“That depends,” I say. “How reliable is your source?”
“Oh, extremely unreliable,” he replies. “Hopeless with people. Avoids eye contact. Mumbles.”
I laugh.
“That narrows it down.”
He studies me openly now, eyes bright with mischief.
“My grandson,” he says. “Finally gathered the courage to tell me he’s seeing someone.”
Warmth spreads through my chest before I can stop it.
“Oh?”
Arthur nods gravely.
“He said her name was Christina.”
I try to keep my expression neutral.
“Did he?”
“He also said,” Arthur continues, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “that she brings flowers here every week and is entirely out of his league.”
I laugh properly at that.
“He didn’t say that.”
Arthur lifts one shoulder.
“I may have said the last bit.”
I finish adjusting the stems, suddenly aware of my hands again.
“He’s been insufferable,” Arthur adds. “Keeps smiling to himself like an idiot.”
“That sounds more believable.”
Arthur leans back, studying me.
“You’ve stolen Bambi’s heart,” he says simply.
Have I?When we are alone I think so, when we are out and about, I’m not so sure.
“He’s a good boy,” he says simply.
“Yes,” I say quietly. “He is.”
Arthur watches me for another moment.
His expression shifts slightly.
Not suspicious.
Not intrusive.
Just attentive.