The Man Behind the Pinstripes. Melissa McClone

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      He had to eat. So did Grams.

      Mealtimes would allow him to eat and appease his grandmother’s need to see her grandson at the same time. The question was how often. Brunch was a standing date. Dinner once a week would be a good start.

      “Let’s have dinner next week on Wednesday. Invite Courtney to come,” he suggested. “I’m sure your cook can whip up something tasty for us. You can make dessert.”

      Grams shimmied her narrow shoulders, as if she were a teenager bursting with excitement, not an elderly woman.

      Maybe once a week wouldn’t be enough. His chest tightened.

      “That sounds wonderful,” Grams said. “Do you think Courtney can make it?”

      The anticipation in Grams’s voice made one thing certain. His sister would be at the dinner if he had to buy her a pretty, expensive bauble or a new pair of designer shoes. Grams was worth it. “Yes. She’ll be here.”

      Grams looked as if she might float away like a helium balloon. “Excellent, because I can’t wait for Courtney to meet Becca.”

      Caleb rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots. He didn’t want Becca at dinner. The woman had overstayed her welcome as far as he was concerned. This meal was for his family, not employees.

      He flashed her a practiced smile, so practiced people never saw through it. But the way Becca studied him made Caleb wonder if she was the exception to the rule. He tilted his head. “Join us for a glass of wine on Wednesday.”

      Becca brushed her knuckles across her lips. “I don’t want to intrude on your evening.”

      “You aren’t intruding,” Grams said before Caleb could reply. “You’re having dinner with us.”

      “No,” he said at the same time as Becca.

      His gaze locked on hers for an uncomfortable second before he looked away. Only ice remained in his glass, but he picked it up and sipped.

      The woman was … unpredictable. One more thing not to like about her. He was more of a “load the dice ahead of time so he knew what he was going to roll” kind of guy. He didn’t like surprises. He’d bet Becca thrived upon them.

      Grams’s lip curled. “Caleb.”

      Becca studied her cake as if a magic treasure were hidden inside. “It’s okay, Gertie.”

      No, it wasn’t. Caleb deserved his grandmother’s sharp tone. “What I meant is Courtney is a lot to take in if you’re not used to being around her. I have no doubt they’ll name a Category 5 hurricane after her one of these days.”

      “Your sister can be … challenging at times,” Grams said.

      Understatement of the year. Courtney was the definition of drama princess. The rest of the earth’s population was here to make his sister look good or help her out. Nothing he tried stopped her from being so selfish. Not even making her work at Fair Face in order to gain access to her trust fund. “We don’t want Courtney to overwhelm Becca and make her want to hightail it out of here.”

      On second thought getting Becca out of the picture was exactly what he wanted to happen. No way would Grams start a business venture on her own. Caleb might have to rethink this.

      “Becca won’t be overwhelmed. She’s made of stronger stuff than that,” Gertie said.

      “Thanks, but you need this time alone with your grandchildren.” Becca’s eyelids blinked rapidly, like the shutter on a sport photographer’s camera. “I can’t make it anyway. I’m covering a shift for a vet tech at the twenty-four hour animal hospital on Wednesday.”

      “That’s too bad,” he said.

      She toyed with her napkin, her fingers speeding up as if someone had pressed the accelerator. A good thing the napkin was cloth or it would be shredded to bits.

      “It is,” Becca said. “But I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time together.”

      Her saccharine sweet voice sounded relieved not to be a part of the dinner. Maybe she had seen through him. That would be a first. “You’ll be missed.”

      As much as a case of poison oak.

      A dismayed expression crossed Grams’s face, washing over her like a rogue wave. Her shoulders hunched. “You’re working that night, Becca?”

      The tremble in her voice sent Caleb’s pulse accelerating like a rocket’s booster engine. Unease spiraled inside him. He reached for his grandmother’s hand, covering hers with his. Her skin felt surprisingly warm. Her pulse wasn’t racing. Good signs, he hoped. “Grams? You okay?”

      She stared at her hands. “I forgot about Becca working on Wednesday. I do have an assistant who reminds me of things, but …”

      Grams shook her head slowly, as if she were moving through syrup not air.

      Caleb understood her worry. His grandfather had suffered from Alzheimer’s, a horrible disease for the patient as well as the family. Being forgotten by the man who’d held their lives together for so long hadn’t been easy. But even at the worst of times, Grams had dealt with the stress of the disease with raw strength and never-ending grace and by making jokes. He’d never seen his grandmother act like this. Not even when she’d been stuck in bed with an upper respiratory infection over a year ago. “No worries. You’ve had a lot on your mind.”

      “That’s right,” Becca agreed.

      Caleb wondered if she knew something about Grams’s health, but hadn’t told anyone. Except Becca looked genuinely concerned.

      Grams gave his hand a feeble squeeze. “I should be able to remember a detail like Becca’s work schedule.”

      “I never told you about next week’s schedule.” Becca’s voice was soft and nurturing and oh-so-appealing. “I received the call this morning about what shifts I’ll be covering. You haven’t forgotten anything.”

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