Free His and Hers by Ashley Ludwig Page B

limit?”
    “Of course he is. You’re a dish.” She read on, squinting so as not to glance away from the romantic discourse of the elderly. Nope. No easier to digest.
    Mr. Giacomo had written Grandma a sonnet, quoting Shakespeare, Whitman, and if she wasn’t mistaken, some Jane Austen. He’d gone on about her beauty, her smile, how age had blossomed upon her like fine wine. While Misty’s head spun with the intimate words. Her heart tugged. She’d never received anything like it. Not from Todd. Not from anyone. She slid a glance to eye Grandma, noticing her cheeks pink, jade eyes sparkling.
    “Isn’t he marvelous? It’s been an era since I’ve had such a letter.”
    “Well, at least since Granddaddy.” Misty nudged with her elbow.
    “I never read that sort of fan mail after I fell in love with your grandfather. I read—and believed—too many of them beforehand.” Grandma shook her head, expression solemn. “Wide-eyed, innocent, foolish child that I was.”
    “We’ve talked about this…” Misty’s brows drew in concern.
    “Over fifty years later, and it’s no different for those young things parading to parties and clubs. Now-a-days, the studios just spin it as exhaustion for the entertainment channels. Some things never change.”
    Grandma looked out through the lace-covered window, and then turned back to Misty, her voice strong and sure. “I put everything in that box and hid from it. Like I could forget those horrible things ever happened.” She swallowed. “Silly, really. I’d hoped we could talk about it someday. As women.”
    Misty tried to swallow through the building lump, but it wouldn’t go away. Her thoughts drifted to the hall closet, jammed full of contents of her and Todd’s collective memories. She’d forgotten Grandma’s box in her haste to leave—no amount of wishing would bring it back.
    Now, Todd all but taunted her to call him again. To ask where it was, why he hadn’t sent it. Why had she brought it to his attention? Guilt twisted inside, a storm just waiting to break. Todd had a knack for finding dirt, and she’d delivered him a sack-full.
    Misty cleared her throat and changed the subject, hands hovering over the computer keyboard like an orchestra leader. “What do you want to say in reply?”
    Lips pursed in a secret smile, Grandma slowly dictated her thanks for Mr. Giacomo’s words.
    Misty typed out each carefully spoken word, about how his thoughtful nature had touched her deep in her heart. Wishing herself under the carpet, she turned her thoughts to Cain. To her brief, stuttered flirtations with the musician, the olive oil sales-guy, the handy man. Just the thought of his crooked smile, how he tossed his hair out of his eyes when he laughed, how his subtle touch to her hand sent thrills to her heart.
    She flexed her fingers as the letter ended, remembering his hands as he strummed the Gypsy Kings tunes on his pearl inlaid guitar. A glance to the clock, she sighed. Friday couldn’t come soon enough. Misty turned a heavy eye on her grandmother. “All right, lady. If I hit send, he gets this. Not in two weeks, but now.” Her index finger hovered over the enter key. “Like in seconds.”
    “Amazing.” Nona sighed. “Like passing notes in school?”
    “Just like that.” Misty nodded. “Are you sure you want to? You realize you’re asking him—all but begging him—to write you back.”
    Grandma Nona blinked, as she fiddled with a pearl button on her blouse. “Yes. I realize that.”
    “Okay, but—”
    “Misty Darling!” Nona’s sharp tone cut to the quick; her expression softened as she looked her granddaughter straight in the eye. “I’m a flesh-and-blood woman, widowed for fifteen years. I’ve given birth to two fine children, one of whom is your father, and have practically raised you. I’m not a child, and I would appreciate not being treated like one.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Instantly, Misty reverted to the ten-year-old who’d broken a