Her brow lifted. Something flashed in her eyes.Desire.Then maybe fear, since she understood I was taking her one way or another. “Wash, you still, uh, got those?”
“Yep. The second pair survived. Unlike my patience.”
That earned me a smirk she hid behind her mimosa. Then she picked up a prix fixe menu on the table. After a beat, she put it down. “Didn’t mean to be dramatic at Dooky Chase.” Her eyes met mine. Written in beautiful mahogany ink in those irises was an apology. “You gotta know, Wash, I wasn’t mad at you. Never. You know the saying,looks are deceiving?”
“Yep.”
“Actions too. Which is why I give myself space, so you didn’t catch these … paws offurry.”
“It’s fury.” My eyebrows crinkled. “Uh-uh! Nah, Maddy. Black people aren’t furries.”
“You know what that is?”
“Some of the kids. Confused.”
“Okay, you do. But I mean, full-on grumpy cat. Which went over your head. So … I’ll keep that part between me and Shonda.”
I needed a drink. Wanted to toast this woman. But could I speak of her and therapy in the same sentence? Nah. I’d have to catch those furry paws.
Madison glanced over the menu with a frown. “As much as I enjoy the taste of scallops and grits, this restaurant caters to tourists. You know what they say about that?”
“Tourist prices?” I sat back. “Don’t worry about all that.”
“Well, yeah, I assumed DuVall had it covered. But when cooking for tourists, it’s all for show. So, do I still get counted for this day, Your Honorable Accountability Avenger, if we leave early? Together?”
“Where do you get these names?”
“Google. Maybe.”
I shrugged. “Okay, we showed our faces. We’re good. Let’s go.”
She grabbed her clutch and got up.
My eyes traced her, all those gorgeous twists and turns, more curves than the Mississippi. That got me thinking. I sat back; arms folded behind my head. “One condition.”
“Wash—”
“That you?—”
“Ing—”
“Call meProbation Papi.” My head tilted. “Or just Papi.”
“Ton!” Maddy practically shouted.
My legs, in linen slacks, crossed at the ankles. My mouth twisted in a way that said,I have spoken!
Madison stepped forward, muttering under her breath, and downed her mimosa. “Okay,Probation. Pa … Pa.”
“Uh-uh!” I cut the air. “That won’t work. Unless you want to grab another Hand Granade.”Be my little freak again.
Her eyes narrowed. Dang, she read my mind. “Whatever … Dome Daddy.”
Her mouth twisted into a smirk as she glared at my bald head. Yep. She tried it.
My smile washed off her smug, satisfied expression. “That’ll do,bébé. You can always call me Daddy. Now let’s get outta here.”
It took us forever to leave. One name.Bridget.That woman caught us tiptoeing toward the exit and turned us right back around. Because of the good Southern hospitality, brunch lasted until early evening. I tried to keep tabs on Madison, especially around the DuValls, but they seemed to be double-teaming us. Gaston chatted me up. Bridget held my wife hostage. When I mouthed,Blink twice if I should call the Feds, from across the courtyard, Madison only smiled and waved. Bridget’s mimosa crew must’ve threatened to waterboard her for trying to escape.
