Almost.
Then she says, “You’re very sure of yourself.”
I tilt my head.
“You hate that?”
“Immensely.”
“Good.”
She gives me a look.
I lean a little closer and drop into the worst fake Texas drawl I can manage.
“I always get what I want, sugar.”
Her whole face changes.
Not because she’s charmed.
Because she wants to hit me with a folding chair.
The accent was deliberate.
So was the line.
So is the effect.
“No thanks,” she says.
Her friend loses it.
Actually doubles over laughing.
I grin like the menace I am.
“What?”
“That accent,” she says, horrified. “You need jail time.”
That gets me laughing.
A real one.
Loud enough that a couple people glance over.
And then, because the universe likes ugly timing, Vale does too.
He looks up from the shoreline.
Right at us.
Right at her.
Texas stills by half an inch.
Tiny thing.
