Page 49 of Thunderstruck
“Yes.”
“This is Carissa.” He says that to Cole.
Cole rolls his eyes. “Yes. Can I get out?”
“But—”
Shoving his shoulder into his grandpa, Cole knocks the man straight into the bushes to make room for himself. I nearly shout in protest, but Gramps bursts into laughter.
“Is that how you tackle on the rugby pitch, Lemon? You need to spend more time at practice, I think.”
“You want to see a real tackle, old man?” Cole ducks down, arms out wide.
I scramble to get out of the car. “Cole, don’t—”
But Gramps solidly punches Cole in the gut and crows in triumph as Cole goes down, crumpling into a ball on the cement. “I’m telling you, Lemon,” Gramps says, looking down at him. “You’re losing your touch in your old age.”
I have so many questions, most of which must be on my face because Gramps starts laughing as he comes over to my side. “Please tell me you’re not dating him for his muscle, Miss Carissa.”
“She’s not dating me at all,” Cole groans from the ground. He struggles up to his feet, still hunched in on himself. But there’s a smirk on his face as he narrows his eyes at his grandpa. “Was that all you’ve got?”
Gramps moves to hit him again, and Cole flinches away.
“If you two are going to fight,” another voice says from the front door, “do it in the backyard before you take out my begonias.” Cole’s dad. Outside of his lighter coloring, he looks just like his son, and he’s got the stern dad look dialed in as he peers down from the landing several steps above us. My dad had to use that look on Darcy and me all the time when we were growing up.
But I’ve never seen someone use it on theirparentbefore.
“He started it,” Gramps says, pointing at Cole.
“And I’ll finish it,” Cole replies and lunges forward, knocking Gramps into the closed garage door with a bang.
“That’s enough of that!” I say, slipping between them before Gramps can retaliate. I put a hand on each of their chests and glare. “You’re both big strong men. I get it.”
Cole’s dad whistles low. “And who are you?” he asks.
“This is Carissa,” Gramps says.
“You’re Carissa?” Cole’s dad replies.
“I’m Carissa,” I say, trying not to laugh.
“I think we’ve all established that this is Carissa,” Cole says with exasperation. But then he smiles at me, and I feel every ounce of his happiness like I just got struck by lightning.
Wow.
“Are you going to bring Carissa inside?” his dad asks.
Cole coughs and glances down at my hand, still pressed to his firm chest. He hesitates for a moment before he grabs hold of it. “Right. Yes. Um, Carissa, this is my Gramps, Whit.”
“Call me Gramps,” Gramps says, shaking my other hand with vigor. “It is lovely to meet you, Carissa.”
How many times can a person’s name be said in one conversation before it starts to sound wrong? I think we’re pushing the limit.
“And my dad,” Cole says, nodding up the stairs. “August.”
August nods. “Carissa.” There’s laughter in his voice, and it makes me want to laugh along with him even if I don’t understand the joke.
“That’s enough of that,” Cole says and gently tugs me to the stairs. “Ignore them,” he tells me as we climb. “No matter what they say.”
