Her lips twitch. “It’s not that bad.”
I raise a brow.
“Okay, maybe a little. But photos lie! You absolutely do not look like a marshmallow in that shirt. I’ve seen you wear it.”
“But I do there.” I tap the screen. “And that’s what people see. What they comment on.”
May wisely tucks the phone away. “You’re right. We, as a society, are a bunch of judgy shits.” We share a look, then she straightens with a determined look. “If people are going to be sneaking pics of you from all angles, then a proper fit is key. You’ve got those sexy big boobs that I’d kill for. But they require care.”
I almost laugh. “God, I’ve been hanging around August too much. All I can think of is sex jokes.”
“If he’s making sex jokes that often it must be on his mind.”
“Moving on.”
She presses her palms on the counter, a gleam of anticipation in her eyes. “I think it’s time for a makeover!”
“Uh . . .”
June shuffles into the kitchen, inky hair snarled around her pale face. “Ugh. I think I had too many cocktails yesterday.”
“You’re the one who kept pouring them,” I point out with asperity. But I quickly prepare her a coffee.
She accepts it with a grunt, takes a sip, then eyes us with suspicion. “Why are the two of you up so early, anyway?”
“It’s ten fifteen,” I drawl.
“I repeat. Why are you two up so early?”
May gives her twin a dry look. “I had to get up. You snore.”
“Lies!”
May affects a loud, dramatically rattling snore.
With a sniff, June gathers her dignity. “Never happened.”
“Then I guess tiny invisible dwarves were drilling for dragon gold in your nose.”
Coughing back a laugh, I step in between their line of sight before they really get going. “This house has five bedrooms, why are you sharing?”
May and June pause as one and look at me with twin expressions of befuddlement. “We always share when we travel.”
As if this is perfectly obvious and I’m a fool for even asking. I shrug and head for the stove.
“I’m making a frittata,” I tell them, as June takes a seat next to May and the two of them lean into each other like kittens. “Anyone want some?”
Both immediately give me hungry puppy eyes, proceeding to tell me I’m the absolute best and could I please cook for them every day? Very sweet. But they’re not getting away with sitting and watching.
“Cut up some avocados and tomatoes,” I tell them as I pull out a pan.
“Look at you living the high life with your pricey avocados,” May teases.
We’ll ignore the fact that I’m currently living in a dream house. Details. I reply blandly, “There’s avocado trees on the property.”
“Maybe you should set up a stand. Sell those bad boys to pay the taxes.”
“Maybe I should.”
