Jimmy came to get me for lunch at the end of the week. I’d spent a happy morning pounding on iron, making a buncha rings, bracelets, and trivets.
He still thought I was seeing somebody I wasn’t telling him about and was still upset I’d locked him out.
“Give it up,” I told him as we walked to the pub.
“I know who it is.” He mumbled it so low I almost missed what he said.
After we sat down and ordered, I asked, “Well, who is it?”
“The guy.” He hung his head and sighed. “It’s that Jason guy, right?”
“What? Who?” I was yelling like last time. But here in the pub nobody looked over at us. Unless you threw something while you was screaming, the noise level was so high, nobody knew you was fighting.
“That kid’s uncle. The handsome one with the dimples.”
“Uncle Jason has dimples? Huh.” I’d
