Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
My jaw drops again, and Gram reaches over, tapping me beneath the chin.
“Close your mouth, sweetheart,” she says kindly. “Don’t want a fly to get in. I saw one zooming around the kitchen earlier. Don’t know how flies are still pestering us in November, but it’s been a warm winter so far. Supposed to be even warmer tomorrow. You should pack that cute little sweater dress with the pink and blue swirls for your overnight and take your guy to breakfast tomorrow. I can hold down the fort alone for a night.”
“You cannot,” I say, ignoring the rest of the madness for now. “What if your arthritis acts up and you can’t get into bed by yourself?”
She shrugs. “Then I’ll sleep on the couch. One night on the couch won’t kill me. And I don’t have to be anywhere but here at home tomorrow, so I won’t need you to drive me around.” She pushes her chair back and stands, beginning to gather the empty egg cups on the silver platter I used to deliver them to the table. “If you don’t like Sam in that way, that’s fine, of course, but don’t use me as an excuse. I may be fussy and particular and have a bossy streak a mile wide, but I’m no cockblocker.”
“I have expired,” I murmur in a stunned daze. “I’m dead, aren’t I? And this is some weird version of hell where I have to listen to my grandmother say obscene, out-of-character things for all eternity?”
Gram frowns. “Isn’t that the way you say it? Cockblocker? Debbie told me it was. I asked if maybe it should be ‘vagina blocker’ in this case, since we’re both women, but she said that isn’t the way the slang works.”
The last of the blood drains from my face. “You talked to Debbie about my sex life?”
“Your lack of sex life, you mean?” Gram counters. “And yes, I did. Debbie’s my best friend.”
“Debbie’s the biggest gossip at the senior center!”
“She won’t gossip about you,” Gram says, adding beneath her breath, “There’s nothing to gossip about. That’s the whole point of the conversation.”
I surge to my feet. “I’m going to change. I’ll load the dishwasher when I get back, don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll load the dishwasher. And I’ll make my own breakfast tomorrow morning if need be.” She sniffs. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it. Just know that I support you getting out there and enjoying yourself a bit more. There are things I regret in my life but having lots of wonderful sex with your grandfather and the two very kind and generous men I was intimate with before him isn’t one of them.”
“Okay!” I chirp, plastering a smile on my face as I dash from the room, still certain this is a fever dream.
But twenty minutes later, when I leave for my walking date with nothing but my purse slung over my shoulder, the disappointed look Gram shoots me from the couch makes it clear this is very real.
I’ve really been reverse slut-shamed by my grandmother.
What would that be called?
Celibate shamed? Prude shamed?
Whatever you would call it, I can’t help it.
I can’t help it if the only man in town who makes me tingle keeps pushing me away. And I can’t help tingling for him.
When he’s not being a grumpy romance killer, Matty is basically my knight in shining armor. In just the past two months alone, he’s rescued me from a rabid attack squirrel in the park, the cranky pirate cat at the Ren Faire, the side of the road, and from a possible ghostly encounter at Bad Dog’s very own haunted hotel.
For a man who claims he isn’t interested, he sure shows up for me an awful lot.
Yes, I have a knack for getting myself into trouble, but I’ve dated men for years without having them literally sweep me off my feet and carry me away from danger not once, but multiple times. And my gut—and the gossip around town—assures me Matty doesn’t sweep all the ladies. He has a reputation for keeping to himself, in fact, and hasn’t had a girlfriend in years.
But somehow, whenever I’m in trouble, there he is, being sweet and brave and heroic, until the threat has passed. Then he goes back to being Mr. Walls Around His Heart again.
It’s so frustrating!
I should loathe the man.
But I don’t. And when I see his SUV parked behind The Cupcake Factory yet again on my way to the lake—parked there on a day when I know the bakery isn’t open and he has no innocent reason for being there—I can’t stop myself from flicking my turn signal. I have a little time left before I need to meet Sam, and Matty’s unexplained lurking around here has been driving me crazy.
I’m going to get to the bottom of this mystery, once and for all, dammit.