Page 66 of Nerdelicious
We disentangle our limbs and Beast starts the truck. Before he puts it in gear, he reaches over and tugs me closer, pulling me into the middle of the bench seat.
“The porch light is on,” I say as we’re approaching. The figure on the porch comes into focus.
Granny.
“Uh-oh.”
She’s sitting on the porch swing with a rifle lying across her lap.
Chapter Eighteen
Speakto her
Speak, man!
Through my nose? She might laugh at me;
That is the one thing in this world I fear!
–Cyrano de Bergerac
“Hey, Granny,” I call out as we’re exiting the truck. “It’s a bit late to be shooting at rabbits.”
“I’m not looking for rabbits. Looking for something a little bigger.”
Beast, ever the protector, steps in front of me and blocks me from Granny’s view.
“Oh, hells bells, Beast, I’m not gonna shoot either of you. This is just a warning. This here is a Christian household and there will be no shenanigans under my roof until there are rings on those fingers.”
I lean around Beast to eye Granny. “Why would you think—”
“Don’t even try to hide the truth. I’ve got eyes in the back of my skull and a few up in the clouds. I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday.”
Beast glances down at me and shrugs.
“We promise to be good. Can we come in now? Not at gunpoint?”
She stands up, pointing the rifle at the ground. “It’s fine. Beast, you best be sleeping downstairs, and Fred girl, you better not leave your room until that sun comes up or you’ll both be answering to Betsy.”
Betsy must be the rifle. “We promise.”
Beast’s hand slides into mine as Granny stalks inside, muttering something under her breath.
When she disappears from view, he leans down, sneaking a quick kiss.
“Jesus should fit between you!” Granny yells and we leap apart.
We gape at each other, wide-eyed, and then I slap my hand over my mouth to smother the laughter.
It’s early afternoon when I finally wake up from the deepest slumber ever and stumble downstairs for coffee.
“Oh, luscious bringer of life,” I whisper to the coffee pot, which miraculously contains a full carafe of delectable, mouthwatering brew.
“You’re welcome,” Granny says, walking into the kitchen and standing next to me.
Grabbing a mug from the cupboard, I pour myself a cup and face her, leaning my butt against the counter. “Thanks, you.” I lift my mug in cheers and take a careful sip.
“What’s going on with you and the big fella?”
