“She’s tried to set me up with her pharmacist, her dentist, her dry cleaner’s son, and some guy she met on the bus the other day. I wouldn’t be even a little surprised to find out she’s scrawled my name and phone number inside public restrooms all around town.”
“Ah, yes,” said Trish solemnly, handing over the tray so Aimee could begin restocking the display case. “The time-honored and traditional way of finding true love.”
Aimee bent down and began stuffing raspberry tarts into the case. “If she thinks she’s wearing me down, she’s crazy. Unfortunately, she’s driving me crazy, too.”
“You know she means well.”
“If you weren’t dating Ian, and Gram was trying to set you up with every guy in the city between the ages of twenty and fifty, would you still say that?”
“Irrelevant, my dear Aimee,” Trish said, giving her a cheerful pat on the back. “Because I am dating Ian.” And then she retreated back into the kitchen, whistling.
“And it doesn’t help that everywhere you look right now you see hearts decorating everything.” Aimee closed the display case and straightened, mildly disgruntled. “Or cupids around every corner. I swear it’s kicking her into overdrive.”
“She is…invested, your grandma.”
“She is that,” Aimee agreed. “Got to give her points for persistence. She’s not one to cave, my Gram.”
Trish poked her head through the doorway to stare at Aimee. “You almost sound like you’re proud of her.”
“I am.”
“But she’s still making you crazy.”
“Absolutely.”
“Aimee?”
“Yes?”
“You’re a little weird, you know that?”
“Yeah,” said Aimee, unconcerned. “I get that a lot.”
* * *
“Good news, Gram,” Aimee called out a few hours later as she opened the door to their apartment and held aloft a paper sack. “The lemon bars weren’t a big seller today, so I got to bring some—”
She stopped as she met the eyes of an elderly stranger who was sitting on Gram’s flowered couch, a white-haired gentleman in a suit that was at least two decades out of style and a red bow tie that looked so adorable around his neck that she felt a fleeting urge to coo over him. They stared at each other in mutual surprise.
“—home,” Aimee finished, studying him curiously. Visitors were few and far between here, unless they were Gram’s bridge partners or someone delivering take-out. Maybe he was a door-to-door salesman, albeit one of the more unlikely ones she’d ever seen. “Hello.”
Recovering from his surprise, the man’s face broke into a warm smile that looked positively cherubic. “Ah, you must be Aimee. Delia’s told me all about you. I’m Theodore.” He pushed himself off the couch with a slight effort before Aimee could save him the trouble of getting up, and then he extended one wrinkled hand.
She moved forward to shake it, and he patted her hand with obvious pleasure before releasing it. No, not a salesman, she decided, scrutinizing him more closely. He was too casual in his manner. More likely he was a new neighbor. “Moving in?”
“Why, thank you. Don’t mind if I do.”
She blinked.
His eyes twinkled.
A slow smile curved Aimee’s mouth. Playful was a quality she appreciated more than most, and she had a sneaking suspicion she might just be in the presence of a kindred spirit. “Theodore, I think I like you.”
“Likewise.” He eased himself back down onto the couch like a man whose joints were more than a little stiff, politely waving off her help when she moved toward him. “Actually, I was just passing by. My nephew lives in the building, but he wasn’t in when I knocked. Your grandmother found me waiting in the lobby and took pity on me. Very kind of her,” he added, his face lighting up as Gram entered the room with a tea tray in her hands.
While Aimee watched, Gram beamed back at their visitor. “I could hardly leave you to wait down there. It’s so drafty, and the furniture in that lobby is terribly uncomfortable.”
Actually, the furniture downstairs was not uncomfortable at all. In fact, it was probably more comfortable than their own, and it was certainly newer. Gram had said as much herself on more than one occasion. And perhaps Gram remembered that inconvenient fact now, because she cleared her throat rather loudly and seemed to avoid Aimee’s eyes.
Well, this was interesting…
“Here we are,” Gram said, setting the tray down on the coffee table and pouring two cups of tea. “Aimee, you’ll need to fetch another cup. I forgot you’d be home so soon.”
Really? This from the same woman who knew her granddaughter’s work schedule so well that Aimee once walked in half an hour late to find the older woman dialing 911 and attempting to file a missing persons report? “I’m good, thanks.” Aimee set the bag she’d carried home down beside the tea tray. “I brought lemon bars. Want some plates?”
“Yes, please, dear.”
It might have been Aimee’s imagination, but Gram’s eyes seemed brighter than usual and her cheeks pinker. Under any other circumstances, she might have worried the older woman was coming down with a fever, but if anything Gram appeared to have more pep in her step, not less.
Resisting the urge to stare as she left the living room to retrieve dessert plates from the kitchen, Aimee shook her head once, bemused. Her imagination must be working on overtime, because it almost seemed as if—
A giggle floated into the kitchen, and when Aimee realized it came from her grandmother, she made a misstep and nearly stumbled into the counter.
Giggle? Her Gram?
That couldn’t be right. Gram was far too reserved for giggling. A smile, certainly. Maybe even one that showed off her teeth, if she was particularly amused by something. But she never went farther than, at best, a single and sedate sort of ha behind one prim hand.
