Page 117 of Shift Change

Chuck shook his head. “Why do you let him do it, but not me? I’m your grandson.”

“Because Nate carried in all the groceries. Where were you?”

He scoffed. It was barely audible, but the hook in Nana’s smile told me she heard it too.

“You know I was in the shower,” he said. “I’d just finished working out.”

“Still means he carried in the groceries.”

Chuck gave in and kissed her cheek. “I’m glad you appreciate my man so much.” Then he turned to me, mock scowling. “You’re a food thief. That’s the standard now?”

“It’s not theft if it’s charming.”

He grabbed a tomato and popped it into his mouth. “Was that charming too?”

“I ought to kick both your butts,” Nana said. “If I didn’t know this was all an act, I’d say you two share a single brain cell and no boundaries.”

Chuck grinned. “You love it.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t argue either, which was a “yes” in Nana-speak. I nudged Chuck with my hip. “She didn’t say no.”

He bumped me back, then slipped an arm around my waist. “Because she loves me more.”

“Not a chance. I built her a house in the backyard.”

“Because I talked you into it.”

“Boys.” Nana’s voice cut through the air. “Go set up the drinks station before I swat you both with a wooden spoon.”

Chuck turned to the fridge and glanced at me over his shoulder. “I miss the days when she made me cookies and called me her model grandson.”

“You were twelve,” she said. “You had a halo back then.”

“I still have one.” He pulled out two cases of beer and set them on the counter. “But now it’s held up by my horns.”

We all cracked up while Nana stirred the beans.

“I love you both,” she said, “but if either of you touches the deviled eggs before the guests arrive, I’ll give all the leftovers to Riley.”

Chuck gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” she replied with alarming calm. “I believe that boy eats out for every meal.”

Chuck turned to me, eyes wide. “We’d better behave.”

“You’re not wrong.” I picked up one of the beer cases. “Let’s get these on ice.”

Outside, the late summer air was thick with the smells of cut grass and charcoal waiting to be lit. The garden looked good—smaller than it had been before we built the cottage for Nana, but still bursting with life. Tomatoes hung on the vine, and the herbs smelled wonderful.

“I’m glad it cooled off,” Chuck said. “Today’s perfect for a cookout.”

We knelt beside the big, galvanized tub and started arranging bottles and ice. About halfway through, Chuck leaned in and brushed a quick kiss across my lips.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

“Can’t I kiss you because I love you?” He trailed a finger down my arm. “I also love how much you care about Nana. Thanks for building the cottage so she could live here. That meant the world to her and me.”

I stopped pouring ice into the tub and reached for his hands. “You don’t need to thank me. I love her, babe. She’s been amazing to me since that first Thanksgiving when we met. I know you’re her grandson, but she treats me like I’m hers too. She’s…” I swallowed. “She’s the mom I never really had. I was telling Dr. Goodman last week how Nana gives me balance. She’s helped me believe I’m worthy of the kind of love parents give their kids.”

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