Free The Sweetheart Secret by Shirley Jump

probably better company than you anyway.” Earl slid a spatula under the pizza. “How many slices, Daisy?”
    â€œJust one, thank you.” She grinned. “But I’ll be back for more soon.”
    â€œA woman after my own heart.” Earl slid a slice onto her plate, then took two for himself before getting to his feet, crossing to the fridge, and pulling a beer out of the bottom drawer. Colt tensed, but didn’t say anything to his grandfather.
    The phone trilled again. Colt glanced between Daisy at the table and Earl by the fridge, clearly torn about leaving the room. He started to walk away, then turned back and paused to lean down and whisper in Daisy’s ear. “Just warning you. My grandpa can be . . . difficult.”
    â€œOh, I can handle difficult,” she said, trying to pretend his nearness had no impact on her. Whatsoever. “I used to live with you, remember?”
    â€œ
I
was never the difficult one.” The words were hot and low, sending a tremor through Daisy. He held her gaze for one long moment, then he straightened and pressed a button on his phone, issuing a short, professional greeting before striding from the room. In an instant, Colt had gone from the man she remembered to the man in the khakis and tie.
    Earl returned to the table, and took a long swig of his beer. “I love my grandson, but most days he has a hornet up his ass the size of a pterodactyl.”
    Daisy laughed. “I get the feeling he likes things the way he likes things.”
    â€œAll neat and tidy and without any unnecessary carbohydrates.” Earl gestured toward Colt’s salad and made a face. Then he lifted the spatula again. “Meanwhile, want another piece?”
    â€œDefinitely.” She held out her plate.
    She and Earl ate and chatted, an easy conversation about the crazy neighbors down the street, the benefits of classic crust over pan pizza, which then segued into a conversation about her cantankerous car. Between the food and the chatting, Daisy settled in at the small maple table as if she’d always been there.
    It was what Daisy had imagined having a grandparent would be like. The kind of atmosphere she’d found at Emma’s raucous, warm house during holidays and school recital nights, before Daisy went home to a house where the words
dependable
and
family
didn’t exist.
    Daisy had grown up with a mostly absent mother, an always absent father, but no real grandparents. Her father’s parents lived in Texas, and the handful of times they had come to visit had resulted in stiff, awkward conversations that ended almost as quickly as they began. Her mother’s parents had died long ago, long before Daisy was born, and had been nothing more than photographs in an album that Daisy had found on a shelf.
    She’d imagined, in those days when she’d been young and craving family like some women craved sugar, that her grandfather would be like Earl Harper. A mix of grumpy and wise, a man with enough years behind him to color his sentences with history and insight.
    â€œYou know, if your car is sputtering like that,” Earl said, bringing her back to the conversation, “you might want to get the air filter checked. Could be a little clogged. And don’t take it to one of those chain places that turn a simple oil change into a full body paint job. Take it to a mechanic who’s been in business more than five minutes. Someone with some grease under his nails and experience under his belt.”
    â€œThanks, I will.” She lifted the pie knife in Earl’s direction. “Do you want another slice of pizza?”
    Earl put a hand on his stomach and shook his head. “I’ve had about all this old belly can fit for now. Which means there’s going to be room for a snack later.”
    Daisy laughed. “Smart thinking. I’m all about snacks. And second helpings. And especially dessert.”
    â€œGood