“Take care of him.” He touched my arm, leaning in. “He’s kind of my favorite.” “Ugh,” Misha said, walking past us, clearly hearing. I held back my snort, Mr. Grayson shot his other grandson a look. “That one’s like me,” he whispered. “Too much like me.” “So of course, you don’t get along,” I joked. “Nope.” He looked after Misha with a kind smile. “I do like his style, though. I had a pretty nice black leather jacket back in the day.”
