He reached us and greeted Grandpa with the warmth of someone being polite to a business obligation, and then his eyes moved to me.
He stopped mid-sentence.
"It's you," he said.
Grandpa looked between us. "You know my granddaughter?"
"No," I said, at the same moment he opened his mouth to answer. I looked at him with a clean, pleasant smile. "I don't think we've met."
He blinked. Then, recovering: "I thought I recognized you from you almost fell in the hallway earlier. My mistake."
"Oh, that was you." I tilted my head slightly. "I didn't recognize you." I extended my hand. "Nice to meet you."
He took it. His grip was warm and he held it one beat longer than a handshake required.
"Finally," Grandpa said with the manufactured delight of a man who had arranged every element of this mom
