“They fly dead straight. Got my pussy eaten in the middle of a flight once. That bird just kept on going.”
“Can we keep it PG?” I beg.
“I caught syphilis from a brigadier general. Ain’t nothing PG about that. Told him he better get me some of those newfangled antibiotics or I was going to tell his betrothed what he was up to.”
McCarthy flashes me a dazzling smile.
She’s nuts,he mouths, laughing silently.
I can’t help but snap his photo.
When we have enough footage, Zephyr brings out a little handcrafted foldable table that I can set my laptop up on.
“The video, these photos…” Zephyr whispers to me while McCarthy and Granny Mavis are still chatting animatedly. “Jenna, you’re brilliant to think of this.” He gives me a quick hug and a proud pat on the shoulder. “And the caption you wrote to go along with it? Pure poetry.”
I hardly have to make any edits to the photos. However, I do have to cut out the syphilis story from the video clips. Then they’re posted.
Mom is bringing out refreshments. And yeah, it’s a lot of cucumber muddle, but there are also fried squash blossoms stuffed with cheese and mushrooms.
As I eat the snacks, the likes and comments pour in, especially once Netflix tags the posts, referencing their newest historic action movie about female air pilots.
Relief floods me.
I did it. Finally!
I can do this. It’s going to be okay.
I respond to comments on the post while McCarthy continues to chat with Granny Mavis. The other elderly women buzz slowly around him, occasionally grabbing a handful of his biceps or thick blond hair before Mavis threatens to sic her dog on them.
When he doesn’t have that sneer stamped on his face or contempt lacing his voice, McCarthy has an almost boyish charm. He’s got his suit jacket off and his white shirtsleeves rolled up. And yeah, he does have a gun at his lower back, but can anyone fault me for thinking the leather straps of the holster look kind of sexy crisscrossing his massive shoulders and back?
Um, yes,wecan. We are engaged.I slap my forehead.
McCarthy half turns at the noise and gives me an honest, genuine smile.
Damn, he’s hot.
He shifts, and my traitorous eyes slide down to his backside as Mavis beckons him closer to look at something in her enormous bag.
Whatever it is seems to shock McCarthy.
“That is… very cool, ma’am.”
She winks.
“Granny…”
Then McCarthy is crossing the yard in long, loping strides. He drags me by the arm and hisses in my ear, “How does that woman have enough TNT in her purse to blow a crater in this island?”
“Honestly, at this point in my life, that would be a blessing.”
“Didn’t get the video footage you needed?”
“Actually”—I gaze up at him smiling down at me—“it was exactly what I needed.”
“More refreshments,” my mother sings, floating out to the yard with a large tray of steaming cheese-and-herb-covered flatbread and the single solitary egg, soft-boiled and cut open to expose the bright-orange jammy yolk.
“McCarthy, you can have the egg. Big strong man like you needs his protein.” Willow waves him over to the tray.
