That made them both laugh a little and broke the tension.
“What don’t you like about him, Gramma Finnie?” Pru asked.
“He’s a mobster.”
“What?”
“That’s ridiculous.” Yiayia tapped Gramma Finnie’s arm lightly. “He ran a landscaping company in Sweetheart Springs for decades, and now his sons own it, and his grandchildren work there. Does that sound like Tony Soprano to you?”
“Seamus knew him,” Gramma Finnie said, referring to her late husband. “And he heard all the talk.”
“Talk.” Yiayia spat the word. “All because the man has an Italian last name. Have you ever heard anything so wrong and judgmental, Pru?”
Not from Gramma Finnie. “So, you’re interested in someone who’s not Greek, Yiayia?” This could be the most stunning news of all.
“Italy is a neighbor to Greece. We’re all Mediterranean.”
A stretch for a woman who named her dogs Pygmalion and Galatea and believed Greece was not only the birthplace of civilization, but the center of the world. “What’s his name?” she asked.
“Aldo Fiore.” Just saying it brought a smile to Yiayia’s lips. “Isn’t it poetic?”
“If you like Mafia movies,” Gramma Finnie muttered.
“Fiore means flower,” Yiayia added. “Isn’t that perfect for a man who spent his life growing gardens?”
“Unless someone finds themselves six feet under his rosebushes,” Gramma Finnie added.
“Are you jealous, Gramma Finnie?” It was the only explanation, since Pru could count on one hand the times she’d ever heard her beloved great-grandmother say anything negative about anyone on the earth. If she did, it was most likely cloaked in an Irish proverb about sinners and saints and luck and love.
“Nonsense, lass. I’m protective, is all. Agnes is a woman of some means, and I don’t want to see her…hurt.”
Agnes Santorini might not be dead broke, but she certainly wasn’t a “woman of some means.” And hurt? Pru pitied the poor guy who got sliced by that steel-edged tongue.
For her part, Yiayia just lifted a carefully filled-in brow. “You were right the first time, Pru. She’s jealous that I found a man and she didn’t. Not unlike how you feel about your friends spending the day with their boyfriends.”
“I’m not…” Pru’s voice faded. Yeah, she was jealous.
But Gramma Finnie shook her head hard enough to flutter her soft white hair. “Agnes! That’s not fair. I just don’t want you gettin’ involved with a man who could break your heart.”
“I’m too smart to have my heart broken,” Yiayia declared. “But I don’t want life to pass me by without remembering the feeling of holding a man’s hand as we step out for a date. Or his lips on mine at the end of the evening. Is that so wrong?”
When Gramma didn’t answer, Yiayia turned to Pru. “Is it?” she demanded.
“I wouldn’t mind a date and a kiss,” Pru agreed, having reached sixteen without having either one, though she was too ashamed to say that out loud. “But what I do mind is you two fighting. This is killing me.”
The two grannies looked at each other, sighing deeply.
“And you know what else I can’t take?” Pru asked. “The idea that you would go on this Christmas Eve adventure and not take me along!”
“But you have to do Random Acts of Christmas Kindness, lass,” Gramma Finnie said. “This RACK project is too important to you. You’ve worked so hard on all the details, and it’s the last day. Points are tallied tonight at midnight.”
“And we don’t know Aldo’s Santa schedule,” Yiayia added. “We were just going to pretend to be shoppers and see if we can watch him in action with the kids.”
“You can tell a lot about a man by how he interacts with children,” Gramma Finnie said.
“And if he makes them an offer they can’t refuse.” Pru poked Yiayia playfully.
But Yiayia wasn’t laughing. “I need you on my side, Prudence.”
“There aren’t sides,” Pru said, gathering up her bag. “But you do need a cool head on this mission. I can easily do my random acts all over the mall. I get to spend Christmas Eve with my favorite Dogmothers—and pups.” She gave the doxies some head rubs. “And I don’t have to see half of Bitter Bark High hooked up with the other half.”
“Are you sure?” Yiayia asked.
“We won’t kill each other, lass.”
