Pancakes soon appeared on the table as Grandma continued to chat away. She asked about Jeremy’s family—a subject he delicately sidestepped—and mentioned his cat multiple times, though she kept calling him Stanley. Grandpa Rand rarely spoke, content to listen to the words flying around him. It had always been this way. Every so often he would open his mouth, and the whole world would stop to hear what he had to say. Most of the time, though, as their life puttered down the highway, Grandma was the driver, and he was in the passenger seat.

Until Jeremy asked how Grandma and Grandpa first met.

Grandma flicked her wrist. “Oh, we’ve always known each other from town.”

“You both grew up here, right?” Bea asked.

Grandpa Rand’s eyes lit up. “Sure, we’d always known each other, but the year your grandmother came back after spending the summer at her aunt’s in Chicago—”

“Her aunt’s?” Bea sat up straight. She’d never heard this story before.

“Miss Gladys Fennel. Like the seed.” He offered a crooked grin, made all the more charming by a missing tooth on the left side. “Anyway, she was a sight for sore eyes when she returned, I tell you what. She wasn’t just some kid from town to me no more.”

Grandma went still, looking at him, and for a second, the years melted away from her face. She was a young girl again, falling in love with an older man. Bea could see it. The tenderness and longing. The hope. The fear. Bea understood.

“There was no going back after that, was there?” Jeremy asked, a twinkle in his eye.

“No, sir.” Grandpa shook his head. “None at all.”

Grandma passed a hand over her face as if wiping away the memories and jumped in with more questions for Jeremy. Whenever she wasn’t looking, Bea slid some of her pancakes onto Jeremy’s plate, and he happily ate them. Thank goodness he had a big appetite.

When Grandma June had used up all the batter, she sat down next to Jeremy. She ran her fingers through her hair, but it stuck out in the back, like she’d had a fitful night of sleep and forgot to comb it.

Jeremy patted his belly. “That was delicious. The best syrup I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh, shoot.” Grandma put a hand to her cheek. “It’s just a little brown sugar.”

“I didn’t get much home cooking growing up.”

Bea grunted, knowing he’d often been lucky to get any food at all.

Jeremy inclined his head in her direction. “My wife says you’re quite the storyteller.”

Grandma perked up. “We’ve had a lot of good story times around here, she and I. Haven’t we, Bea?”

Bea nodded. “Tell him my favorite one.”

Grandma waved a hand. “He doesn’t want to hear that.”