Grandma Jen frowned and looked at the screw. “No. It’s the right size. I measured it.”

“You measured it in inches,” I told her, tapping the tape measure. “They’re clearly measured in millimeters.” I leaned over and grabbed the correct screw for the part of the outdoor sofa I was putting together, then picked up the screwdriver before she did something stupid like poke out her own eye.

“I don’t know why you invited me over. All you’ve done is whine like a little bitch.”

I glared at her. “Actually, I didn’t invite you. You showed up, remember?”

Grandma tilted her head to the side. “So I did. I really should call first.”

“I agree,” I muttered, reaching for the next piece of sofa.

Thank God it was hot out today. The last thing I needed was Grandma inside my house while I was trying to build my new outdoor furniture.

I’d only waited six weeks for the damn sofa set to be delivered. In hindsight, I wish I’d had to wait a little more since she was here, apparently helping me.

She and I had very different definitions of the word ‘helping.’

Spoiler alert: mine was the correct one.

“Can you pass the screws, please?”

“Which ones?”

“Never mind.” I crawled across the grass to the bit of cardboard where the screws were sitting and grabbed the two I needed. I put one in my mouth between my teeth so I didn’t lose it and crawled back over.

“That’s not the sight I was expecting when I took the rubbish out.”

I froze at the sound of Isaac’s voice. Mostly because I was wearing a dress and there was every chance he’d just seen right up it.

Goddamn it. I wasn’t even wearing my good panties.

Grandma’s head snapped around. “What’s rubbish?”

I bit my lower lip so I didn’t laugh, but I sat down next to the sofa and looked over the fence at Isaac.

He held up the trash bag by way of an answer.

“That’s trash,” Grandma said, a very teenage-like tone of ‘duh’ in her voice.

“Don’t,” I said quickly. “She’s even more stubborn than I am.”

“I think you mean strong-willed,” Grandma replied, shooting me a look that told me to be quiet. “Who are you?” she directed at Isaac.

“Isaac Cooper, ma’am. Hannah’s neighbor.”

“Well I assumed as much. Why else would you be taking trash out if you didn’t live there?”

“Be nice,” I muttered to her, picking up the screwdriver.

“That’s an excellent point.” The sound of the bag being dropped into a metal trash can punctuated his words. “What are you doing over there?”

“Building a shuttle so we can beat NASA and that electric car guy to the moon,” Grandma replied. “What does it look like we’re doing, child?”

“Grandma! Stop being rude,” I scolded her.

She scoffed. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”

Another excellent point from the crazy lady in lime green leggings.

Something my grandmother should never, ever wear again, for the record. I was all for personal expression, but not when it scarred the general public.