Chapter One
Bree Elias hated not knowing what to do.
Of course, she had long ago learned that there was a time and a place—and, sometimes, a moral imperative—to fake her way through some things. Like shaking hands with people she didn’t know when her father, the mayor, used to take his daughters campaigning with him. Or thunderstorms, after Dad vanished and her mother was at work and Bree was in charge of her terrified little sisters. Or her first day as a teaching assistant when she looked out on a sea of undergrad faces and immediately forgot everything she had ever learned about Freud, Erikson, Piaget, and Skinner.
Some situations, though, took more than the big smile and swift Google search abilities that she had developed over the years. Thanks to her disappearing-reappearing-father-the-felon, she’d had her share and then some of being knocked sideways by circumstances. She didn’t need any more, thank you very much.
Except that one of them was staring back at her right now. From an e-mail. One she should have read more carefully when she’d received it; but seriously, the dean had sent it out five days before Christmas, right in the middle of final grade and shopping season, and then all her sisters had been home for the holidays, and now it was New Year’s Day and her future brother-in-law was being sworn in as mayor of Calypso Falls, and—well—who would have thought that an e-mail could go from Welcome to WTF in one careful reading?
Something that felt suspiciously like a fingernail poked her in the ribs, jolting her back to her chair, the auditorium, the audience applauding.
“Wake up, Bree.” Her mother’s whisper carried no less power now than it had when Bree was a kid. “Here they come.”
Bree shot one last, desperate glance at her phone before shoving it deep into her quilted bag. “Sorry,” she whispered, and focused on clapping wildly while her sister Jenna held the Bible on which Cole Dekker placed his hand while he took the oath of office.
This was a special day, a celebration of much more than simply winning the election. Cole and Jenna had met when she volunteered with his campaign. And who had suggested that Jenna work for him? Yep. That had been one of Bree’s better ideas. So she was determined to make the most of this day, to soak up as much of the happiness as she could and fill herself with good foods and enjoy this extraordinary event in the life of her family.
Bree was nothing if not determined. If she decided to have fun, then damn it, fun would be had, and to hell with unsettling e-mails.
She did her best to memorize every moment of the ceremony. She reveled in the glow on Jenna’s face. She smiled gently as Cole stumbled over his own name, and felt her heart melt a little as he kissed Jenna when the ceremony was over. She was first to jump to her feet when the ceremony ended, and she was the loudest in her cheers for the new mayor.
Considering that her aunt Margie’s whoop-whoops had often been compared to those of a bull moose, this was quite an achievement.
But when they filed out of the auditorium and into the official reception, Bree’s thoughts of cheese and champagne were interrupted by her sister Annie’s shoulder deliberately bumping against her.
“So what had you staring at your phone like you were getting texts from Satan himself?”
Bree stifled a sigh. She’d had a lifetime of practice in the hard truth of No Secrets, No Privacy, but a small part of her still clung to the hope that maybe someday . . .
Eh. Given the choice between sisters and secrecy, her sisters would win every time. And Annie, despite being the youngest, was already the owner of her own day care center, which meant that she had plenty of practice in making sense of the ridiculous and confusing. Since that was approximately the situation in which Bree now found herself, she might do well to seek Annie’s advice.
“You know that committee I was appointed to? The town-and-gown one?”
“The one that’s supposed to—what was it—encourage cooperation and open dialogue between Calypso Falls and the university?” Annie’s mildly mocking tone conveyed her true feelings about the group better than her words ever would. “Yeah, I remember. What about it? You came to your senses and resigned?”
“No, I did not. This is a great chance for me to add to my credentials. I’m going to be job-hunting pretty soon, and I’m not going to miss this chance to get some pertinent volunteer experience.” She lowered her voice. “Except it’s going to be a little . . . awkward.”
“What’s gonna be awkward?” Aunt Margie boomed as they approached the table loaded with appetizers. Bree spotted puff pastry. Her spirits jumped.
“Well, usually that means Dad,” Annie said. “But I don’t see how he could interfere with your task force, Bree. That’s a stretch even for him, and give the man his due; he can mess up where no man could mess up before.”
“It’s a gift.” Margie grabbed their elbows and steered them toward a far corner, ignoring Bree’s yip of protest. “Yeah, I know. You’re hungry. But you’re not getting anything until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“Margie . . .”
