Page 11 of The Best of Times

“Aron. How lovely to see you.”

Damn those eyes. They raked over Aron’s body.

Defiantly, Aron met his gaze. “And you. I believe we’ll be working together on a very important mission.”

Paul grinned and perched on the arm of the chair occupied by Jeremy.

“I’m thinking of it as an early Christmas present,” Paul replied. “I’ll be honoured to be your co-worker.”

It was like a standoff as they stared into each other’s eyes.

The moment was broken by Granny sitting upright and clapping her hands.

“Now we’re all present, let’s get going. Alexander, since you are without role, I think you can minute proceedings.”

Alexander appeared as if he were a rabbit caught in her headlights. And anyone who had experienced Granny’s driving would know he didn’t stand a chance.

“Minute it? I don’t know how to do that.”

“Relax, dear,” she said. “I only want you to capture the task and the owner. You can do that on your mobile phone. Chop, chop.”

Aron stifled a laugh. He realised he’d been looking everywhere but at Paul since that first exchange. So much for playing it cool. He had to get a hold of himself.

Am I blushing? I bet I am.

He ran his hand over his cheek. It was scorching hot.

Yep. Fuck’s sake.

“Have I got this right?” Jeremy said. “Paul and Aron will be overseeing things? I thought you had Edwin and Anais on the team.”

“You’re perfectly correct. They will do all the leg work. I simply want a personal touch.”

Edwin and Anais were the main event planners in the area. Aron didn’t think they would take kindly to being relegated to dogsbodies.

It was quite the responsibility. His grandmother was nothing if not exacting.

“We probably should have invited them today,” Granny said. “But they do tend to get themselves worked up.”

“At risk of repeating myself,” Aron said. “Why bother?”

“Because Anais is the granddaughter of Bessie Burlington, one of my oldest friends,” Granny explained. “Imagine how it would look if I didn’t use their services.”

Finally the truth was out. Granny had no faith whatsoever in these two but didn’t want to upset one of her cronies.

“If you take my advice,” she continued. “Micro manage them.”

“Although I’m chomping at the bit to get stuck in. Don’t you think it would be better coming from you two?” Paul asked.

“We’re too old to be going to meetings and managing lists. No, we’ll be available in an advisory capacity. Isn’t that right, Philip?”

She patted the Professor’s leg.

“Of course, Beatrice.”

The Professor appeared to have learnt a few coping mechanisms. They would serve him well in his future married life.

“Besides,” he continued. “I’m not risking an IBS flare-up. Stress can do that.”