“Um, he hangs out with wolves and mountain lions? He saved someone’s life? He has wilderness survival skills?”
“So he’s a Boy Scout. That’s like the white bread of men.” Jean turned to Keoki before he could interrupt. “I know, you like white bread, too.”
Keoki shook his head. “Not just white. All kinds of bread. The essence of bread is goodness.”
“But you have to admit some are better than others,” Jean persisted. “They have more flavor. Texture. A nice firm crust.”
“For the record,” Libby cut in, raising a hand, “I don’t want to date anyone with a crust.”
“You know what I mean.” Jean groaned, like Libby was the difficult one. “Sharpness. Grooves and ridges.Edge.”
“So I should be looking for someone from a biker gang?”
“They could be crusty,” Keoki said.
Jean tossed a blob of rice at him. “I’m just saying, what if there’s no there there? He’s a blank slate. Reasonably handsome, has all his teeth, probably pays his taxes on time. You can project whatever fantasy you want onto him. I think you need someone a lot less normal, Libs.”
“Because I’m such a weirdo?”
“Totally.” The reply came without an instant’s hesitation.
“Uh, thanks?”
“You’re welcome.” It probably was a compliment, in Jean’s mind. Her filing system for people relied less on good vs. bad than the bizarre-to-snoozeville spectrum. “That’s why we’re soul sisters. The wilding is just buried a little deeper in your case. Like an ingrown hair.”
“Aw, geez.” Keoki shoved his tray away. “I asked you not to talk about hairs when I’m eating.”
“You’re totally done.” Jean gestured at his empty plate.
“I might have dessert.”
Libby perked up, leaning sideways to see if the smoothie truck was still open.
“No time,” Jean informed them, checking her phone. “You need to give me a ride to Dolphin Bay. I’m covering the overnight shift.”
“When are you getting another car?” Keoki asked.
“When our ship comes in.” Jean tipped her head at Libby, like she was a walking lottery ticket.
“Mopeds are cheap,” he grumbled.
“Sorry.” Libby didn’t even have enough cash to offer him gas money.
“It’s okay. I need to get home for Cici’s foot rub.”
“Wait, neither of you are coming back to the house?” Libby swallowed a bubble of panic. Was she really equipped to run this shell game on her own?
“Don’t worry, Mr. L will be crashed. He asked me to make the mushroom soup for dinner.”
Libby nodded. That stuff was at least half brandy—to the point you had to be careful around open flames.
“That doesn’t mean you can run wild, missy.” Jean kicked Libby under the table. “Solo showers only.”
“Haha,” Libby said as they stood and threaded their way through the grid of picnic tables. “Actually, I’ve been thinking.”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Jean fired back.
Libby ignored her. “Our lives aren’tthatbad. When you look at the big picture. We have all this.” It would have been more convincing if she hadn’t waited until they were standing in front of the industrial-sized garbage cans to make her expansive arm-flinging gesture.
