My lips tingled where they’d fused with his, and my mind seemed to be making clanking sounds as it short-circuited. “Uh-huh.”
“Olivia, thanks for all you and Hattie have done,” Miller said, completely unaffected, as if his kiss hadn’t registered on the Richter scale. “You ladies stay out of trouble.”
“Toodle-loo,” Sylvie called as he walked away.
“Oh, and Sylvie?” Miller stopped ten paces away and turned around, hands on his hips, eyes trained on me.
“Yes, sugar?”
“My intentions for your granddaughter are purely selfish.”
Sylvie grinned. “Do tell, shug.”
“I want her in my life, and I don’t intend to let her get away.” Beams of sunlight danced through Miller’s hair as he peeled off his sunglasses and trained those devastating eyes on me.
My heart stopped beating, and my whole body went numb. It was quite possible I was having a stroke, a full-on stroke brought about by romantic declarations. Olivia’s arm went around me as if to prop me up.
Miller’s lips curved in a smile that spoke of promises and plans. “She should probably get used to having me around.”
“Indeed she should.” Sylvie waved goodbye with much enthusiasm then blanched as she returned her attention to me. “Does anyone have a defibrillator?” she yelled. “Smelling salts? Twix bar? Woman down! I repeat, woman down!”
Chapter Forty
Ididn’t want to brag, but I was really good at bringing a party to a complete halt.
Two hours later, Olivia met my eye and gave me the thumbs-up.
A black stretch limo appeared in the distance, and I watched it slowly travel over the dirt road toward Miller’s expansive yard.
“It’s time for cake!” My voice echoed through the farm as I stood on the stage and spoke into a microphone that a sweaty band member had previously used. “Where’s the birthday girl?”
“She’s right here.” Miller appeared from the crowd, gave me a saucy wink, then nudged Ava up the steps.
Ava did a swell job pretending all the attention was beyond obnoxious, but I could tell she adored every moment.
Frannie wheeled out a cake large enough to feed every state below the Mason-Dixon Line, and Sylvie tossed out party hats and noisemakers.
I nodded to the band for them to do their thing, then stepped back to Miller’s side as the lead singer led us in a loud rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
“We need to talk,” I said to Miller over the noise.
He looked down at me and smiled. “Yeah?”
“Happy birthday dear, Ava,” the crowd sang. “Happy birthday to you!”
“Blow out your candles,” Miller called.
Ava leaned over her enormous pink cake, squinted her eyes for a matter of seconds, then extinguished the candles like a pro.
“Save a piece for me!” a woman yelled.
What happened next was like a scene from a Ron Howard movie. A hush fell over the crowd as they parted, the masses splitting down the middle and making space as if on command. The band’s pianist began to softly play, providing the moment with its own soundtrack.
A woman stepped into the aisle. She wore fatigues and a smile that looked just like Ava’s.
“Kayce?” Miller’s jaw went a little slack, then he cut his eyes to me. “How did you arrange this?”
“It wasn’t easy.” I watched Ava bound off the stage, down the steps, and run into her mother’s arms. Poppy threw herself at the duo, and soon all three were a knot of tears and hugs. “Your sister might’ve fudged on the date she told you. She’d been planning a surprise all along. When Ava mentioned the party, Kayce called me herself.”