“Spill or I’ll tell your mother there’s a problem.” Margie nodded sagely. “And you know what she gets like when she thinks one of her babies has a problem.”
“Better do it, Bree,” Annie said. “You don’t want Mom going all ninja in the middle of Cole’s first official appearance as mayor.”
“Fine.” The sooner Bree got this out of the way, the sooner Margie would release her and she could have her own special moment with the cheese tray. Life as a doctoral candidate/TA might be a little more secure than it had been when she was McJobbing her way through her master’s, but she was still far from being in the position to turn down free food. “So I got an e-mail about the task force back before the semester ended, but I didn’t look at it carefully. You know. Final grades and Christmas and everything. Today, while we were waiting for things to start, I was doing a careful read of my flagged mail, and I took a look at who else is part of this group.” She grimaced.
“Hang on,” Margie said. “There’s only a few people in this world who make you look like you just sucked a salted lemon. You sure it’s not your father?”
“Not this time.”
“Hmm.” Margie rubbed her jaw. “Any Kardashians in town lately?”
Annie, however, had a most unnerving gleam in her eyes. “Bet I know.”
“How?” Margie demanded. “She hasn’t even given us a hint.”
“Don’t need one. All it takes is a little deductive reasoning. Exhibit A.” She ticked one finger. “It’s obviously someone Bree knows and has either wounded or doesn’t respect.”
“Or like,” Margie said, but Annie shook her head.
“No. Bree is fair. She might not like someone, but if they are doing their best and they’re fair and honest, she will still respect them and do her best to work with them.”
“Thank you.” Bree tried her best to look regal as she inclined her head. “Even though I don’t really enjoy being talked about as if I wasn’t standing here beside you.”
“Exhibit B, the committee is university and town. Which doesn’t narrow things down too much, but other than the ass in the registrar’s office—”
“Death on his house,” Margie intoned.
“And the dean, of course,” Annie continued, “Bree doesn’t gripe about too many DeMotte people. So it has to be someone in town. Maybe someone who is bringing professional expertise to the subject. This group is making plans for some kind of garden, right?”
The knot in Bree’s stomach had nothing to do with hunger anymore. Each word from Annie’s mouth was another reminder of what—or, rather, whom—she would need to go toe-to-toe with in the very near future. “Right. An urban garden that straddles the town and DeMotte border. Lots of fruit trees and berry bushes and things that folks can harvest together. Get to know one another.” She winced. “Spend time together.”
Comprehension dawned in Margie’s round face. “Someone from town, who knows about plants—”
“Because he owns a landscaping business,” Annie interrupted.
“And who Bree doesn’t like.”
“More like someone who’s inclined to not like Bree,” Annie added, far too cheerfully for Bree’s level of happy. “Not after she went all banshee on him that day he came into the diner when she was waitressing there.”
“Oh God.” Margie let loose with a hoot of laughter that soared above the hum of conversations and brought Bree’s sister Kyrie hightailing it toward them. “You get to work with Spencer James?”
Kyrie skidded to a halt between Annie and Margie. “Hang on. Did I just hear the name of Bree’s high school nemesis?”
Bree tried not to wince.
“Yep,” Annie said. “Bree has to be on a task force with him.”
Kyrie’s mouth sagged. “You’re kidding.”
“Look,” Bree said in a rush. “Let’s get things clear, okay? I don’t care about high school.”
“That’s not what you said when he beat you for valedictorian,” Kyrie said. “I think Jenna still has that videotape of you throwing pillows all over your room while you shrieked about how much you hated his smirking, slimy ass.”
“I remember that!” Annie said. “That was, like, the ultimate Bree meltdown. Other than when we found out Dad was still alive, I mean.”
Kyrie, Annie, and Margie exchanged loaded glances.
“Epic,” said Kyrie.
“Terrifying,” added Annie.
Margie simply shivered.
“Oh for God’s sake,” said Bree. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You’re right,” Kyrie said. “It was minor compared to the way she unloaded on him to his face after he left university.”
“He didn’t leave,” Bree protested. Oops. Too loud. Faces were turning their way, including her mother’s, and, damn it, the crowd around the appetizer table was three deep. “He got himself kicked out.”
“Blew his scholarship,” Annie said.
“Wasted everything his parents had invested in him,” Kyrie chimed in. Gleefully, of course.
