“I have to go to work, but I can visit you afterward.”
“Now would be better. It’s rather urgent.” Her honey-smooth voice, which seduced the trousers off many a man in her younger days, has shifted slightly to the panicked zone.
And panic is not an emotion I associate with my grandmother.
“I just returned from my run, and I’m sweaty. Let me shower first.”
“A woman is never sweaty,” Liza says in a falsely snotty tone. “She only glows.”
“Well, my glow needs to be washed off before I can join you. And just so you know, I have Mojo with me.”
“Oh, is tall, dark, and handsome joining us?” Henri’s tone is more excited than usual.
“Darling,” Granny purrs, “how many times does Isabelle have to tell you Jayden isn’t gay?”
“I know that. Besides, even if he were, I’m old enough to be his father.”
“More like his grandfather,” Liza points out with a snorted laugh.
“No, Jayden won’t be joining me. He’s away on business.”
All three of them release a disappointed sigh.
“Such a shame,” Liza says on another sigh.
“I won’t be long,” I tell them before ending the call.
Forty-five minutes later, I’m in Sausalito, pressing my grandmother’s doorbell. After a heartbeat, her housekeeper opens the door and lets Mojo and me inside.
I hug Juanita, who is more like family to me. She’s been in my grandmother’s employment for as long as I can remember. Because the elegantly furnished estate home is too massive for her to handle on her own at her advanced age, she mostly does the cooking and light cleaning. A gardener and housekeeping company are also on Granny’s payroll.
Juanita fusses over Mojo, who laps up the attention like a paper towel. “Now, don’t you get fur all over the place, young man,” she chastises him with her typical warm and friendly smile.
He whimpers as if to apologize for snoozing on Granny’s couch the last time we were here.
“They’re on the balcony,” she tells me, even though I already know that. Unless it’s cold and rainy, the trio always eats their breakfast outside.
Mojo and I step onto the large deck that overlooks the bay. My stiletto heels click against the light, reddish-brown tiles.
Granny and Liza are seated on the wicker sofa, looking as elegant as always in their designer outfits. Henri sits in a matching armchair.
In front of them, the coffee table is loaded with teacups and an assortment of cut fruit and pastries, including my favorite—strawberry-and-cream filled croissants.
Which Granny only has on hand when she knows I’m coming over.
So, this definitely wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment request for me to join them.
Henri, being the gentleman that he is, stands. Or at least attempts to stand. It takes him a minute to get to his feet, his movements not as spry as they were twenty years ago. He’s wearing an expensive Italian-cut suit, the jacket a checkered camel fabric. He also has on a burgundy tie, dark-brown slacks, a fedora, and leather shoes that are worth a small fortune.
Henri has always had an eye for fashion.
I walk over to him, and he kisses me on both cheeks. “Looking gorgeous as always, Buttercup. I can’t believe you still haven’t found a beau yet. Those men are nothing but fools.”
I laugh because he says that every time.
“There’s nothing wrong with our Isabelle being particular,” Liza says. I lean down and kiss her powdery cheek. She pinches mine in return, with a teasing gleam in her eyes. “Although if she doesn’t hurry up and find herself a man, her eggs will be as old and wrinkly as mine.”
“Darling,” my grandmother says, “your eggs withered away decades ago. As did mine. But Isabelle has no need to worry about that. Thanks to modern technology, she can freeze her eggs now, so they are still youthful for when she’s ready to settle down with Mr. Perfect.”
