Page 38 of Betting on the Bad Boy
Faith laughed. “High stakes, huh?”
“Ask her how she paid for her new sewing machine.” I deposited a kiss on top of Meemaw’s head.
Meemaw glowed. “Let’s wrap it up, ladies. I need to get home. I promised this boy some homemade pecan pie.” The women cleared away the cards, and Meemaw walked through the building, turning off lights.
“Thanks for a wonderful day, Mrs. Bishop. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to help out more,” Faith said.
“Don’t you give it another thought, sugar. You helped out plenty.”
Faith gave her a quick hug. “I guess I’ll just head out. Dante, I’ll see you back in town.”
Meemaw held her arm. “Just where do you think you’re going, hon?”
Faith gave her a confused look. “Well, back to Newbridge, of course.”
I snickered, and Meemaw snorted. “In this?” Meemaw gestured to the heavy snow still falling around us. “Get in the truck, sweetie. The only place you’re going is home with us. Besides, I want to get to know you better if you’re going to be spending time around my grandson.” She waddled off toward the passenger side as fast as her short little legs would carry her.
“After you,” I gestured toward the truck.
“But—”
“Don’t bother arguing with her. You’ll lose.” I smiled to myself. As much as I’d enjoy seeing Faith go head-to-head with my grandmother, the outcome was predetermined, at least in my mind. “Besides, there’s no way your car would make it back to the highway. The plows haven’t even come through.”
Faith bit her bottom lip. “I suppose I could come for the pie. Then we can see how the weather looks.”
“Are y’all comin’ or am I gonna freeze to death in this here parking lot and meet my maker?” Meemaw called from the truck.
I raised an eyebrow at Faith and pointed toward the truck.
“Well, okay, just for pie,” she said, already taking cautious steps in the snow.
Sure, pie and who knew what else Meemaw had planned. She was known far and wide for her meddling, which was preciselywhy I hadn’t mentioned a girl—much less introduced her to one—at least since junior year. One thing was for sure—it was going to be an interesting evening.
CHAPTER 21
Faith
I pushed backfrom the table. I thought I was full before, but now I felt stuffed tighter than the turkey I’d helped devour hours before.
“Worth the drive?” Dante asked.
“Oh my gosh, yes. I don’t see how you can resist driving down here for dinner every night. Mrs. Bishop, that pie was delicious.”
Meemaw beamed but waved away the compliment. “Some folks like sewin’, some like readin’ the news. My thing’s cookin’. Always has been.” She reached over and rested her hand on Dante’s arm. “I just wish I had someone to cook for more often.”
“I know, I know.” Dante shook his head and stood up from the table. “I don’t get here as often as I should.” He reached in front of me to take my plate, and his hand brushed mine, sending a shiver up my arm.
“Oh honey, I don’t mean nothin’ by that. I just miss you, that’s all.”
“I know, Meemaw.”
“Well, I don’t know about y’all, but I’m just plum tuckered. I’m gonna turn in.” Meemaw stood up from the table and pushed in her chair. “When y’all are ready for bed, Dante, you go aheadand show Faith to your room. The sheets are clean. You can take the couch.”
“But—” I started to protest.
“Don’t try to argue with her. I told you before, it won’t do any good.” Dante pulled Meemaw in for a hug. “Goodnight, old woman.”
She wrapped her arms around him and swatted at his tush. “You be nice now.”
