Page 17 of The Quirky Vet

"Have you told him?"

I look up. "Told him what?"

"How you feel?"

"And say what?Idon't even know how I feel."

It must have come out more gruffly than I wanted because Gramps lifts his hands in front of him. "Okay, okay. I'm just wanting to get up to speed. No need to bite my head off."

"Sorry," I mumble. "This is all just new to me. This time last week, Fitz and I were in his bedroom"—Gramps's eyebrows shoot up—"making plans for the double proposal. Geez," I explain quickly, ignoring the grin that's back on his lips. "And now, I'm sitting here with you actually contemplating whether or not I'm in love with my best friend who I'm accidentally married to."

"You're what?!"

Oh, shit.

Abort, abort, abort.

"Uh…"

"You and Fitz are married?"

"Well, yeah."

Gramps gets up so fast his chair makes a loud screeching noise against the lino floor. He leaves the room without saying a word.

Where the fuck is he going?

I follow him as he walks into the kitchen, opens the back door, and wanders down the steps into the backyard.

"Gramps?" I call out, but he ignores me.

I jump the few steps in one go and trudge through the grass in bare feet behind him.

My heart thumps in my chest. What is he doing? This can't be good. Do old people go outside to have strokes? Is that what's happening here?

I try to recall where I've left my phone in case I need to call an ambulance when he reaches his favourite tree in the backyard, a grand old eucalyptus tree.

"Gramps?"

He ignores me but spins around so I can see his face. No obvious signs he's having a medical episode.

I stand frozen as he raises his arms overhead and starts…dancing?

He's got a huge grin on his face, and his steps are light and quick, feet kicking up like he's dancing to some music only he can hear. Every now and then, he throws in a little spin, a wobble of his hips, hands lifting towards the sky, moving like he's fifty years younger.

My brain scrambles to make sense of it. How did we go from me telling him Fitz and I are married to witnessing what could possibly be used as an audition tape forAustralia's Got Talent?

Kooky talent, sure, but the old man is bringing outallthe moves.

He finally stops dancing, lets out an almighty "You little ripper!" and then straightens, squaring his shoulders.

His eyes meet mine, and I haven't seen him this happy in yonks. He stomps over to me and throws his arms over my shoulders. "Mate, this is the best news I've heard in a long time."

"Gramps, what is going on? You're acting more deranged than normal."

He pulls back, his blue eyes alive and sparkling. "Let's go inside and have a cuppa. There's something I need to tell you."

We go inside.