But it had certainly sounded like Gram.
Poking her head furtively back around the corner to spy—for a good cause, of course—Aimee watched as her grandmother demurely brought her teacup to her mouth and lowered her eyes only to let them dart ever so briefly in Theodore’s direction again.
Theodore straightened his bow tie and sent what might very well have been a wink towards Gram.
Aimee’s eyes widened.
Were there actual sparks flying in there?
A thrill of delight ran up her spine, and then she ducked back into the kitchen just in time to avoid being caught staring by her grandmother.
Well, this was certainly an intriguing turn of events, wasn’t it? Aimee had been only five years old when her grandfather passed away, and in the two decades that had followed, she couldn’t remember Gram even once having anything that remotely resembled a—what would Gram call it? A gentleman friend?
Perhaps that was about to change, Aimee thought as she counted out three plates.
If so, it would be a step up from Gram’s usual interests. Her days consisted mostly of watching daytime television, running errands, and engaging in Wheel of Fortune matches almost every weeknight with Aimee in front of the television set. She generally resisted Aimee’s efforts to get her to try something new, whether it was a new route for their daily walk together or even a different brand of bread, and up until now Gram’s interest in men had seemed to be purely in determining their relationship potential for someone else.
Reluctant to interrupt whatever it was that was happening in the living room, Aimee hovered in the doorway with the plates clutched to her chest and watched as Gram put a fluttering hand to her heart and laughed again, almost girlishly.
She’d never seen this side of Gram before. That realization caused the budding smile to fade from Aimee’s face and a pang to go through her. Twenty years, and she’d never seen her smile in quite that way. There was something tragic about that thought.
After a moment, Aimee cleared her throat and stepped forward to set the plates beside the bag of lemon bars. “Dig in, everybody. They�
��re not getting any fresher.”
Gram reached delicately into the bag and placed one of the desserts on a plate. “They look just wonderful, dear. Did you make them?”
“Ha. Me? No, I’m not allowed near the ovens ever since a certain incident involving the smoke detector and a visit from the fire marshal.” The man had not been very happy with her and had made it quite clear he thought it best if she maintained a safe distance from anything remotely flammable at all times. “Trish made these.”
“Aimee works at a charming little bakery not far from here,” Gram told Theodore, handing him the plate as a good hostess should and resting her hand on his arm for just a moment. “This little neighborhood of ours has all sorts of wonderful undiscovered gems.”
He patted her hand. “So I’m beginning to realize.”
Theodore was most definitely flirting, and Gram was flirting right back. The older woman adjusted her snowy white curls with one hand and coyly averted her eyes behind her tortoiseshell glasses as a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. It was a radiant smile, and now that she’d seen it on Gram’s face, Aimee was convinced she ought to see it there more often. And since their visitor seemed to be responsible for putting it there, that meant Gram ought to be seeing Theodore more often.
Leaning back in her chair, Aimee studied the pair across from her as inconspicuously as she could and mulled over the possibilities.
Well, she decided finally, Gram wasn’t the only Beasley who could try her hand at matchmaking. After all, how hard could it really be? Especially when the two parties involved were so obviously hitting it off. Her work was practically done for her. The main thing to be done now was to make sure that today’s impromptu tea party was only the first of many chances for Gram and Theodore to get together. Throw in a little ambience, an extra special setting or two, and voilà.
Oblivious to her scrutiny, the older couple chatted happily on, and Aimee marveled again at the unfamiliar lightness in her grandmother’s manner.
So, someplace special… But not another tea party. That would be too obvious an imitation of today’s happy accident. No, what she really needed for their next “date” was a casual way to throw the two of them together again, preferably something simple since mobility for both of them might be an issue. Maybe lunch out somewhere nice and a driving tour of their neighborhood of “undiscovered gems” as Gram had put it. She could even chauffeur them if need be, unless he already had someone to do that for him.
“Who did you say you were visiting here?” Aimee asked him, reaching for a lemon bar and mentally creating a list of quaint lunch spots nearby. It was a shame Theodore didn’t live in the building himself, because then it would have been easy, but surely if she just approached whoever it was he’d come here to see and got him on board with all of this—
“Oh, it’s my late sister’s boy, God rest her soul. You might know him, actually. Your downstairs neighbor, Doyle Berkley?”
And in her head Aimee thought a very bad word.
Chapter Three
“I can’t believe that guy and Doyle are related,” she said to Gram after Theodore had left. She gathered the dirty dishes on the tray to carry them into the kitchen. “He’s so friendly, and chatty, and… normal. You think maybe Doyle was adopted? Or switched at birth?”
Gram didn’t answer, and when Aimee glanced back into the living room, she saw the older woman still sitting on the couch, playing idly with a necklace she wore and smiling faintly.
Aimee left the dishes and the tray on the counter and leaned in the doorway to study her grandmother. “You like him.”
“Well, of course I like him, dear. He’s very nice.” Gram smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt. “You liked him, too, didn’t you?”
“You should have put a sock on the doorknob like I told you to, then you wouldn’t have had Miss Third Wheel here cramping your style.”
“Oh, Aimee, don’t be silly. I’m too old for that sort of thing.”