Bree would have been pissed, but she knew at heart, her sisters understood. They knew that Bree had no patience for anyone who chose to squander the gifts and advantages that had been given to them. And seriously, who could blame her? So much of her life—of all the Elias family’s life, really—had been spent dealing with the fallout from their father’s choosing to do just that. She wasn’t inclined to waste a whole lot of energy or sympathy on someone who’d had his schooling handed to him on the proverbial silver platter, then got kicked out for dealing something a whole lot more potent than a parsley garnish.
And if, one time, she had let her feelings slip . . . in public . . . could anyone blame her?
“Look,” she said now. “I admit I was an idiot. Chewing him out in front of a diner full of people was stupid, true, but nothing compared to what he did.”
“Not that you’d ever know from the way people talked about it,” Kyrie said.
Bree closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and spoke as slowly and calmly as she could manage. “Annie, what do you tell your day care kids to do when they have a fight with another kid?”
“Apologize, of course.”
“I need specifics. Step-by-step instructions.”
“Oh. Well, I tell them, you have to say you’re sorry and promise to never do it again.”
Bree nodded. She could do that. Truthfully, too.
“The other thing I tell them is that they have to listen to what the injured party says. And if the other person isn’t ready to accept an apology yet, well, they have that right.”
“Uh-oh.” Margie shook her head. “That Spence is a proud one, Bree. He might not be too willing to forgive and forget.”
The knot in Bree’s stomach tightened once more. Apologies she could offer. She could never condone what Spence had done, but she’d had no right to dress him down, especially in public.
“Could he make things difficult for you?” There was no teasing lilt in Kyrie’s voice anymore.
“Maybe.” Force of habit had Bree downplaying the possibility, but she knew the potential was there. The task force needed Spence. He could bring years of professional experience to the project. All Bree could offer was her enthusiasm and willingness to work, which could come from almost any randomly selected PhD candidate.
She really hoped that somewhere in that array of puff pastry and meatballs and cheese, someone had thought to include a giant freakin’ humble pie.
* * *
Spencer James was spending New Year’s Day the way he’d begun every year for the past five years: taking his father on a scenic tour of downtown Calypso Falls.
Actually, it was his father’s cremains. But even though Spence was not what anyone would describe as a sentimental or fanciful man, there was a part of him—his inner seven-year-old, his mom would say—that held to the belief that somehow, somewhere, his dad knew what was happening. That when Spence walked the streets with the rosewood urn swinging in a grocery bag on his arm, Gordon James was following along, hearing and seeing everything Spence described.
For one day of the year, it was a good feeling.
Some years there wasn’t a lot to talk about. Change didn’t always come fast to town. But on this particular New Year’s, Spence had a lot to point out to his dad. Some of it was even good.
“Well, Dad, the town finally elected a new mayor. Can you believe it? For a while there, I thought old Tadeson would die at his desk and the town would be so determined to keep him on that they’d have him stuffed like a deer and mounted in his chair for all eternity.”
The good thing about taking this trip down memory lane on New Year’s was that the streets were usually deserted. Spence appreciated that. It made it easier to talk to his dad. He had no problem having a bad reputation—in fact, he’d worked very hard to become known as a badass—but there was a big difference between being seen as someone with a Troubled Past and someone who gave his troubles names and talked out loud to them.
“The new guy seems pretty decent. About my age, maybe a couple of years younger. Name’s Cole Dekker. I think you knew his grandparents. He lives in their place, one of the big brick houses on Sycamore. They’re probably with you. You can check in with them, if you want.”
Spence reached the top of the hill and walked toward the wing of the building that housed the public library. The town offices were at the back, tucked between the senior center and the police station.
“Funny thing is, Dad, the new guy—Dekker—came close to losing the election at the last minute. Bet you can’t guess why.”
In the distance, he heard the delighted shrieks of kids sledding down the library hill.
“Yep. It was all thanks to your old buddy Rob Elias.”
Who would have ever believed that someone running for office would fall for the daughter of one of the most disgraced politicians in the country? Or that the local newspaper would have splashed insinuations all over the front page on the eve of the vote?
“But Dekker seems to be a stand-up kind of guy. He played it straight and honest, told folks what was what, and pulled out a win despite it all. I hear he and the Elias girl are getting married. The second daughter. Jenna.” He huffed out a laugh. “Should have clarified. Just in case you thought it was Bree.”
Bree Elias. Now there was an interesting development.
