He stretched one long leg out in front of him and bent the other, leaning his arm on his knee and turning his body toward her, and said, “Gram sounds awesome.”

The way he said Gram, as if he knew her, felt nice. “She was. My dancing was as important to her as it was to me.”

“I can’t imagine having that type of passion for something as a kid, much less that type of support. What was your grandmother like?”

“Tough. She didn’t mollycoddle, but she wasn’t cold, either. She’d kiss me good night, and she showed up for every dance recital, but mostly she showed her love by fostering my dancing and raising me when she hadn’t expected to. She could be hard on me, pushing me to get straight As and to stay on the right side of the law, which of course I appreciate. But if I said I couldn’t figure something out, she’d get this look that I used to call her don’t give me that face.” Roni tried to mimic her grandmother’s expression, tilting her head, narrowing her eyes, and pursing her lips.

Amusement rose in Quincy’s eyes, and she liked that look on him as much as she liked the heated one he’d worn only moments earlier. “That’s quite a face.”

“Right? Gram was tiny, too, five feet tall on a good day, but she was fierce. When she made that face, I knew I was on my own. That was okay, though. I loved school, and I was good at it, so it just made me work harder and learn to be a problem solver. But I remember when I was much younger, wishing she was more like my friends’ grandmothers who would make elaborate meals and dote on them. Gram cooked like it was a task, not a pleasure, making sure I got the right vitamins and minerals. We always had three food groups, and everything was overcooked, regardless of what it was. She could make a mean apple pie when she was in the mood, which wasn’t often. But that made it even more special. She always said she filled them with love. It’s no wonder I like apple pie so much. Just the smell of it makes me feel good all over. But being hard on me, and pushing me to make a better life for myself, was Gram’s way of showing her love.” She ate a forkful of salad, as more happy memories warmed her.

Quincy covered her hand with his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You must miss her.”

Roni nodded, her throat thickening. “I do. A lot. Before you knocked on the window, I was thinking of her.” She looked down at his hand, aware of the roughness of his palm, the warmth of his thumb stroking her skin. “I never really thanked you for checking on me in the weeks after she died. That was really nice of you.” She looked into his compassionate eyes and said, “I looked forward to your texts. They helped.”