Page 48 of Say You Will

“That’s the one.”

“I like the first part, anyway. Not sure fighting dirty is something to aspire to.”

“When it comes to survival, there’s no such thing as fighting too dirty. If you’re ever in a position where you need to protect yourself, I hope you use every dirty trick you can think of,” he says.

He has a point.

“What’s your motto?” he asks.

“There’s always a silver lining.”

Henry looks like he wants to argue with me, but all he says is, “The silver lining on not knowing how to make pie is that it’ll be fun to learn.”

“I really want to do that.” Carving pumpkins and making pies with Henry sounds like a blast.

He taps the steering wheel and muses, “We could also make pumpkin bisque soup.”

“Could we?”

“Why not?”

I laugh. “Right. Why not?”

He lifts a finger in a “just wait” gesture, and says, “Siri, call Grandma Miller.”

Two Hours Later

“Put them on the table.” Henry’s grandma waves an arm.

We dutifully deposit our pumpkin offerings onto the long, scarred farm table that seems to be fulfilling the job of a traditional kitchen island.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Miller. This is so kind of you.” I smooth my hands down my thighs and smile nervously. I haven’t seen Henry’s grandparents since I was a teenager, and then almost always as part of a large crowd.

With a look of mild disappointment, Henry pokes through a ceramic cookie jar shaped like a pig on her counter. He settles for an oatmeal raisin cookie, huffs, then takes a begrudging bite.

Henry’s grandma pats my arm. “It’s no trouble at all. And don’t call me Mrs. Miller. Call me Grandma.”

I shoot a cautious look Henry’s way. I’ve never called anyone Grandma. It feels presumptuous, as though I’m claiming a relationship I have no right to. “Er . . . um . . . I couldn’t call—”

I stop talking to figure out what Henry is trying to communicate as he nods with exaggerated enthusiasm. He mouths “It’s okay.”

“I . . . er. Thank you . . . Grandma.”

She beams. Warmth spreads through my chest, and I smile back.

Grandma waves her hands in a shooing motion. “Henry, show Franki where the bathroom is. The two of you go wash your hands and find some aprons in the pantry. We don’t want to ruin your clothing. You’re too beautiful to get messy, Franki.”

My mother wouldn’t think so. She’d find my messy bun sloppy, and she’d be horrified by my comfortable outfit.

A curly wild shock of faded brown and gray hair wreathes Grandma's head. The wrinkles creasing her face, especially around her eyes and mouth, are evidence of an awful lot of smiling and some pain. She has such kind eyes.

Impulsively, I take her hands in both of mine. “You’re beautiful too.” I hope she hears how much I mean it.

She smiles and lifts a hand to my cheek. “Such a sweet girl.”

Turning to Henry, she says, “That’s the kind of girl you need. Someone nice. They say opposites attract.”

I shake my head, grinning at the way she teases him. “Henry’s nice.”

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