“That, I absolutely believe,” a woman at the next table murmurs over her wine. “He’s not the same kind of sophisticated that Jake is.”
“Still can’t believe they let him become a cop,” the woman’s companion says.
“I know, right?” Quincy says. “And of all the bad luck, for him to be the one to answer the call when Simon thought Bea was breaking into his house. You know he loved cuffing her, and I mean that in all the bad ways that it can be taken.”
Another night, another situation, I’d be enjoying this more.
Except I’m now wondering if this is a setup.
I’ll go to the bathroom so the local gossips can sing my praises and tell you how awful my ex and his brother are so that if you’re mad that I didn’t tell you, you’ll feel sorry for me instead.
And it’s fucking inspiring.
Who doesn’t love a town of people who stand up for the lowly against the corrupt power family? This will be an excellent addition to my script.
Bloody hell.
I’ve bent my spoon, and I didn’t even realize I’d picked it up.
At the same time, I’m smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt, because this town is charming and hilarious and very nearly perfect.
Why must I be both drunk and angry and happy?
Not both when there are three things, my inner editor says.
So I haven’t drunk enough to turn that off yet.
Rather unfortunate.
“Are you going to file a complaint against Logan on Bea’s behalf?” the first woman asks me.
Be charming, Luckwood. Be fucking charming. “Oh, I’m sure Bea can handle any complaints herself. She’s quite adept at anything she sets her mind to, is she not?”
“Swoon,” Quincy whispers.
“Swoonagain?” Wendell replies. “My god, you’re a pushover.”
“And aren’t you lucky for that?”
“How long have you two been together?” I inquire.
“Twelve years this Thanksgiving,” Quincy says.
And even grumpy Wendell smiles. “It was hate at first sight.”
“Who’s the overdramatic one now?”
“It was. You hated me because I was a stuck-up asshole.”
“And now you’re my asshole.”
They share a look, then they both giggle.
“More water, sir?” Aileen says to me. “Or I can get you a new bottle of champagne. Or wine. Or tea. Anything you’d like. Except bread quickly. Sorry about that.”
“Your best wine, please. Red.”
Am I tipsy, or is she wincing? “We’re a little low on reds tonight.”
