LITMIR.BIZ

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into place like colored blocks on a Rubick’s Cube. A seven-layer lead weight settled in the pit of Caleb’s stomach. “How many cakes do you bake a week?”

      “It depends on how long it takes us to eat one,” she answered.

      The question ricocheted through him, as if he were swinging wildly and hitting only air. “Us?”

      “Becca. The estate staff. My lab assistants. Whoever else happens to be working here,” Grams explained. “Sometimes Becca takes the leftovers to the vet clinic when she covers shifts there.”

      Wait a minute. He assumed his grandmother paid Becca well and allowed her to live in the guest cottage rent-free. Why would Becca work at a vet clinic, too? Especially if she was running a con?

      “Sounds like a lot of cake.” Caleb tried to reconcile what he was learning about Becca as well as Grams’s cake. “I didn’t realize you enjoyed baking so much.”

      Grams raised a shoulder, but there was nothing casual or indifferent in the movement. “Can’t have one of my grandchildren stop by and not have any cake to eat.”

      But I also think she wants me here because she’s lonely.

      Damn. His chest tightened. Becca was right. Grams was lonely. Regret slithered through him.

      Thinking about the number of cakes being baked with anticipation and love and a big dose of hope made it hard to breathe. He figured Grams would be out and about doing whatever women of her age did to pass the time. Lunches, museums, fundraisers. He’d never thought she would go to so much trouble or imagined she would be sitting at home and waiting for her grandchildren to stop by.

      His promise and his efforts blew up like a fifty-megaton bomb.

      So much for taking care of Grams. He’d failed. He hadn’t taken care of her. He’d let her down.

      Just like his … dad.

      Guilt churned in Caleb’s gut. He opened his mouth to speak, but wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry” wasn’t enough. He pressed his lips together.

      “Did you have something you wanted to say?” Grams asked.

      Caleb looked up. His grandmother was speaking to Becca.

      Of course that woman would have something to say, a smug remark or a smart-aleck comment to expose his failure aloud. Anything so she could rub a ten-pound bag of salt into the gaping hole over his heart.

      “No,” Becca said, but that didn’t soothe him, because she had an I-told-you-so smile plastered on her face. She looked pleased, almost giddy that she’d been proven correct.

      How deeply had she ingrained herself in Grams’s life? He was concerned how well Becca could read his family. He needed to find his grandmother a new consultant, one with a better education, wardrobe and manners. One he trusted.

      Becca’s silly, sheep-eating grin made the Cheshire cat look as if he were frowning. She raised a forkful of cake to her mouth. Each movement seemed exaggerated, almost slow motion as if she knew he was waiting for her to make the next move and she wanted to make him suffer.

      Good luck with that.

      Caleb couldn’t feel any worse than he was feeling. He had to do something to make this up to Grams.

      “You can have another slice after you finish yours,” Grams said.

      “One is enough for today,” he said. “But let me know when you bake another Black Forest cake, and I’ll stop by.”

      A dazzling smile on his grandmother’s face, the kind that could power a city for a day, reaffirmed how lonely she must be in spite of her money and friends. That loneliness made her vulnerable to people who wanted to take advantage of her, people like Becca.

      “I’ll do that,” Grams said.

      He ground the toe of his running shoe against the tile.

      In spite of his thinking he’d been a doting grandson, his phone calls, text messages and brunch on Sunday hadn’t been enough. Grams wanted to spend face-to-face time with her grandchildren, to chat with them and to feed them.

      Caleb’s overbooked calendar flashed in his mind. His arm and shoulder muscles bunched, as if he’d done one too many Burpees at the gym.

      He was so screwed.

      No, that wasn’t right.

      This was his grandmother, not some stranger.

      He’d made a promise, one he intended to honor if it killed him. And it might do that unless Caleb could figure something out. A way to spend more time with Grams. Make more time for her. Find time …

      Becca’s fork scraped against the plate.

      Food.

      That gave him an idea.

      He had to eat. So did Grams.

      Mealtimes would allow him to eat and appease his grandmother’s need to see her grandson at the same time. The question was how often. Brunch was a standing date. Dinner once a week would be a good start.

      “Let’s have dinner next week on Wednesday. Invite Courtney to come,” he suggested. “I’m sure your cook can whip up something tasty for us. You can make dessert.”

      Grams shimmied her narrow shoulders, as if she were a teenager bursting with excitement, not an elderly woman.

      Maybe once a week wouldn’t be enough. His chest tightened.

      “That sounds wonderful,” Grams said. “Do you think Courtney can make it?”

      The anticipation in Grams’s voice made one thing certain. His sister would be at the dinner if he had to buy her a pretty, expensive bauble or a new pair of designer shoes. Grams was worth it. “Yes. She’ll be here.”

      Grams looked as if she might float away like a helium balloon. “Excellent, because I can’t wait for Courtney to meet Becca.”

      Caleb rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots. He didn’t want Becca at dinner. The woman had overstayed her welcome as far as he was concerned. This meal was for his family, not employees.

      He flashed her a practiced smile, so practiced people never saw through it. But the way Becca studied him made Caleb wonder if she was the exception to the rule. He tilted his head. “Join us for a glass of wine on Wednesday.”

      Becca brushed her knuckles across her lips. “I don’t want to intrude on your evening.”

      “You aren’t intruding,” Grams said before Caleb could reply. “You’re having dinner with us.”

      “No,” he said at the same time as Becca.

      His gaze locked on hers for an uncomfortable second before he looked away. Only ice remained in his glass, but he picked it up and sipped.

      The woman was … unpredictable. One more thing not to like about her. He was more of a “load the dice ahead of time so he knew what he was going to roll” kind of guy. He didn’t like surprises. He’d bet Becca thrived upon them.

      Grams’s lip curled. “Caleb.”

      Becca studied her cake as if a magic treasure were hidden inside. “It’s okay, Gertie.”

      No, it wasn’t. Caleb deserved his grandmother’s sharp tone. “What I meant is Courtney is a lot to take in if you’re not used to being around her. I have no doubt they’ll name a Category 5 hurricane after her one of these days.”

      “Your sister can be … challenging at times,” Grams said.

      Understatement of the year. Courtney was the definition of drama princess. The rest of the earth’s population was here to make his sister look good or help her out. Nothing he tried stopped her from being so selfish. Not even making her work at Fair Face in order to gain access to her trust fund. “We don’t

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