Crazy (The Gibson Boys #4)(27)

“Well, I happen to love it.” Dylan smiles genuinely at my nana. “It feels like a kitchen should, you know? All warm and cozy.”

My grandmother beams.

I lean against the wall completely forgotten as this little mischief-maker wins over Nana. A chuckle passes my lips as I wonder what Nana would think if she heard the shit that usually comes out of Dylan’s mouth.

Dylan hops off the bar and gets into a discussion with Nana about cookie jars. I couldn’t chime in even if I wanted to. The sight of the woman who’s been like a semi-comfortable nail in the bottom of my foot chatting it up with my silver-haired grandma like they’re the best of friends is enough to make my head spin.

“You could put them up there,” Dylan says as she points at the top of a cabinet. “We could put some ivy around them or little lights, and it would be so fun. I think that would be so cute.”

Nana’s smile splits her cheeks. “You think like I used to think, back when I could do things for myself. It’s hard once you become dependent on everyone else.”

“Oh, stop that.” I tug open the refrigerator. “It’s not like you’re dependent on anyone. I have to fight ya to let me help you most days,” I say. I peer behind the wall of butter containers that hold various leftovers. “Has Lance been here?”

“Yes. He was here today. Why?” Nana asks.

“Because he ate the rest of my cheeseball.” The door closes with a thud. “I’m gonna kick his as—butt.”

Nana gives me a stern look. “Just do it before Sunday dinner. I refuse to get in the middle of your cheeseball wars.”

Dylan laughs. “You fight over cheeseballs?”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “If you’d had her cheeseball, you’d get it, Hawkeye.”

“Stop calling me that.” She sits across from me. “Or else I’ll call you something … Wesley.”

Our lips upturn at the same time.

“You two lovebirds are too cute together,” Nana says.

Dylan’s eyes fill with amusement. “We aren’t actually lovebirds.”

“Oh, don’t start with me,” Nana says.

“What?” Dylan laughs. “We’re not. We’re …”

Her voice drags off as the humor in her features starts to fade. She sticks her hands under the table as she looks at me for help.

“We’re friends, Nana,” I say. “You know Navie, right? This is her friend.”

“I’m old, but I’m not stupid,” Nana says. She runs a hand through the air like she’s silencing us. “You two can call it what you want, but I know. I’m not blind.” She walks to a cabinet. Bending over, she reaches for a tray and almost falls.

I spring out of my seat and grab onto her. “Whoa, there. You okay?”

“Yes.” She pats my hand on her arm. “These cabinets are just so deep. I get dizzy when I bend over and dig around for what I need.”

“Hey,” Dylan says. “I saw a thing in the store the other day. You can attach these little trays that slide in and out of your cabinets so you don’t have to dig around.”

Nana leans against the counter. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Can we do that, Peck?”

“Sure.”

Dylan adjusts her weight from one foot to the other. “You know, I don’t want to interject myself into a situation that’s not mine to be in … but, um, I’d be happy to come over and help you with those and to rearrange the cookie jars. I mean, if you want. I don’t start work for a while …” Her cheeks flush. “I’m doing that talking without breathing thing again, aren’t I?”

I wish I had a funny comment in my back pocket to whip out. That or something to redirect everyone’s attention from the fact that Dylan is looking at me. But I got nothing. This woman doesn’t know my nana from Adam, yet here she is offering her time and thoughts and energy five minutes after saying hello. Like I would or Walker or Sienna. Like family.

“You would do that for me?” Nana asks.

Dylan nods. “Sure. Of course.” She then turns to me, looking … contrite. “If I overstepped, I’m sorry,” Dylan says quietly when I fail to respond.

My tongue is tied up, twisted around as I take in what’s happening. Dylan being so sweet to my grandmother, and Nana thrilled to have someone take an interest in something she values.

“You didn’t overstep,” I tell her. “Not at all.”

My throat is lined with cotton as I try to force a swallow down the narrowed tubes. I wish I could reach for her and give her a hug, but that would be out of line.

Because she’s my friend.

And Nana seems to have forgotten that too.

“I’d love to spend time with you,” Nana says. “It would just thrill me. I was afraid I’d be dead and gone before Peck was going to settle down. It’s like he thinks I’m gonna live forever.”

“Well, that’s because you are,” I deadpan.

“And again, Nana,” Dylan says, testing out the name, “I’m not Peck’s girlfriend.” She looks at me with a weighted stare. “I’m sure whoever gets that title will be deserving of it, but it’s not me.”

“Well, it should be,” Nana says, smacking me on the chest before going into a speech about how if I don’t hurry up, she’ll never get to see my children.