She was probably inside Town Hall right this moment, watching her future brother-in-law being sworn in. It was the kind of thing the Elias family did. Those sisters were tight. The family was tight. Other than Rob, of course.
Spence’s family used to be like that, too. Until Rob screwed them over and turned their lives inside out.
“We’re going to be working together, old Bree and I. Seems she’s on that group for the food forest. The one you and I used to talk about.”
And there was another “who would believe it” moment—that an Elias would end up working on the project that Spence had spent the past five years planning as a memorial to his father.
“Think she’s going to spend every meeting giving me hell again?” His laugh was short and only slightly tinged with irony. “All I could think of that day, while she was calling me every name in the book, was that if she only knew the truth . . .”
Not that she ever would. Spence had gone to great lengths to create the story that had spread around town after he left school to take over James Landscaping. He didn’t want anyone’s pity. Nor did he want anyone to think of him as a nice guy, like his dad. Not when it came to business.
Because it seemed the old line about nice guys finishing last had more than a kernel of truth to it. Especially when it came to Gordon James and Rob Elias. And if Spence had learned one thing from the way life had unfolded, it was that he had no desire to be used, discarded, and left holding the bag the way his father had.
“I’ll have to make sure I sit across from Bree at the meetings. Just to watch her squirm.”
Spence’s arm was starting to ache from the weight of the urn. Huh. He must be getting stronger. When he first started these walks five years ago, he could barely make it to the end of Main Street before his muscles started protesting.
“Either that or you’ve been losing weight, Dad.”
A movement by the entry to the building caught Spence’s eye. As if conjured up by the melancholy that always accompanied these walks, Rob Elias slipped out of the building and began picking his way across the icy parking lot.
Spence watched the older man through a cloud of regret. It wasn’t right. Rob Elias had betrayed Spence’s family, dragged his parents into his schemes. Because of Rob, Spence’s parents had been essentially ordered to leave their business, leave Calypso Falls, and start over at the time in their lives when they should have been able to start enjoying themselves.
Because of Rob Elias, Spence had been forced to leave school and take over the family business.
Because of Rob Elias, Spence’s father had died in Arizona, far from the place he had loved and always called home.
Spence watched Rob make his cautious way toward the far side of the lot. It wasn’t what anyone would call a graceful progression. The ice lent a decided Bugs Bunny element to Rob’s movements.
“Looks like someone decided it was more important to wear his good shoes than to do the sensible thing and put on boots,” Spence commented. In his head, his father chuckled and said something about not being petty. Spence gave the bag a jiggle.
“Easy for you to be forgiving, Dad. You don’t have to watch him worming his way back into—”
Rob’s feet flew out from under him. His arms whirled, he lurched sideways, bounced off the side of a pickup—
And hit the pavement.
Shit.
Spence tucked his bag against the side of the building and hurried as fast as he dared across the lot.
If I fall and break my leg because of Rob Elias, I swear I’m going to drop Dad’s urn on his damned fool head.
Ah, now there was a thought to warm the cockles of his heart.
Spence moved steadily, hands braced on every car he passed, keeping his gaze locked on Elias, who had yet to move. His phone was in his pocket. Should he call for help? He considered for a minute, grabbing a side view mirror to steady himself and decided against it. For all he knew, the older man had simply had the breath knocked out of him. No point in setting off sirens and wasting taxpayer dollars on emergency responders when they weren’t needed. Especially on a man who had wasted more than his share of public funds already.
Spence’s decision to wait was rewarded when, just as he skated around the never-ending hood of a Continental—who the hell still drove those suckers?—he heard a loud groan come from the ground. The fact that it was immediately followed by a string of curses against fate, God, ice, and winter in general led Spence to believe that if Rob was hurt, it wasn’t incredibly serious.
He moved slowly to the front grille of the Lincoln and stopped. By his calculations he was just far enough back to not lend a hand.
He knew Rob had noticed him by the sudden halt to the swearing.
“Spence.”
“Elias.” Spence kept his tone as frigid as the surrounding air.
“Don’t suppose you’re going to help me get up.”
“That would be correct.” Especially when closer inspection—and the flailing of arms and legs—assured Spence that Rob did indeed seem to be uninjured.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re just like your father? Because if they did, they were lying through their teeth.”
It was hard to feel threatened or insulted by someone doing his best imitation of an upside-down turtle.