“You might. Just let me make my speech to the kids who are in the square and make sure they understand the rules and know exactly how to send their pictures to the judges using the app or we won’t get points. If you guys run the registration table, you can check off the teams as they arrive. Oh, and give everyone a list of suggested acts, because they’re all too lame or in love to figure them out for themselves. Then we can head on over to Vestal Village Mall for some Santa stalking.”
“And that’s why they call her General Pru,” Yiayia said, lifting her knuckles for a three-way fist bump.
And just like that, Pru forgot her disappointment. Who needed a boyfriend when she had the world’s most fun grannies and a clandestine adventure on Christmas Eve?
Chapter Two
“You got yourself a fine great-granddaughter,” Agnes said as she laid out the list of RACK teams Pru had given them, settling in at the registration table and pulling her jacket a little tighter against the cold.
“She’s a good lass.” Finnie straightened a pile of papers that said Suggested Random Acts of Christmas Kindness…RACK UP POINTS! at the top. “I’m glad she’s coming with us today.”
“You’d think she’d want to spend the day with kids her own age,” Yiayia mused, nodding to acknowledge a family as they walked through the festive archways topping the square’s entrance, two children with them running to greet the elves around Santa’s sleigh. “But she always puts family first.”
“That’s how she was raised.” Finnie took off her glasses and found a hankie in her coat pocket, taking a swipe over each lens. “The whole Kilcannon clan is a family-first group, and I believe that’s something to be admired.”
“True enough, but a girl that young and pretty should have some fun, not babysit a couple of crazy old grandmothers. Not that I’m old.” Agnes slipped her phone from her bag and tapped the screen, then scrolled, squinting at the blurry words.
“But you are crazy. Here.” Finnie held out her glasses. “Since you are old and too vain to wear your own.”
“I only need them for reading.”
“Then just look through the bottom part, and it’ll help you find…who you’re looking for.”
Agnes took the glasses with a smile. “How do you know I’m looking for him?”
“Because it’s all you’ve done for a week since that thing first dinged with a match.”
“So shoot me for getting a little happy, Finnie. Oh, look, he changed his Single ‘n’ Silver picture to one of him in his Santa costume.” She angled the phone. “Does he look like John Gotti to you?”
“All he needs are some prison stripes.” Finnie’s eyes danced with mirth just as two high school girls stopped by the table and asked for the RACK suggestions.
“I’ll just need to check off your names, lassies.” Finnie reached for the list of participants with one hand and held her other out to Agnes. “Glasses, please.”
“Claire Cunningham and Mira Saylor,” one of the girls said.
With a reluctant sigh, Agnes handed the glasses to Finnie. There’d be plenty of time later to study Aldo Fiore. As Finnie looked down the list of names, Agnes offered one of the suggestion sheets to the girls.
But they were riveted on something—or someone—across the square.
“Look at him,” one of them said. “Lucas Darling. And he sure is.”
“He looks like he might just take a bite of you, if you get my drift,” the other mused.
Agnes studied their expressions, which looked a lot like Pyggie and Gala when the treat bag crunched, then she followed their gazes and s
aw long hair and a leather jacket.
“Greyhounds don’t usually bite,” she said with a tease in her voice.
They both turned and stared at her with that sullen, disconnected, humorless look teenagers sometimes had. Not Pru, of course, but so many of her peers. No wonder Pru would rather spend the day with old ladies. At least they had a sense of humor.
“I found you, lassies,” Finnie announced. “Claire and Mira. Now take a sheet of suggestions and go RACK UP POINTS!”
One of them almost smiled. Almost. And the other fake-smiled. “You must be Pru’s grandmother,” she said.
“Great-grandmother,” she corrected. “How did you know?”
They just exchanged a quick, silent look and then both looked off to their left, where Pru was standing on a park bench shouting out instructions to a group of kids like a cheerleader trying to drum up enthusiasm with the losing crowd. “Just a guess.”
She started to walk away, but the other grabbed her arm, pointing at the list of teams. “I can read upside down,” she hissed. “And he’s not on there, Mira.”
“No surprise.”
“But he has to get at least an hour of volunteer points, or he won’t pass the semester.” She pulled her friend closer. “We’re not moving until we find out what team darling Darling is on.”
