Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) by Brooke Moss Page B

an old lady.
                  “Be polite, young man,” she ordered. “Introduce me.”
                  Demo drug a hand down is face. “All right. Yiayia, this is Marisol Vargas. I replaced her alternator this morning.”
                  “I’ll bet you did,” Trey snickered. When his Yiayia smacked the back of his head, he added, “Ow. Sorry.”
                  Demo looked at me. “Marisol, this is my grandmother, Thea Antonopolous.”
                  I shook her bony hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Antonopolous.”
                  “Oh, please.” She grinned. “That’s too formal.”
              “Very well, then, Thea .” I popped the rest of the baklava into my mouth and chewed it slowly. Seriously… so good.
                  “Call me Yiayia,” she ordered.
                  I shook my head. “Oh, I couldn’t. I barely know you—”
                  “Well, you know me now. My grandson just introduced you.” She patted my hand kindly. “Tell me, Marisol. Do you have a grandmother?”
                  I blinked at her. Nobody had ever asked me that before. “I, uh, don’t. Actually. My father’s parents are deceased, and I’ve never met my mother’s parents.” I felt Demo’s eyes boring into the side of my head, but ignored it.
                  Her cool hands squeezed mine. It felt like she was made out of crepe paper. “Well, then you can call me Yiayia. That’s Greek for grandma, you know.”
                  “Oh, I don’t think—”
                  She frowned. “Every girl deserves a grandma.”
                  Unexpected tears pricked at the backs of my eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
                  “Okay, well, that was nice.” Demo took my elbow in a firm but gentle grasp. “Marisol has to go now.”
                  “Aw, I just met her.” Yiayia’s grip on my hands tightened. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Demetrious. Let me get to know the lady a little more.”
                  “Yiayia’s been trying to get Uncle Demo married for years,” Trey told me. “All her other grandchildren are married by now, and he’s the only one still not making babies. She’s got expectations, you know.”
                  “Trey.” Demo shot his nephew an icy glare. “Yiayia, she just came to get her car so she could get back to work. She’s probably in a hurry, aren’t you, Marisol?”
                  “Hush it,” Yiayia snapped, gesturing to the baklava Trey was still holding. “Eat something, Demetrious. You’re acting like a goat.”
                  Demo released my elbow and jerked his hand through his hair, standing it on end. I waited for him to retort, but he said nothing.
                  I hated to admit it, but part of me wanted to stay. This Yiayia character could shut Demo up in one sentence, and for that, I had endless admiration for her. And besides that, the woman’s baklava could have easily substituted sex in my life for a very, very long time. It was if God himself had made it.
                  I wanted the recipe.
                  “So tell me, Marisol,” Yiayia said, looping her arm through mine and guiding me into the office, where she settled herself on a stool. I heard Trey sniggering out in the garage, and Demo telling him to shut up. “Are you married?”
                  I settled across the desk from her. “No, ma’am. Never even been close.”
                  “My Demetrious hasn’t been married, either.” She nodded her head in his direction. When I followed her line of sight, Demo was bent under the hood of a yellow Toyota, shaking his head at me as he cranked a wrench back and forth. “He got close once, but she ripped his