Page 36 of Betting on the Bad Boy
I smiled and took a sip of my lemonade. Seeing this side of Dante, how playful and loving he was with his grandmother, cast him in a bit of a new light. “I’d be happy to help with whatever you need, Mrs. Bishop.”
Meemaw gave Dante a triumphant smile. “See, my boy, not everyone thinks I have ulterior motives.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, what exactly is this special job you have for us?”
Dante
I followedMeemaw back to the kitchen. As soon as the swinging doors closed behind us, she whirled around and grabbed my arm.
“She’s the one, isn’t she?” she asked.
I studied her face before responding. Her eagerness to believe I might have actually brought a girl back to meet her filled her eyes with hope.
“Um, Faith’s a?—”
“Oh sugar, you don’t have to tell me. I can see it for myself.” She clucked her tongue and moved over to the stove to stir the gravy. “I’m proud of you, my boy. I know it’s not easy for you to risk your heart again after what that Cheryl did to you.”
“Meemaw, I?—”
She turned and winked at me. “Faith seems like a lovely girl, and I can’t wait to get to know her. We’ll have plenty of time tochat later. Right now, I need the two of you to help me out with that little project.”
Wouldn’t do any good to try to dissuade her. Once Meemaw made up her mind about something, she’d dig in her heels and hold her ground. Besides, how was I to explain the exact nature of my involvement with Faith? It would be easier to just let her believe what she wanted for the time being. Faith would be on her way back to town soon enough anyway, so no need to get her involved in my little distortion of the truth. And if Meemaw thought I had something going, that would get her off my back for a while. Seemed like a win-win for everyone.
“All right, old woman. What do you need us to do?”
CHAPTER 20
Dante
Twenty minutes later,Faith and I climbed into the old pickup truck, a stack of takeout containers balanced on the bench seat between us. Meemaw had tasked us with our own version of meals on wheels, delivering Thanksgiving dinners to those who couldn’t make it to the senior center. I could never say no to her, and it seemed Faith had also fallen under her spell. As I turned the key, the truck rumbled to life.
“Where to?” I asked.
Faith consulted the handwritten list. “Looks like Mrs. Tierney is our first stop. It says the apartment over the drugstore?”
I watched as she studied the list, resisting the urge to reach over and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. This girl did something to me, touched some part of me deep inside, a place I hadn’t visited in a long, long time. She looked up and caught me staring.
“What?” She self-consciously wiped at her cheek. “Do I have food on my face or something?”
I laughed. “Nah. Let’s get going. Knowing Meemaw, she’ll have another job waiting for us when we get back.”
We pulled out of the lot and took a left on Main. Mrs. Tierney was thrilled to see us and insisted we join her for coffee while she ate her meal. From there, we made a delivery to Mr. Sanders, who spent fifteen minutes showing me his collection of Civil War memorabilia. We only managed to leave after I promised to stop by the next time I was in town. The rest of the afternoon was a blur of stops, ending with a visit to Mr. Branson, my high school English teacher. He answered the door and welcomed us in.
“Well, Dante Bishop, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? Come in, come in.”
“Hi, Mr. Branson. Happy Thanksgiving. Meemaw noticed you couldn’t make it to the center, so she sent us over with dinner for you.”
Mr. Branson took the container of food and ushered us into the kitchen. “Your grandmother is a powerhouse, Dante. I don’t know where she finds her energy. If she’s drinking from some secret fountain of youth, you’ve got to tell me about it.” He transferred the food to a plate and put it in the microwave, then turned to face us. “Where are your manners, Mr. Bishop? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Sorry, Mr. Branson. This is Faith.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Faith.” Mr. Branson shook her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Faith said with a sincere smile.
“You can call me Don,” he told her. Looking at me, he added, “You still have to call me Mr. Branson.”
I laughed. “Old habits die hard, huh?”