“Or, better yet, get him on ours,” Mira added in a giddy whisper.
Agnes caught sight of the teenage boy ambling over, stopping every few steps while his leashed dog sniffed the grass. Of course they’d be all over Mr. Swoony. And if he didn’t have a partner…
“Move along, girls. There’s a line forming,” Agnes said, gesturing for them to step away.
Mira narrowed her eyes at Agnes. “There’s no line. And we’re not ready to leave yet.”
Oh, really? She shot a sideways look at Finnie, who already had both her brows raised at the insolence. Giving a fake smile of her own, Agnes sneakily reached down without taking her eyes off them and unclipped Gala’s leash.
Instantly, the little dog did what Agnes knew she would, taking off in the direction of her beloved Pru.
“Oh dear,” Agnes said, pretending to be shocked.
“Your dog got away,” the one named Mira said coolly.
“Go get him!” Finnie ordered with a rare edge in her voice. “Girls! What’s wrong with you? Help an old lady out.”
Agnes let the “old” comment pass as the two started—rather slowly—after the dog. “Gala won’t get far,” she told Finnie.
“Neither will those nasty creatures,” Finnie added, then her smile brightened as a certain young man reached the table. “What a glorious greyhound, lad. What’s his name?”
His eyes widened, as if he hadn’t been expecting the greeting, and Agnes saw they were as dark and dreamy as the eyes of the Greek man she’d married.
“Uh, it’s Tor,” he said.
“And what team are you on, then?” Finnie beamed at him.
“Um…” He shook his head, making a lock of dark hair brush his forehead.
Oh yes, this young man was a looker.
“I’m not going to be on that list,” he said. “I don’t have a team.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Agnes grabbed the team list. “I know just the teammate for you.”
“I don’t need a team,” he said, one hand on his dog’s head. “Just a list of those…rack things.”
Behind him, Agnes could see that the girls had caught Gala and were trying to get her back to the table. She’d have to move fast.
“Everyone needs a team, young man. RACKing cannot be done alone if Bitter Bark High is going to win this.” She reached her hand, palm up, out to Finnie. “Glasses, please, so I can get this nice young man on the perfect team.”
She braced for a surly look from him, the same one she’d just gotten from the girls. But he gave her the slightest hint of a smile, which made those dark eyes just a little darker and dreamier. Oh yes. Pru would thank her for this.
“Thanks, but I have Tor.”
Just then, Pyggie stepped out from under the table to inspect Tor, startling the bigger dog. Tor rose up with a bark, snapping his jaws and snagging the glasses Finnie was holding out to Agnes. Shocked, the boy dropped the leash to try to free the glasses from Tor’s teeth, but the dog took off with his prize, tearing toward the sleigh.
“Hey, Tor, no!” the boy shouted, suddenly in hot pursuit of a dark brown head and a snow-white body that had obviously been trained to do one thing very well—run. “Tor! Stop!”
“Oh my word,” Finnie exclaimed. “My glasses!”
“Quick, let’s get him on the list with Pru,” Agnes said, grabbing a pen.
“Pru’s coming with us to the mall.”
“Lucas Darling,” Agnes said, frantic to accomplish her goal. “On a team with Pru.”
Finnie frowned and shook her head. “No, Agnes! He’s a wee bit…unknown. And maybe best kept that way.”
“Finola Kilcannon,” Agnes chided. “Did you hear Pru’s voice when she told us she’d been ditched by her friends? Did you see her staring at Hot Stuff? Do you not want Pru to have some fun on Christmas Eve? For heaven’s sake, are we not the Dogmothers? This is child’s play for us after the matches we’ve made.”
It was easy to see the doubt in Finnie’s eyes, especially without her glasses. “I don’t think that’s the kind of lad I’d choose for our sweet Pru.”
“How do you know?”
“Just by the looks of him, I think—”
“Finnie! Did you take my judgy pills instead of your calcium this morning?”
She didn’t laugh, but squinted as the boy came back, the leash in one hand—Tor attached—the glasses in the other. What was left of the glasses, that was.
