A chorus of thanks are thrown in Cash’s direction, but I don’t pay attention to any of them. I’m too busy studying Maggie’s face.
There it is. That wobbly smile.
“Yes. Thank you, Cash,” she reiterates quietly.
If he wasn’t already suffering from a brain injury, I’d shake him until his teeth rattled. I mean, what thehellis he thinking?
“Now that the crisis has been averted,” he says to Maggie, looking mighty pleased with himself, “come with us to City Park. We have something to show you.”
She looks at the big, gold-plated clock (no doubt antique and expensive) on the far wall and shakes her head. “I can’t. I have to go home and take Yard for a walk before my shift at the bar starts at seven.”
“That’s almost three hours away,” Cash cajoles. “We’ll drive you home to pick up Yard, and then all of us can head to the park.”
She hesitates a moment longer, but eventually nods. “Okay. That sounds like fun, actually.”
Ten minutes later, we pile into Smurf, me in the driver’s seat, Cash in the passenger seat, and Maggie in the middle. Just like old times.
Well, except for the flask Cash pulls from his breast pocket.
