Wow. Just wow. I didn’t know a man could be this sensitive and empathetic.
“I understand,” I say. “Thank you.”
We kiss again—long, hard, and passionate—in the porch light. Crickets scream in the woods, and nearby, in the bushes, the whippoorwills sing their midnight song.
* * *
The next morning, I go straight to the hospital to check on Nana. She looks so much better. The color has returned to her face and she’s more alert and chattier than she was the day before.
Yesterday I made the mistake of telling her about my plans with Rhodes. Now it’s all she wants to talk about.
“Honey, I’m an old lady,” she says. “Living vicariously through you is the most excitement I get.”
I tell her about going to the old house on the river and exploring in the dark, but stop short of telling her about the kissing.
She knows better.
“And?” she asks.
“And nothing,” I say, trying to end the details there.
“Micah, did he kiss you? Because if he didn’t, I’m gonna call him myself and?—"
“Nana! Don’t call him! Yes, he kissed me.”
“And?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s where the details end.”
She smirks. “You know, Pauline grew up in that house.”
Of course she did. Knowing my luck, she’ll probably haunt it when she dies.
Who am I kidding? Evil never dies.
“You never told me that,” I say.
“Oh yeah! Her mama used to have these big, fabulous parties when we were young. I wasn’t allowed to go, but I’ve heard the stories.”
I smile, imagining the house coming to life despite the Pauline Cavendish connection. “I wish I could’ve seen it.”
“I’m glad it went well with Rhodes,” she says, changing the subject back to her favorite person. “I knew he was sweet on you from the moment he walked into the store. What are you going to do about that waste of time in Montgomery?”
I sigh and simply look at her. She raises her eyebrows and gives me an expression that saysWell?
“I don’t know, Nana. I’ll probably break things off with him.”
“Praise Jesus!”
“I’m glad you have your spirit back.”
“Honey, if I’d died, I would’ve haunted you until you were done with that old rag.”
I shake my head, then there’s a knock at the door.
It’s Rhodes holding a bouquet of roses. His hair is uncharacteristically disheveled and his expression is missing its normal stoicism, replaced by a shy twinkle in his eyes when he looks at me. My heart flutters.
“I’m on my way back to Birmingham,” he says. “But I wanted to come check on you before I leave.”
