CHAPTER EIGHT #2
Thank goodness our food shows up just now because I need to find a way to broach the subject tastefully. This is always going to be a minefield, isn’t it? Once we start talking about my career, we’re going to have to eventually get to the point where I describe the recent turn of events.
“My editor wants more … you know … spiciness. Heat.” Like the heat rushing over my skin, making it flush.
“How do you feel about that?” he asks before popping a fry into his mouth.
It takes an act of sheer willpower just to pry my eyes away. I could watch him do just about anything.
He asked a question, right? I have to think hard to remember what it was.
“I wasn’t super thrilled at first, to be honest. I sort of took it as an insult, though now, I see how immature my reaction was.
But I guess all writers feel that way at one point or another.
Like even constructive criticism means what they’re doing isn’t good enough. ”
“Sex sells, right?” He arches an eyebrow, inserting another fry into that delectable mouth of his. This time, he moves a little more slowly. Deliberately.
I have a feeling his thoughts have taken a turn. They might as well since my thoughts have been in the gutter all week.
“So they tell me,” I reply with a coy smile, looking down at my food if only so I can stop staring at him. The burger is enormous, easily enough for two meals. “How am I supposed to fit all of this into my mouth at once?” I ask.
It’s not until he starts choking that I realize what I just said. His face turns bright red, his eyes bulging as he coughs.
“Oh no!” I gasp in horror as he tries to bring up whatever is stuck in his throat. For an instant, all I can imagine is trying to get my arms around him to give him the Heimlich maneuver. It would be like trying to hug a grizzly bear.
It’s official. I might as well be registered as a deadly weapon. I just killed a promising young doctor. Cause of death? Asphyxiation due to double entendre.
Except he doesn’t die, coughing one last time before clearing his airway.
He takes a long drink of water, shaking his head and waving his hand when I ask if he’s all right. “I’m fine. Sorry. That struck me as hilarious. I might look like a grown-up doctor, but most men are dirty-minded teenage boys on the inside.”
“So long as I didn’t do any permanent damage.” I laugh, a little weak.
“Not even close. A little thing like you? I doubt you could do damage if you tried.”
“I don’t know. I might surprise you.”
“I welcome the opportunity to be surprised.”
Something tells me we’re not talking about choking on a French fry anymore. And that’s just fine by me.
Which, naturally, is exactly when the entire thing comes crashing down around me. Because why not?
“Kathryn? Kathryn, my dear!”
I know that voice. I grew up with that voice. Just like I grew up with her calling me by my formal name, no matter how many times Mom had insisted on using my nickname.
I look over Jake’s impressive shoulder and find my grandmother walking our way. Somehow, even in the middle of a crowded New York sidewalk, she finds a way to make her voice rise above the bustle.
And as always, she looks absolutely stunning.
All bitterness at her terrible sense of timing aside, as I watch her approach, I can’t help but hope that I age half as gracefully as she has.
Her snow-white hair is artfully arranged in a chic chignon, and I’m pretty sure her sheath dress is Valentino.
So is the coat she wears over her shoulders—it’s way too warm for a coat, but she didn’t put it on for the sake of keeping warm.
“Grandmother, what a surprise!” Can she tell how completely distressed I am? Can Jake?
She leans over the railing, kissing both my cheeks before turning to my lunch date. She’s wearing her customary sunglasses, big enough to take up half her face, but I can see the way her brows lift in surprise just the same. “And who is this?” she asks, already extending a manicured hand.
“Grandmother, this is a friend of mine. Dr. Jake Becker. Jake, this is my grandmother.”
“Cecile Harrington,” she clarifies as he stands to shake her hand. And when he does, she has to tilt her head back to look him in the eye.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiles. “Would you like to join us for lunch?”
Now, it’s my turn to nearly choke to death. The concept of my upper-crust grandmother eating at a pub is about as likely as a fish learning to fly. He’s only being polite though, and I can tell this impresses her as her smile widens, becoming more genuine.
“Thank you, but I’m on my way to a luncheon, and I’m afraid I’m running late.
It was lovely to meet you.” She then turns to me, and something about the way her mouth’s set tells me there’s plenty she wants to say.
“Kathryn, darling, I would love it if you paid me a visit tomorrow. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about some plans on the horizon. ”
What the heck? Since when does she include me in her plans? I can’t help but feel this is a ploy to get as much information out of me as possible, and already, I feel a little twitchy at the thought. “Okay. I can drop by tomorrow.”
“Wonderful. I’ll have Peter fix up a little lunch for us. Noon sharp.” She kisses my cheeks again and waves to Jake before continuing down the street.
“She’s impressive,” Jake observes with a faint smile as he sits.
Yes, and something tells me she’s going to have an ear full for me tomorrow.