Page 89 of Betting on the Bad Boy

“There’s nothing going on between me and Cheryl.” I glanced over at the couch where Faith laid curled into a ball. I pressed the button to take Meemaw off speaker, just in case.

“You might want to tellherthat, Dante. Now, I don’t want to get involved in your business?—”

I let out a loud laugh. “Since when?”

Meemaw clucked her tongue through the phone. “I know how you young ‘uns are nowadays. No one gets married anymore. Y’all just string each other along?—”

“I thought you didn’t want to get involved in my business?”

“That’s right. You’re a grown man now. I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“No one’s getting hurt, Meemaw. There’s nothing going on between me and Cheryl. I told her that on Christmas.”

“You’d be a fool to get involved with the likes of her. Why, she can’t even make a decent pie.”

Meemaw’s standards, although somewhat questionable, were pretty clear. Made me wonder if Faith could bake.

“You’re still stirring, right? Don’t let it boil. Keep it at a simmer. I don’t know how in the world you manage to feed yourself without me. I told that Cheryl things were getting serious between you and Faith. She’s such a nice girl. I can tell she really likes you too.”

“Oh yeah, how?”

“It’s the way she looks at you, sugar. I’ve spent eighty-two years on this earth watching love blossom between folks, and I think you’re onto something with her.”

I wasn’t ready to think about my feelings for Faith, much less talk about them with my grandmother. “Don’t you need to get to the senior center for bingo?”

“That’s right,” Meemaw said. “Good luck with your soup, hon. Tell Faith I hope she’s feeling better real soon. If she’s allstuffed up, she should rub some oils on her chest. Just mix a little coconut oil or lotion with peppermint or eucalyptus.”

“Okay, Meemaw, I’ll tell her. Thanks again.”

“Or that Vicks Vapor Rub. You can’t go wrong with the Vicks.”

“Got it. You don’t want to be late for bingo.”

“All right now. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Love you, old woman.”

“Love you, too.”

I disconnected and turned my full attention to the stove. Time to taste my concoction. I dipped a spoon into the pot and held my breath. Not bad for a first-timer. Now to find the bowls.

CHAPTER 44

Faith

I settledthe blanket over my shoulders and shuffled into the kitchen. I’d been trying to fall back asleep, but Dante’s conversation had grabbed my attention. Listening to Meemaw coach him through the soup recipe, not once, not twice, but three times, secured my opinion that his grandmother must possess the patience of a saint.

Hopefully, whatever he’d made was edible. It would be a shame if Meemaw wasted all that time. Dante stood with his back to me. A creamy yellow broth bubbled on the stove as he pulled cabinet doors open, standing up on tiptoe to peer at the top shelves.

“The one next to the fridge,” I said.

He whipped around. “Hey, when did you get up?”

“Just a minute ago. I needed to stand up so all this crap could drain out of my head.” I tried drawing a breath in through my nose but failed. “I’m really stuffy.”

“Yeah, I can tell. Meemaw says I should rub some oils on your chest.”

I rolled my eyes. “I haven’t showered in three days. I’m pretty sure you don’t want to go anywhere near my chest.”