It’s nice to have some consistency,” Grandma replied. “And yes, you’re right about Ellie. She is here for a writing retreat. I suppose I should tell her that she doesn’t have to come to the book club after all.”
“Did she agree to go? And would you like some more tea?”
“I would love some, thank you.” She pushed her cup towards me. “She did, although I do recall not particularly giving her a choice.”
“Surely not. You are the most gracious person alive, Grandma. You’d never dream of strongarming someone into something you wanted them to do.”
She gave me a withering look. “Your sarcasm is exhausting me today, Max. Could we have a conversation without it?”
“Ah, but if I don’t get it in, you will.”
“That’s my prerogative as your elder.”
“All right, Grandma. You take the sarcasm reigns.”
“Thank you.” She paused. “Perhaps I should take Ellie some bread or a cake to apologise for being heavy-handed. She did look quite panicked when I suggested it. What do you think?”
I poured her tea and slid the cup back to her, then poured one for myself. “Maybe. I know nothing about the woman except that she writes books and apparently has quite an ornery cat who is fond of hunting birds, so I can’t really comment.”
She huffed, and I knew that wasn’t an acceptable answer.
“That said, I’m sure either baked good would be greatly appreciated by her, and a more formal invitation to the book club for a casual discussion about her books might be extended.”