“Why would you do that?” he asked.
“Because it’s obvious to me that the two of you will manage to mess it up for a second time, if you’re left to your own devices,” she said with more than a touch of impatience. “And I’d like to see my granddaughter happy.”
“What is it you think we’re going to mess up?” Trace asked, though he knew she wasn’t talking about their new and mostly awkward business relationship.
She merely rolled her eyes, as if she found the question ridiculous, the answer obvious. “Go,” she ordered.
Trace left, stripping off his shirt as he went. Nell carried in a tray filled with the remains of their aborted lunch and set it on the counter, then took the shirt from him and tossed it into the dryer.
“Shall we have a cup of tea while we wait?” she asked, not waiting for his reply as she put cups on the table and started pouring.
Trace was smart enough not to object to the ritual. He’d learned years ago that Abby’s grandmother marched to her own drummer and it was best to go along. Those who didn’t want to do that at least had the good sense to stay out of her way.
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