“Man, I’m really…” He glanced at the mangled specs. “Wow. Sorry.”
He held the glasses out. One of the nose pads was askew, and both arms were badly bent. “Geez,” he breathed. “Tor, that was really bad. Even for you.”
The greyhound came around the table and dropped his head in front of Agnes with that look of a dog who knows he’s about to be disciplined.
But the boy crouched down and put his arm around the dog’s long, narrow neck and head. “No worries, my dude. I know you’re sorry. It’s okay.” His words were soft, whispered into Tor’s ear with the same warmth and directness Agnes had seen from so many kids in Finnie’s family, their love of dogs simply infectious. “He gets a little rambunctious,” he said to Agnes and Finnie. “Raised as a racer, and they weren’t…good to him. Anything shiny or small gets him going because they used shiny lures to train him.”
His tenderness and rationalizations nearly cracked the heart that Agnes liked to deny she had. She turned to Finnie, pleased to see her gaze had warmed a bit as she observed him.
“’Tis all right, lad,” Finnie said. “I have another pair at home.”
He looked up at her with shockingly intense eyes, a shadow of pain and surprise and maybe distrust in them, as if he, too, expected discipline. “I can repay you. I don’t know how, but—”
“I know how,” Agnes said. “You are officially part of our team. You and Tor and…” She smiled at Finnie. “The Dogmothers.”
“The Dogmothers?” His lips hitched in a half smile.
“Hi, Lucas!” The dynamic duo returned, Mira pulling Gala by the collar.
“Hey.” He scowled at her. “Don’t drag a dog like that.”
Instantly, she let go of the collar, and Gala scampered back to Agnes, who scooped up the little doxie and stroked her head lovingly. “Good girl, Gala. Sorry you had to take one for the team.”
“What team is she on?” Lucas asked Agnes. “’Cause that’s a cute dog.”
“Believe it or not, she’s on our team.” Agnes smiled at him.
“The Dogmothers?” he asked with a glint of humor in his eyes. “Cool. You want me to try and straighten those glasses?” He gave Gala’s head a quick rub and looked at Agnes one more time.
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Agnes turned to Finnie, who fiddled with the frames, then slid them on so that they sat utterly lopsided on her sweet face. “I can see, so I guess it’s not so bad.”
When he took a few steps away with Tor, Agnes leaned close to Finnie. “And he can join us?”
She nodded. “Aye.”
“Now there’s the Finnie I know and love,” Agnes said.
“Well, he loves his dog, so how bad can he be?”
“Exactly.”
And if she could just persuade her best friend to see the good in Aldo Fiore later today, it would be an excellent Christmas Eve for everyone. Especially sweet Prudence, who would certainly thank Agnes for this little Christmas gift.
Chapter Three
By the time Pru finished answering the last of the questions, helping some people figure out the RACK IT UP app, and talking to Emma and Charlotte—and Mason and Dylan, the boyfriends who ranked higher on the food chain than Pru—it was getting a little late.
She hurried across the square where Gramma Finnie and Yiayia were still at the table, looking as if they were eager to go. Of course, Yiayia wanted to get to the Santa-stalking mission ASAP.
“Hey, guys, sorry that took so long,” Pru called as she got closer. “But we’ll make it to…” The word caught in her throat as Lucas Darling ambled closer, his ebony gaze pinned on her. “Vestal…” She couldn’t remember the rest.
She’d never actually made eye contact with this guy before, never really had the chance to look right into the darkest, most penetrating gaze she could remember. The effect was…dizzying.
“Do you need a RACK list?” she managed to ask. “The teams are set, but you could—”
“I’m on your team.”
She just stared at him, trying to swallow as the impossibility of what he’d just said settled on her chest. The one where her heart was suddenly beating double time. “Excuse me?”
“Unless Tor isn’t welcome.” He tugged the dog leash and made the greyhound prance a little closer. “Or I’m not.”
She blinked at him, then turned to the grannies, doing a double take at the crooked frames on Gramma Finnie’s face. “What happened to your glasses?”
Feliz Naughty Dog (The Dogmothers Book 7) Page 2
