Inappropriate - Vi Keeland Page 0,31

and he likes to come visit her.”

I smiled. “That’s understandable.”

Frank Sinatra started to play through the speakers, and a minute later Pops came out from the cabin. He had a box of cigars in one hand and a lit one in the other. His robe hung open, revealing a white T-shirt and white boxers.

“Pops, why don’t you tie your robe?”

Pops handed Grant the box and pointed his cigar at me. “You look like that actress...” He snapped his fingers a few times, trying to recall. “What’s her name—you know the one?” Snap. Snap. “The one with the big...”

I thought I knew where he was going with this. But then he snapped a few more times and shouted, “The one with the big balls!”

Grant and his grandfather went hysterical with laughter. I had no idea what the hell they were cracking up about, but watching them made me smile anyway. I also noticed how different Grant looked when he was relaxed and had a genuine smile. He seemed so much younger, so much less intimidating.

Grant was still chuckling when he explained what was so funny. “A couple of years ago, I took Pops to the store to get new shoes. He’d just started to struggle with his memory, and he wanted shoes with support soles, but he couldn’t remember the words support soles. For some odd reason, he thought the word he was searching for was balls—so he yelled that he wanted balls at the top of his lungs.”

He wiped tears from his eyes. “The salesperson had a good laugh, and from then on, Pops started to fill in words he can’t remember with balls. It’s interesting because he can always remember balls, but not the word he’s searching for. Anyway, it cracks us up every damn time.”

I’d thought being near cocky, confident, handsome Grant was dangerous, but seeing how sweet he was with his grandfather and how much he cherished their good times, made my heart swell in my chest.

Pops snapped his fingers a few more times. He seemed to get stuck on certain things. “Who the heck does she look like? She’s tall...I don’t remember her name.”

“She looks like a younger Charlize Theron, Pops.” Grant studied my face and winked. “Except she’s not as tall, and Ireland is prettier.”

“Yeah, that’s it.” Pops nodded and smiled. “Great balls on that one.”

I’d been told I resembled that actress a few times over the years, but it had never made me blush before.

The three of us sat at the back of the boat for a while. Pops kept us amused with stories about when he’d first started building boats and all the trial and error that went into it. It was pretty amazing how far his memory stretched back, yet he would sometimes forget who family members were or where he was. At one point, he stood and announced he was going to go listen to his baby purr.

“He likes to listen to the engine,” Grant explained. He blew a ring of smoke from the cigar he’d lit a few minutes ago and held it up. “I think he comes for these more than anything these days. My grandmother won’t let him smoke anymore—not since he lit one and walked away and the rug caught on fire.”

“That’s just as well. They’re not good for you. And I never understood the appeal anyway. You don’t even inhale. I always thought they were a kind of phallic symbol men like to flaunt.”

Grant examined his cigar and grinned. “Glad I got the extra-thick Cohiba now.”

“Seriously, what’s the appeal with cigars?”

“It’s more about the moment it forces you to take. Sitting out here without this cigar in my hand, I’d probably take out my phone and scroll after a few minutes—or get up and do something around the boat. But a good cigar causes me to sit back and take a minute, reflect on my day or the beauty around me.” His eyes roamed my face, and his gaze heated. “There’s a lot to appreciate at the moment.”

Rather than squirm under his scrutiny, I opted to retake control. He had the cigar in the hand opposite me, so I leaned over him and plucked it from his fingers.

“Show me how to do this.” I raised the smoldering cancer stick to my lips.

Grant arched a brow. “You’re going to smoke my cigar?”

“Does that bother you?”

A dirty grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “Of course not. You’re welcome to wrap your lips around my Cohiba.”

I rolled