“My father was a good man. Having seen how that turned out, I’m not inclined to follow in his footsteps. Especially when it comes to you.”
Rob stopped his awkward wriggling and leveled a squinty-eyed glare at Spence. “You do remember that I’ve known you since before you were born. You can’t fool me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of trying.” Spence made himself smile. “Especially when it’s so much fun to watch you squirm and know that, for once, you’re the one paying for your mistakes.”
And to know that, if Spence and the other townspeople he was working with were successful, Rob could well end up paying with the loss of one of his dreams—the chance to set up his new charitable venture in Calypso Falls.
Rob muttered something that Spence couldn’t hear, lost as it was in grunts and groans as he rolled over and grabbed the bumper of the pickup, only to slip once more.
“How about we make a deal?” he said between pants. “You help me up, and you can have ten minutes to curse me out, interrogate me, whatever.”
“Not interested.”
Rob glared at him. “What turned you into such a heartless bastard?”
Not what, Spence thought. Who?
“I’m not totally cold-blooded,” he said. “If you think you need help, I’ll call an ambulance for you.”
“Don’t . . . need . . . god . . . damned . . . ambulance.” Rob pulled himself to his knees and looked back over his shoulder at Spence.
“Good. Then I won’t waste my time or battery.”
“Are you really going to just stand there and make me do this myself?”
“Nope.” Spence pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’m going to record it for posterity.”
“Son of a—”
“My mother is still alive, Elias. I strongly advise that you not say anything that might call her character into question.” He clicked the RECORD button. “Especially when it could end up on YouTube.”
“Damn it, Spence. I gave you your first bike.”
Spence had managed to punch that event down to the bottom of his memory bank. “I already thanked you for that. About twenty, twenty-five years ago.” He stopped, pretended to consider. “If the thank-you note didn’t make it to you before you faked your own death, well, take it from me, my grandmother would have been proud. It was very well written.”
Rob mumbled something and hauled himself slowly, painfully upright. One foot inched forward. A small sound of pain slipped out.
Despite himself, Spence stepped toward him.
Rob grinned. “Gotcha.”
Spence scowled, turned as slowly and deliberately as the ice would allow, and made tracks.
God, he hated it when his inner nice guy decided to take charge.
* * *
Bright and early the next morning, Bree walked into her mother’s house, set her bag of supplies on the dining room table, and sat down across from Margie, who was nursing an oversize cup of coffee. Which probably meant she was nursing an oversize hangover as well.
“You do know that most people stop partying once the sun rises on the new year, don’t you, Margie?”
Her aunt cleared her throat. “This was Cole’s first big win. His first day as mayor. That called for champagne.”
“You, with champagne? You only drink that at weddings, and then just enough to hold you until you can get to the bar and order a Scotch and soda.”
“And this is why,” Margie said in her most pitiful voice. “Scotch barely leaves a ripple, but that nasty bubbly shit? Turns me into a pile of headache and sweat. Can’t be trusted.”
From the way Margie was clinging to her mug, Bree suspected there was a little more than just a hair of the dog swimming beside the caffeine. In anyone else she would be worried about the beginnings of alcoholism, but this was Margie. Moderation was one of her least favorite words, be it in ingestion or avoidance.
“Has Paige made an appearance yet this morning?”
“I heard her in the shower a while ago. She’ll probably be down in a minute.” Margie scowled. “I don’t know why the hell you have to interrogate her today. She’s flying back to Scotland tomorrow. We shouldn’t have to waste what time we have with her talking about your father.”
“Not my first choice, either,” Bree said. “But these interviews are easier to do in person. Besides, the book is due in May, so I’ll have everything wrapped up and won’t need to bother her when she’s home for the summer.”
Margie grunted. “Damned well better not. Summer is the last time we’ll have her around for more than a week or two at a time. Once she gets married . . .”
Her words trailed off, no doubt dragged down by the same sorrow Bree always felt when she thought about her sister making her permanent home across the pond. As happy as she was to see Paige marrying Duncan—and she was, no doubt about that—she hated knowing that it was going to take passports, airplanes, and serious money for them to be together again.
Why the hell hadn’t anyone perfected that whole “Beam Me Up” thing yet?
“Is Annie working today?”
Margie drank deeply before answering. “If it’s a weekday, she’s at work. How that girl keeps going is beyond me.”
