Dating and Dragons (Dungeons and Drama, #2) (23)

“Nonsense. Andrew is always busy, and your dad isn’t as young as you think he is. His back is bothering him even though he doesn’t like to admit it.” She leans toward Logan. “You can come by, right?”

“Well…um…yeah, I probably could. If you need me.”

“I do. You’re a lifesaver. With a dad like yours, I know you’ll be a big help.” She grins widely and I know she’s up to something. “And you’ll need to come, too, my dear.” She pats the top of my hand.

I slump with the realization. She’s trying to set us up. You’ve got to be kidding me.

Logan pulls out his phone and looks at the time. “I should probably get back. I can feel Mr. Avery’s glare burning through my back.”

“Come Wednesday. My usual pickleball game is canceled.”

“Will do.” He glances at me. “I guess I’ll see you then, Quinn?”

“Um, I guess so.”

I wait until he’s behind the counter with his back turned before swiveling to face her. “What are you doing? Why did you just invite him to your house?”

“For you, of course.” She takes a last bite of her sherbet, looking incredibly pleased with herself. “This really is great sherbet.”

“For me? I’m not looking for excuses to see Logan.”

“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t.”

I glare at her.

“He seems like a nice boy—much better than those rude ones in the parking lot. And his best quality is that he likes you. I could tell the moment he saw you walk into the store.”

“I don’t want to date Logan. He’s too unpredictable. One minute he seems to like me, the next he wants nothing to do with me. Not that I’ve thought seriously about the idea.”

“Oh no, of course not,” she says, and readjusts her rose-covered silk scarf. “If you don’t like him, then fine. You can go through some boxes and that will be that. I just thought having a date might be nice since you’re at a new school and still getting to know people. I will say, there’s something about him that reminds me of your grandfather. He was so nervous around me that he avoided me for two months before I cornered him in the hallway and asked him to the movies.”

I snort. She and Grandpa are nothing like this situation with Logan. And now I’m going to be stuck in Grandma’s dusty attic with him.

“Why did you ask him to move boxes of all things? I’ve never heard you talk about the attic.”

“I know what your father and mother are up to. They talked to me about moving.”

“Oh.” I’ve been scared to bring it up. “So…you’re doing it? You’re starting to pack up?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve lived in that house for a quarter century and the only way I’m leaving is in a body bag.”

My eyes fly open at the horrible image.

“But I can see your father’s point about downsizing. I shouldn’t leave you all with so much to clean out after I’m gone, so I thought I’d start pitching stuff and reorganizing. And now you and Logan can help me.”

Aren’t I lucky? I shove another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth rather than respond. Between her talking about body bags and setting me up on unwanted dates, Grandma really knows how to make a girl feel better after a long day.





Chapter Ten





I pull into Grandma’s driveway Wednesday after school and survey the house. She lives in the oldest part of town, the area close to the courthouse and the old train stop that hasn’t been used since the early 1900s. All of the Victorian houses on this street are over a century old, and they’re massive, gorgeous, and falling apart. Grandma’s is especially beautiful with its huge wraparound porch, stained glass windows in the living room, and even its own turret. I was so excited the first time I saw it as a little girl, until I discovered the interior didn’t look like Cinderella’s castle—just a curved room. Still, the house does have a bit of a fantastical feel since she had it painted green and purple years ago.

Grandma doesn’t answer when I walk in, so I head for the sun porch. The room gets nice light all afternoon and is her favorite place in the house, and mine as well (turret aside). I find her there with a paintbrush in her hand, a Beatles album playing. In front of her is a huge canvas that she’s flicking paint onto.

“Hi,” I say quietly so I don’t scare her and get a brush full of paint down my shirt.

She turns, brush out like a sword. “Oh, Quinn! I lost track of time.”

She beckons me deeper into the room. Her old white wicker furniture has been pushed to the edges to make space for her painting. Grandma is always starting a new hobby. I can’t remember all the things she’s done over the years—needlework, ceramics, stained glass, Japanese flower arranging—but nothing ever sticks.

“I didn’t know you painted.”

“I didn’t know either. But I watched a TikTok on it and it didn’t look that difficult, so I thought I’d try.”

“You’re on TikTok?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t make videos—I don’t like how my neck looks on camera—but I find all kinds of fun stuff on there.”