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pale yellow cast iron stove.
    It was Will.
    And he wore an apron.
    And not just any apron. He wore a manly canvas apron with IBEEF emblazoned on it. We were in Texas, after all.
    “Speak of the devil,” I said, tucking my cell phone away.No need to call him since he was already here. “Meemaw’s looking for you.”
    “Is she now?”
    “She’ll have to wait, though.” I sidled up to him, leaned in, and kissed him as he turned to greet me.
    He gave me a cockeyed grin and pulled me close. “Tough day at the office?”
    “I wish. Tough day at the neighbor’s house.”
    He returned to the stove, stirring the concoction of ground beef, beer, onions, garlic, tomato sauce, and spices. As the ingredients cooked, we chatted, catching up on the routine parts of our day. When the beef had cooked, he scooped up a spoonful and, with one hand cupped under it, offered it to me for a taste.
    Gently, I blew on it, and then took a tentative bite. Will liked his food spicier than I did, but he was learning my taste and accommodating my preferences, adding his own extra spice after the fact so we could both enjoy a meal. “That’s so good,” I said.
    “Imagine it over a bowl of Fritos and then topped with cheese and sour cream.”
    Frito chili pie. A Texas staple, if there ever was one. I for one discarded all the brouhaha about Frito pie originating in Santa Fe. They served something similar on a bed of lettuce. Lettuce? That was just wrong.
    I glanced around the kitchen. No lettuce in sight, although I had noticed right away that Will’s chili had beans, and lots of them. Black, kidney, pinto, and one other that I didn’t recognize. Tomatoes and corn, too. In general, the accepted Texas chili was bean free, but I’d take Will’s version any day.
    He served me up a bowl before serving himself, toppinghis with a healthy dash (or three) of cayenne pepper, and we sat at the kitchen table to eat. “No Gracie tonight?” I asked when I finally forced myself to stop for a breath.
    “She’s out with Shane.”
    I dipped my chin and gazed at him through my lowered lashes. “So you thought you’d wine and dine me and then take me—”
    The sentence was left hanging when the bag of Fritos suddenly flew off the counter, the contents spilling across the hardwood floor. Will and I looked at each other, at the chips, then at each other again. “Loretta Mae?” he asked.
    “That’d be my guess.”
    “Guess she doesn’t want me to take you . . . anywhere,” he said, cracking that sideways smile again.
    “Whatever are we to do?” I asked, placing the back of my hand against my forehead in manufactured Scarlett O’Hara angst.
    “Well, I just happen to have my own house—”
    The bag of Fritos skittered across the floor, the mess of chips scattering farther and wider. A low, haunting sound came from nowhere and everywhere at once and sounded like a ghostly voice saying, “Uh-uh, uh-uh, uh-uh.”
    Seems my great-grandmother didn’t want to wait for Will to find her, so she’d come in search of him.
    “Or we can stay here and clean up the kitchen,” Will finished, adding in a whisper so only I could hear, “and then we can skedaddle to my place.”
    Instantly, Meemaw shifted to, “Mmm-hmm,” and Will and I burst out laughing. I was thirty-two—he had a year on me—and we couldn’t even snuggle up properly at 2112 Mockingbird Lane for fear of upsetting Loretta Mae. Not thatI wanted a witness to my snuggling with Will, so going to his place always felt like a good idea. If we ever got married, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere besides this house, where I’d practically grown up and where I ran Buttons & Bows, yet Meemaw’s presence put a crimp in my romantic life. Plus Will and Gracie had their own home and wouldn’t want to uproot themselves any more than I wanted to.
    Love was complicated.
    Snuggle time with Will at his place would have to wait. We cleaned the kitchen, then Will went