Page 7 of The Backtrack
Sam pulled a bottle out labeledThunder StormIPA. There was an ornate image of a beach with palm trees blowing in a gust of wind. “You made these?”
“I own a brewery. That’s how a brewery works.” He gave her a little shit-eating grin that made her shake her head. “Farrah is the brewmaster, so I can’t take credit for the flavors. But I’m the lead on design, marketing and expansion. You’ll have to come by and see.”
Damon and his sister, Farrah, had dreamed about opening their own bar someday, and now they owned a whole brewery. Their success was impressive, but Sam wasn’t ready to admit that. “I don’t have a motorcycle, though.” Sam pouted. “Am I hip enough to be there?”
Damon playfully rolled his eyes. “You do have this fancy Mercedes. Being a pilot must be treating you well.”
She couldn’t argue there. Sam made a great living, considering all she had to take care of was herself. She hadn’t intended to impress Damon with the car, but...maybe she had. “We’ve both upgraded our transportation since high school. You with your old Ford, and me bumming rides in your old Ford.”
They stood in the thick evening heat, staring at each other.
“I’ll text you,” she eventually said, breaking the silence.
“Don’t call.”
“I would never.” She smiled, and he smiled back and her silly stomach did the fish flip trick again.
“Good to see you, Sam-Sam.” Damon waved a hand, gesturing to the length of her. “The pilot uniform suits you, by the way.”
She almost replied, but couldn’t. Her nickname in his mouth paired with the compliment made her feel like she needed to lie down, close her eyes and sleep for many days until her brain could process everything the past few hours had brought.
Damon.
Grandma Pearl.
Damon’s jawline.
She watched as Damon secured his helmet and revved the engine of the bike, then peeled out of the driveway. This version of him—confident biker dude—while still a bit similar, was also completely new. Part of her wanted to see him again so she could find out all of the ways he’d changed, but the more sensible part of her knew that was ridiculous. She couldn’t expect him to just make room for her.
She numbly walked to the front door, closed it behind her and exhaled as her exhaustion finally caught up. She could curl up on the floor and sleep until morning, really. But then there was a rustling from the kitchen, and she knew she needed to check on Pearl.
When she rounded the corner, Pearl had managed to grab a wooden spoon and was attempting to shove the handle inside her cast. But there wasanotheritem already lodged in there—a spatula.
“Grandma,” Sam squeaked as she rushed to Pearl’s side. She dropped the six-pack of beer on the kitchen island, then plucked the spoon from Pearl’s free hand.
“I had an itch. Don’t worry, I got it.”
“I can see that. You also got half of your kitchen accessories in your cast.” Sam gently maneuvered the spatula out and blinked hard. This was going to be a trying week. Or two? She had to sort out how long she’d actually be staying now that Pearl wasn’t supposed to be doing things like lifting boxes or packing up her house. She’d figure out the details with the airline in the morning.
Sam massaged her now-throbbing temple, moved to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for Pearl. “Just sit and relax. Humbe said you need to give your bones a break.”
“I think my bones already had their break, thank you very much.” Pearl smiled impishly as she made her way to the chair. “I can still walk and talk. I’m not completely useless.”
“I didn’t say you were, but I’m here to help. So you need to let me.” Sam loosened her pink tie and then eased it all the way off, draping it over the back of another chair.
“Okay.” Pearl sat down with a thud, placed her hands in her lap, then looked expectantly at Sam. “Go ahead, then.”
Sam was not immediately sure what to do. What would be a win to Pearl? What would someone of her fried shrimp–champion stature be interested in? She grabbed a bottle from the six-pack on the counter and held it up. “Beer?”
Sam found a can opener and popped it, then placed the still-chilled beverage down. “See? I’m helpful.”
“So helpful. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” Pearl lifted the bottle to her lips and took a sip. “Oh, and this is so tasty. Speaking of which, Damon’s looking good, isn’t he? Seems like you both finally grew into your bodies.” She kept her gaze on Sam, as if waiting for a reaction.
It was exactly the right moment to put the beer in the fridge and forget the reminder that Damonwashot. He was. No doubt about it. He’d physically upgraded from coach to first class, but Pearl didn’t need to know all of that.
“Do you want one of the pralines Damon’s mom made?” Sam reached for the sewing tin on top of the fridge. When she opened the lid, it was stuffed with pecan praline candies that smelled like syrup. Sam popped one into her mouth and practically moaned as it melted against her tongue.
Pearl shook her head, but took one just the same. “CynthiaknowsI have high blood pressure.”
