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He shrugged. “Unless she finished everything already, I dropped off a casserole and some cheese board stuff earlier in the week. Her idea of cooking when my folks are gone is a glass of whiskey and a handful of crackers.”

“I take it back. You’re pretty sweet, Fenwick.”

Drew pushed open the back door to the house without hesitation. “Gran, you around? I’ve got Anya here with me,” he called out. “You only have to walk in on her naked once to announce yourself,” he muttered.

I snickered. Here I thought he was being considerate. And I guess he was. To my eyeballs.

When she didn’t answer, he shrugged. “She might be out for a walk.”

I followed him to the kitchen, taking a seat on an island stool. Drew ducked into the fridge. I turned toward the door to the living room and froze, unable to hold back my squeak. It took me a moment to recognize the large male figure for what it was: a cardboard cutout of Beetlejuice.

“Drew. Why is Beetlejuice hanging out in your kitchen?” I kept my tone carefully neutral.

“Oh, shit. Sorry about that.” He smiled sheepishly. “Our family has some creative traditions. Petty revenge is one of them.”

I guess if he could accept that Anya Rose wasn’t my real name, and that my family was likely to end up in prison, then I could roll with a few pranks.

“This is how you got back at your grandmother for kicking you out?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah-ha!” Gran jumped out from around the door to the living room. “Caught you!” My heart stuttered, my hands clammy and cold. Her appearance shocked me more than the zombie man in the striped suit. “Iknewit was you.”

“How do you know I didn’t give old Mr. Reyes a key?” Drew asked calmly, seeming unbothered by his grandmother’s sudden appearance.

I glanced between them. They acted like all of this was entirely normal. Again, I marveled at the differences between our families. If I tried a prank like this at home, my dad would have filled the cutout full of bullet holes.

“That old coot wouldn’t know a joke if it bit him in the ass.”

Drew squinted at his grandmother, his expression suspicious. “Are we going to get another visit from the sheriff?”

“We’re not talking about that joyless stiff.” His grandmother turned her attention to me. “Hello, dear.” Her sly grin was my only warning. She launched herself at me, wrapping me in a wiryhug that was surprisingly strong for a woman who had to be in her eighties.

“Hello, Mrs. Fenwick.”

“Gran to you now.”

A little in awe of the older woman, I sat back down. Drew pulled ingredients for lunch from the fridge. “Want some cheese and crackers with us, Gran?”

“Sure. Beats cooking for myself.”

“Are you getting enough to eat?” Drew asked, pulling the lid off a baking dish. “It doesn’t look like you’ve touched this casserole I brought.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I poked at it. You put canned tuna in it.”

“You need the protein. You should eat it.”

“It’s an abomination. Besides, you know I only take orders from men when I’m naked.”

“Being wildly inappropriate is not how you win every argument,” Drew groused, frowning.

Gran slid a sly glance my way. “Don’t listen to him. I’ve got decades of victory under my belt.”

Watching their banter was fascinating. My memories of my grandmother were hazy at best, but mostly filled with tea sets and starched dresses. This side of Drew was at once surprising and totally entrancing. It figured he’d try to take care of his grandmother, ever the responsible oldest son. But the pranks were something else. His sense of fair play and justice melded with his sense of humor in a quirky and unexpected way.

We enjoyed a low-key lunch with Gran, nibbling on cheese and crackers while she regaled me with stories from Drew’s childhood. She seemed to delight in telling me how he couldn’t be convinced to keep his pants on as a toddler, and I chuckled at the image of a chubby little Drew, his tiny baby tush disappearing as he ran giggling from his grandmother.

“Thanks for lunch,” I said, hugging the wiry woman as we said our goodbyes.