“Says who?”
Her grandmother didn’t answer but merely shuffled things around on the coffee table and straightened things that didn’t really need straightening, and Aimee felt another pang.
“You should have invited him to dinner or something,” Aimee said more gently, and she mentally berated herself for letting Theodore leave before she’d had a chance to set something up. The realization that it was Doyle she’d have to deal with had briefly run her train of thought off its rails, though.
“Well…” Gram said finally. “I’m sure we’ll run into him in the lobby again sometime.”
“Why take chances?”
Her grandma waved her hand in dismissal and stood up. “Those dishes aren’t going to load themselves into the dishwasher. Thank you, dear, for the lemon bars.”
“I’ll take care of the dishes—”
“No, no, you’ve been on your feet all day. I’d like something to keep my hands busy anyway.” Gram disappeared into the kitchen, and a moment later Aimee heard her humming to herself.
Humming, giggling, flirting…
Take their chances, Aimee thought. Not likely. Maybe Gram was too old-fashioned and ladylike to make the first move, but Aimee certainly wasn’t. She’d just give things a little push, or maybe a good, healthy shove in the right direction. Even—she grimaced—if that meant making nice with the stuffed shirt downstairs.
Oi.
* * *
There was no answer when Aimee knocked on Doyle’s door later the next day. She knocked extra loudly, too, just to be sure—more like pounded, actually—and then she even checked for moving shadows under the door in case he had spotted her through the peephole and simply decided to pretend he wasn’t home.
Nothing.
She checked her watch. What time would a university professor be most likely to return home at the end of his workday? Unless Doyle sustained himself by sucking the joy out of his students—which Aimee found completely plausible—he had to eat dinner sometime. But even if he were the type to go out for a late supper, surely he’d be back before too much longer—unless he was on a date, which was not plausible. Not in Aimee’s opinion anyway. She tried to picture Doyle smiling warmly at a woman from across a candlelit table and finally decided it was best to stop before her brain imploded from the effort to create that unlikely image.
The first time she’d met Doyle was a few months ago, shortly after she’d moved in with Gram and had decided to repaint the walls inside her dull white bedroom. She had quite literally bumped into him while carrying a paint can full of a gorgeous rich plum hue whose lid turned out to be not on quite as tightly as it should have been. Doyle, unfortunately, had been carrying an armload of his students’ final exams. It had not been pretty. Well, the color had, but not his reaction.
And their relationship had not improved over time…
Aimee glanced at her watch again.
She supposed she could pop downstairs every half hour or so until she finally caught him in, although it would be difficult to do so without making Gram wonder if Aimee had lost her mind. Then again, Gram was used to Aimee doing odd things now and then. Leaving Doyle a note was out of the question, though. Once he realized who it was from, he’d probably burn it.
Turning to leave, Aimee saw Doyle step out of the elevator just then, bundled up in a coat and scarf with a bag of books slung over one shoulder. He wore a lost-in-thought look on his face that turned to surprise when he saw Aimee waiting for him. It then quickly turned into something more like annoyance, and his mouth moved slightly as if he was muttering under his breath.
“Did you just sigh?” she asked him irritably as he reached his door and pulled out his keys from one of the pockets of his tweed coat. “You did, didn’t you?”
“It’s been a long day, and I’m very tired, Miss Beasley.”
“Join the club, Mr. Berkley.”
“Was there a reason you’re loitering on my doorstep, or did you just stop by to brighten my day?”
He could benefit from a little brightening up, she thought as he unlocked his door and opened it just enough to set his book bag inside. She’d never seen the inside of his apartment before, but she’d caught glimpses of bare white walls and stacks of books. For a moment she imagined sneaking in while he was at work and painting the walls a sunny yellow or vibrant blue, and then she pictured the expression on his face when he saw it.
Almost worth committing breaking and entering, she thought, momentarily cheered, and then she realized Doyle was impatiently waiting for an answer. She quickly regrouped. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“Miss Beasley—”
“I think my Gram really likes your uncle, and I want you to help me hook them up. What are you doing next Thursday night?”
Doyle blinked at her, his grey eyes wide and incredulous, and then shook his head as if he hadn’t heard her right. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Your Uncle Theodore. My Gram. You and I are going to help get them together. I was thinking you could bring him by our apartment for dinner Thursday night—”
“I don’t think so.”
“Friday night?”
“Look—”
“Saturday would work, too.”
Doyle took a deep breath with a kind of thinly-veiled and long-suffering tolerance that made Aimee consider for a moment whether it would really be so wrong to kick him in the shins, just this once. “I have no idea how you even know about my uncle, but—”
“He had tea with us yesterday.”
He stared at her. “He did?”
“Yes. We had tea and lemon bars, and everybody told jokes and laughed and had a wonderful time. You would have hated it.”
At her words, an odd look crossed his face for a moment before his usual grim look returned. “Miss Beasley—”
“Quit calling me ‘Miss’ like I’m one of your students. Somehow it always sounds like an insult when you say it. My name is Aimee.”
“I’m not going to help you figure out a way to throw our two families together, no.”
“But they like each other—”
The Heavenly Bites Novella Collection Page 15