“She would tell you that she loves the job and adores the kids.”
“I don’t buy it,” Margie said. “Nobody likes kids enough to spend their whole life with a houseful of ’em. Especially when they’re not hers. I mean, I love you girls, but I could barely stand you when you were that age. After your mom had Annie and it was nonstop bawling and diapers—well—that was what turned me and Scotch into such good buddies.”
Oh yeah. Bree believed that one about as much as she believed the bulk of Freudian theory. Which was to say, not at all.
“Be proud. Annie works hard to make her day care a safe and fun place for those kids to spend their time.” Her inner imp added, “Maybe you should, you know, hang out there. Volunteer.”
Margie choked on her coffee, sputtered, and thumped her chest. “What the hell? Sabrina Joy, are you trying to kill me?”
“Me? No! Of course not! I just thought it might be good for you to get a better grasp of what Annie does and the service she’s providing. You could read books to the kids. Do some crafts, maybe.” Bree sat back and smirked. “You know, I could totally see you finger-painting with—”
Margie bolted upright in the closest thing Bree had seen to panic from her since the day Neenee kicked open a locked bathroom door, only to have the knob connect with Kyrie’s mouth. The blood had been impressive. Margie’s hyperventilation and fainting spell had been legendary.
“Paige!” Margie yelled as she hurried toward the stairs. “Come talk to your sister before she makes me hurl!”
Bree dug in her bag for a notepad and pen while a softly satisfied laugh spilled out of her.
“You are evil, Bree.” Neenee wandered into the room, a much smaller mug in her hands. She set it down in front of Bree. “You know it’s not normal to torture people that way, don’t you?”
“Not to worry, Mom. I know all about abnormal behavior. Got an A in that class, actually.”
“And yet you continue to land on the Dark Side.” Neenee shook her head. “I will never understand you.”
“I learned it all from the best,” Bree said, nodding toward Margie’s empty chair. “Seriously, if you had any idea how many papers I could write on this family . . . Margie alone could guarantee me tenure.”
“Except that no one in their right mind would believe the things you would have to say about her.” Neenee pulled her phone from her pocket, tapped a button, and slipped it back in. “That’s my biggest worry about this book of yours, you know. That you’ll write the total truth, and no one will believe a word of it because it seems too farfetched.”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Paige called as she descended the stairs. “I’ll make up some total bullshit. It’s guaranteed to sound more plausible than the truth.”
“Great. That’s exactly what I’ll need when I go in front of a hiring committee,” Bree said. “Bullshit in my research.”
“Don’t worry, Breezy. I’ll make sure it’s all so juicy and scandalous that no one will be able to stop reading.” Paige widened her eyes and held a hand to the side of her open mouth in mock shock. “Who would believe that those sweet Elias girls could have those kinds of thoughts?”
Bree joined in the laughter, but Paige’s words had reminded her of a niggling worry about her work. “Listen. Something to keep in mind. All but one of my subjects so far are American. Which doesn’t matter so much for the book, because that’s going to be a commercial piece, and the main factor there is how entertaining the stories are.”
“See?” Paige nodded. “Entertainment value. That’s what I can provide you. Think of me every time you cash a big, fat royalty check.”
Bree bit back her instinctive comments about direct deposit, her agent’s cut, and the fact that she would be lucky to make anything above the advance. The up-front money was all she was counting on. It wasn’t a ton by any means—J.K. Rowling probably made as much in an hour as Bree would earn total—but it would give her a nice cushion that would come in handy once her PhD was behind her and it was time to get settled in a new job/home/city.
Planning ahead. It was how Bree had helped care for her sisters during a childhood that could charitably be described as chaotic, and it was how she was going to take care of herself now.
“The thing is,” she continued, “I’m using the same research for my dissertation, and for that I’d like to include a cross-cultural component. So if you should happen to run into anyone over there in bagpipe land who had their childhood ripped out from under them by a parental scandal, let me know, will you?”
“Oh sure. Because that’s the best way to meet new people, especially in a new country.” Paige extended her hand. “‘Hi, I’m Paige, so good to meet you; by any chance was your mother or father a twathead when you were little?’”
“So glad to know you’re taking this seriously,” Bree said, and pulled her bag closer. “Which reminds me—it’s time to begin our interview. You ready to have me delve into the deepest part of your memories?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Planning on it,” Bree said. “Mwahahahahaha!”