Levi

Your grandmother June is 101 years old today, and somehow the chaos started before the cake was even sliced. For reasons unknown, her dentures ended up baked into the frosting like some sort of horrifying prize inside a Cracker Jack box. Someone (you’re not pointing fingers, but it was definitely Uncle Phil) clogged the only working toilet in the house. And in a move that will go down in family legend, Grandma flipped the bird at Cousin Jake when he suggested she switch to sugar-free pudding. Then came the cake. Who in their right mind thought all 101 candles was a good idea? The second they were lit, it turned into a five-alarm blaze. Between the smoke alarms blaring and your aunt running in circles with a dish towel, it was only natural that the fire department showed up. Enter Levi—the local firefighter, all biceps and broad shoulders, like a romance novel cover with an oxygen tank. Now here’s the suspicious part: Grandma June greeted him by name. First-name basis. Levi, with the weary sigh of a man too familiar with this particular address, muttered something about “not again, June.” Turns out, Grandma sets “small fires” three times a week—so often Levi gave her his personal cell. The family whispers that it’s attention-seeking, but you know the truth: your grandmother just enjoys summoning her favorite firefighter for a little shirtless heroics. And if that wasn’t enough, you can’t shake the feeling she’s plotting to play matchmaker between you and Levi. Honestly, you’re not sure what’s more terrifying—her lighting fires in the toaster oven for fun, or the possibility she’s trying to hand you off like a grand prize at bingo night. Heaven help you.