“Furious.”
“That’s more believable when you say it without smiling.”
“And that’s my greatest trick, Beatrice Trixie Best. I have managed—hic!—to fool you into thinking you know what I’m thinking because I am the world’s best—hic!—smiler. I’m a smiley smiler who smiles the blues away and fools—hic!—everyone.”
“Eat more corn dog.”
She looks out the rear door, and she frowns before looking back at me. Her dimples have gone into hiding.
I reach toward her, intending to poke her cheeks until I locate her dimples, but she shoves my hand back.
Ah.
Right.
I’m holding the corn willy. Some women are so fussy about being touched on their faces with willies.
I giggle once more.
Bea shakes her head. “Eat.”
“Talk,” I parrot back in her American accent.
“I’m beginning to understand why Lana never wanted to marry you.”
“Only beginning? Rather slow, aren’t you?”
Her eyes widen, and she tips her head back for a bloody good laugh once again.
I mentally pat myself on the back for temporarily outsmarting the alcohol long enough to amuse her.
Her laughter is music.
A veritable symphony that I’d like to bathe in three times—no, four times a day.
Do I remember how to count to four?
I lift my hand, see the willy on the stick, and giggle again. “Tell me another secret.”
“Are you going to remember this in the morning?”
“Every word.”
I don’t actually remember how I got here, so that’s probably not true.
Cheers to me for continuing to fake it.
“Daphne saved my life once.”
I sit straighter. “Truly? Did she save you from drowning?Hic!Or were you in a gunfight? Did she rescue you from a rabid animal?”
“That’s really where your brain goes?”
“I amverycreative, Ms. Best.”
“Clearly.”
I wave my willy dog. “Carry on with the secret-telling, if you—hic!—please.”
