Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I had a margarita in my hand and Mo’s heavy arm slung around my shoulder, so I coasted mine around his waist.
“Get out of my way, Paul, I’m making Mo a plate. And Lottie. I’m making Mo and Lottie a plate,” Signe announced, nudging her husband out of the way and picking up a small, delicate, china plate with a graceful gold design on the edges.
“The man can feed himself,” Paul muttered.
“No he can’t, with all you boys guarding the food like rabid dogs,” Signe fired back.
I heard Mo’s quiet sigh.
I also again beat back laughter.
And last, I was understanding how Mo learned to communicate nonverbally.
He grew up with four older sisters who wouldn’t let him get a word in edgewise.
I took a sip of my drink.
“Perhaps, if my girls can give Lottie the impression we’ve got a modicum of manners and aren’t one step down from lunacy, I could sleep tonight. Rather than tossing and turning at the thought my son’s new girlfriend is buying a one-way ticket somewhere very far from here to get away from us,” Ingrid suggested smoothly before taking a sip of what appeared to be a martini with olives from a stylish glass.
Clearly, after my intro to the Morrison women, she’d retrieved her cocktail.
Actually, probably because I was receiving said intro, she’d had to retrieve her cocktail.
“And he can feed himself, Signe,” Ingrid continued. “And as it appears Lottie has full use of all her limbs, I’m sure she can too.”
Mother spoke, Signe gave big eyes to her sisters, all three of them, put a corn muffin and salmon sandwich on her plate and retreated from the coffee table where all the food was laid out.
When she did, Paul dropped a heavy arm on her shoulders.
Rick cleared his throat and started, “Lottie, if you could—”
“Don’t,” Lene interrupted him.
“I’m just—” Rick tried again.
“Nope,” she cut him off.
“Laynz, she won’t be—”
“Shut it,” Lene bit.
“I’d be happy to sign your poster and ask the Rock Chicks to sign your books,” I offered. “I even know the author and can ask her too. They all like doing that, so they’ll be happy to and so will I.”
Rick smiled big at me. “Thanks, Lottie.”
“Not a problem,” I told him.
He gave a look to his wife.
She rolled her eyes.
“Lottie, now that we have some calm in the storm my girls are so adept at blowing, why don’t you tell us a little about you?” Ingrid invited, and then, class act that she was, guided my way, “I hear you have a mother and sister that live in town.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“I’d enjoy meeting them,” she replied.
“And they you. They already love Mo. I’m sure you’ll be fast friends.”
Her gaze darted to her son and came back to me. “They’ve met?”
Uh-oh.
Mo hadn’t shared.
He also didn’t share now.
He was nonchalantly drawing off a bottle of beer.
This meant I had to do it.
“He came to dinner at my mom’s house.”
“Of course they love Mo,” Trine butted in. “Mo’s lovable. Tammy’s parents adored him. I think her mother is still wearing black in grief that Tammy messed that up.”
“Treenz,” Signe clipped. “Don’t mention Tammy.”
“He wasn’t in a monastery before he met her, Seenz,” Trine shot back.
“Lord save me,” Ingrid whispered.
“Not that we’re Catholic,” Trine said over her, aiming this my way. “And not that we have a problem with Catholics. We don’t. We’re just not Catholic.”
“I’m Catholic,” Lene put in.
“Because Rick’s Catholic,” Trine returned.
“I’m Catholic because I’m Catholic,” Lene retorted. “I just converted prior to marrying him.”
“Because Rick was Catholic,” Marte butted in.
“It doesn’t matter,” Signe snapped. “Talking about it is making Lottie think we think it matters when it doesn’t.” Signe looked to me. “We’re cool with all races, religions and creeds. I promise.”
“I wasn’t worried,” I assured her.
“Except white supremacists. We’re not cool with that,” Trine declared.
“No one’s cool with that,” Marte replied. “And that isn’t a religion.”
“It is a creed,” Trine fired back.
“Right, would you four freakin’ shut it?” Mo demanded.
All four turned to him.
Or five, since I did the same.
But he was looking down at me.
“Rewind to our talk in the truck. You got nothin’ to be worried about. It seems I had somethin’ to worry about. You findin’ out my sisters are a bunch a’ kooks and runnin’ for the hills.”
My mound of hunkalicious boyfriend looked hassled.
I smiled up at him.
“Ohmigod,” Marte breathed, moving toward me. “You were worried, Lottie? That’s so sweet.” She threw a look over shoulder at her sisters before she drew me out from under Mo’s arm and toward the coffee table. “Isn’t that sweet?” she asked her sisters.
“That’s so sweet,” Lene said, crowding into me. “We don’t bite, promise.”
“We’re just a little crazy,” Marte told me, reaching to get a little plate and handing it to me.
Signe snatched up a square cloth cocktail napkin, also handing it to me, doing this saying, “We’re not crazy. Crazy makes it sound bad. We’re zany.”