Page 14 of Meet Cute Reboot

When we left, the carriage was waiting for us on Broad Street.

“Seriously?” Cassie said with both eyebrows raised. “If you think I’m sleeping with you tonight, you’re crazy.”

I looked down at the sidewalk. “Of course not.” I couldn’t meet her eyes. “We can cancel this.”

But she’d already climbed aboard. “I may have to stop to use the little girls’ room. I drank a lot of water.” She reached for my hand.

I laughed and pulled my shoulders back. “I’m San Pellegrino-poor thanks to you,” I said, and then grabbed her hand and climbed into the carriage.

We enjoyed the ride shoulder to shoulder, keeping our hands to ourselves the entire way.

Things were great for two years. We took it slow. I went to church with her, helped Granny into the pew, went to Nana’s house for dinner afterward—probably how Cassie is spending today. And then I ruined everything.

“Ow!”

I pull my hand from the thistle I just clutched while trying to wrench it from the ground. Somehow, a thorn penetrated my glove and poked my thumb.

I examine my glove, and sure enough, a thorn managed to thread through the seam. I fan my fingers and regard the gloves, palms-side up.

These things aren’t foolproof.

A bit of sweat trickles down my forehead again. I pull up my T-shirt to wipe my face. I’ve had enough of this heat.

Piles of weeds sit next to the garden beds—one pile of dandelions, another pile of thorns. The plants are already starting to wilt. I’m not sure what to do with them. I’ll figure it out later.

That’s enough weeding for one day.

Chapter 6

Cassie

I drive past Nana’s house—a two-story with a prominent porch and a peaked roof that creates an ample attic. The gray wood siding is still serviceable, but the paint has seen better days, much of it flaking and peeling, begging for attention, a stark contrast to the freshly painted homes to the right and left. Her roof needs replacing, the garage is full of termite damage, and the porch spindles are rotting and falling away one by one.

Nevertheless, the usual warm and cozy feelings come over me as I pull into a parallel spot a few houses down and cut my engine, happy to embark on our Sunday tradition of good food and family bonding.

When I enter, the house already smells like roasted ham. Nana usually slow cooks the meat on Sunday morning while we’re at church and then we help with side dishes and dessert afterward. I don’t know what’s on the menu today except for the green beans she wants me to snap.

An original wood staircase adds grandness to the ample entryway. Nana hasn’t touched the hardwoods or the trim exceptto sand everything down in the early 2000s. She applied fresh stain, keeping true to the dark trim and lighter, orange-toned floors.

A wide entryway to the left leads to the living area and the dining area beyond. The kitchen sits at the back of the house next to the dining room, closed off from guests according to turn-of-the-century architectural design. Back then, no one wanted to see the mess in the kitchen.

When I remodel the house for Nana, I want to open up the kitchen and add an island so she and Mom can talk to us while they’re busy whipping up family favorites.

Granny sits in her favorite orange recliner with an afghan on her lap—one she crocheted years ago before her hands became stiff and gnarled from arthritis. A beanie hat covers her thin hair, a means to keep her warm, which is a constant struggle since Nana is hot-natured and likes to keep the AC cranked.

Thankfully Grandpa had the foresight to install central air before he died. It’s still groaning along but on its last leg. Something else I’ll need to replace.

“What are you watching?” I ask Granny when I enter the living room.

“Huh?”

“What are you watching?” I say a little louder.

“The Falcons and the Saints,” she says in her creaky voice.

“Whoah, we’re starting off the season with a bang.”

“The new quarterback throws like a duck with a limp.”