Page 3 of Tricky Puck

That leads to no good.

I have four uncles whom I adore—two firefighters and two policemen. We all grew up in the city at Granny’s house while my parents worked 24/7 at the family’s pub, which they deemed no place for a young girl—thank God.

So, of course, I love men. I love all my uncles and learned so much from their rough-and-tumble antics, shouting, and competitive macho juices constantly flowing around me in that house. But do I want to live with that for the rest of my life? Hell no.

My uncles taught me to be wary of men who act tough. They never so much as say “shit” in front of a woman. Granny made sure that for all their toughness, my uncles are perfect gentlemen when it comes to women.

I was the exception, of course, because I was declared the little sister they never had, and I needed to know all the worst behavior of men, as well as the best. I didn’t believe them that men were as terrible as they said. Their foul language and roughhousing were all in fun and innocent, without any meanness. They were—and still are—kind to me.

When I encountered men who didn’t know the difference between being tough and being truly mean, I was ready.

Which is probably how I got into trouble—the incident at work, as Granny calls it. She doesn’t acknowledge that I did anything naughty. Where I’m concerned, she has only glowing praise. I’m her angel. Cue the eye roll from my uncles.

In truth, it’s Granny who’s the angel. Until now.

“The matchmaker set you up with a strapping young man I think you’ll approve of. I saw his picture⁠—”

“Are you serious?” I barely stop myself from laughing, but I have too much respect for Granny to laugh. And I know her well enough to know this is not a laughing matter. She wears no smile on her well-kept face, rosy cheeks highlighting her snapping blue eyes, and her dark hair piled into her familiar flawless knot.

She nods. “I am. He’s a looker.”

“I mean—never mind. Can I see the photo?”

“Absolutely not. The matchmaker will introduce you to him when you get to Bill’s Food and Drink.” She digs into her gigantic purse, which always reminded me of Mary Poppins’ carpetbag when I was a kid. It holds everything and never wears out. She’s had that thing for over twenty years.

When she goes to put it aside, I try to snatch the glossy photo from her, and I can’t help smiling when she whisks it away, teasing me. I don’t remember the last time I saw an actual eight by ten glossy besides the ones framed on Granny’s credenza and walls. She hasn’t made the leap into the digital age, but I’m okay with that. She keeps life in perspective, always making me mindful of social history.

“I don’t want to spoil your surprise. The deal is sight unseen,” she says.

“The deal?”

“The matchmaker knows what she’s doing. Believe me.”

“You want to tell me about him?”

She shakes her head.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t you tell me anything about him? Maybe give me some incentive to go along with this… deal?”

“I understand he makes good money.”

“Right.” I don’t bother to point out that I plan to make my own good money. But money and security are a major issue for Granny—and my parents—so I don’t say anything.

“Well, don’t just sit there. Go get dressed.”

“Go get—for what?”

“Your date is in one hour.”

I jump from my chair. “One hour? Are you kidding? You sprung this on me at the last second on purpose, didn’t you?”

The old devil smiles.

I laugh. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else but you, Grandma. I’ll agree to the date, but I don’t think⁠—”