The man cracks me up. “But it’s still your fault you didn’t get married?”
“Mother logic. Far better to blame me than to acknowledge her daughter wanted to be an unwed mother. So. What time does goat yoga begin? I’d like to make a point to this Mrs. Camille.”
“Simon.”
“Ah, excellent suggestion. I shall do it without my shirt. Thank you for the reminder.”
“Simon.”
“You are aware that it’s highly arousing when you chide me?”
My face flushes. “That’ll make goat yoga more difficult.”
“So glad you agree it’s a good idea. Shall I see you there in an hour? Also, I’ve officially decided to host my own murder mystery dinner. It sounds like great fun, no?”
“Simon—”
“Oh, yes, please do say my name again.”
“Your kids will still have to live here when you’re away.”
“My children? The children who plot parties that get people tossed in jail and who attempt to steal dogs and who are likely to manage some kind of mischief even while being supervised by six adults? Those children?”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
Hudson strolls back into the kitchen.
He’s dressed for goat yoga in a T-shirt for his band and cotton shorts.
“What?” he says to me. “You have a look.”
“Okay,” I say to Simon. “I’ll meet you at goat yoga in an hour.”
“And you’ll save the date to come to my murder mystery dinner.”
I crack up.
I can’t help it. “Sure. Consider me RSVP-ed. But if Mrs. Camille tosses flaming dog poop in my burger bus because you misbehave, you’re buying me a new one.”
“Deal.”
24
EXES AND GOATS
Simon
“How didI not know this was here in Athena’s Rest?” I inquire of Bea as I join her beneath a maple tree in a gated-off section beside what is clearly an outdoor drive-in cinema not far from my estate.
There’s a large screen on a wooden frame against a backdrop of trees, though I suspect the screen is less screen material and more likely some kind of painted metal, and speakers on posts at regular intervals amongst the weedy, overgrown ground outside of the fenced-in area for the yoga class. A shack large enough to house a kitchen is behind our little goat yoga pen, undoubtedly the popcorn stand.
And it’s utterly lovely.
“Because you don’t pay close enough attention?” she replies with a smile.
She’s in tight casual shorts and a pink vest top, with sunglasses on and her curly hair tied up in a messy bun, carrying a bag with a yoga mat sticking out, and I would very much like to kiss her.
I cannot, however, as a goat butts between us before I can come any closer.
