Paige topped off Graham’s water and he thanked her with that unhurried British courtesy that somehow made every syllable sound sincere.
Randi speared a cherry tomato out of her salad. “What was your favorite memory from working at the embassy?”
Graham set down his fork and considered that for a moment, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Favorite,” he repeated. “That’s a dangerous word. It implies enjoyment. And I assure you, most of my time there was paperwork, politics, and pretending not to sweat in a wool suit.”
“Come on,” Randi pressed. “You must have one good story.”
He smiled faintly. “All right, then. There was an incident involving a very determined parrot.”
Paige blinked. “A parrot?”
Graham nodded. “Yes. A scarlet macaw, to be precise. Belonged to a visiting diplomat’s wife. Beautiful bird, terrible manners. The woman insisted on bringing it everywhere: receptions, luncheons, the consulate. One afternoon, it escaped during a reception for some trade delegates.”
Randi leaned in. “And?”
“It flew straight into the main conference room,” he said. “Where it perched on the chandelier above a table of very serious people discussing import tariffs. Then, right as the ambassador from Honduras was making some grand point, the parrot began shouting, ‘Liar! Liar!’ in perfect English.”
Randi burst out laughing. “No!”
Paige snickered, shaking her head. “That can’t be true.”
“I assure you, it happened,” Graham said, deadpan. “Three countries nearly withdrew their delegations before we caught the poor thing with a cardboard box and a towel. I spent thenext week filing reports on ‘avian disruptions to diplomatic decorum.’”
Paige, still smiling, returned to her steak. “I can’t decide if that’s ridiculous or tragic.”
“Both,” he said, winking at her. “But it made me a firm believer in never underestimating the power of a well-timed insult.”
Randi wiped her eyes, clearly amused. “You’re officially the most interesting man my mother’s ever dated.”
Paige felt her pulse jump at the worddated. She opened her mouth, thinking she should say something, but Graham beat her to it, raising his glass slightly.
“To the parrot,” he said. “Proof that diplomacy occasionally ruffles feathers.”
Chapter Sixteen
Maude was floating from her wonderful lunch with Ollie. They were officially official. It felt like high school all over again but without the peer pressure, soul-crushing angst, and acne.
Okay, there was alittleangst. Just from her. She was slightly worried that Ollie might catch some grief for getting involved with a woman so soon after his divorce, but it wasn’t like they’d just met. They had history. Not to mention, Emily had cheated. But maybe he didn’t want that getting out either, for the sake of the kids.
Of course, no one at the hospital would know she and Ollie had history, but it was easy enough for him to explain.
The last thing he needed was more grist for the gossip mill at work. Maybe she should talk to him about that, about making it clear that the two of them had known each other for four decades and had dated a lifetime ago.
She thought about texting him, but he was probably asleep. It wasn’t that late, but she knew he got up early, so she imagined he’d crash at a fairly adult hour. She planned on running someraids with herNightforgeenclave, the online RPG she’d been playing for years.
But not until she finally got around to eating that flan Essie had given her. She’d been waiting for the right moment when she could just sit and enjoy it. Which was what she was going to do right now.
She grabbed the container out of the fridge and a fork from the drawer and went out to her porch. It was a beautiful night. A few stars twinkled in the sky and the slight breeze held a hint of salt from the Gulf.
Essie was the sweetest. Maude really hoped everything worked out all right for her with that stepdaughter. She liked Frank, too, even though she’d only had a brief interaction with him.
Maude took a bite. The flan melted like caramel sunshine on her tongue. She closed her eyes, letting the evening settle around her. The Colony at night was its own kind of magic—distant waves brushing the shore, the soft hum of insects, porch lights glowing like friendly beacons.
And it was quiet. Most everyone was tucked away in their house. Here and there, a window showed the flickering blue light of a television, but some were already dark.
Because they were on the Gulf and too much light disrupted the sea turtles’ natural habitat, the streetlights were kept to a minimum and just provided a soft glow. She liked it.
She scooped up some more flan. Man, this stuff was good. Essie ought to open a flan shop. Or just make flan for everyone once a week. Then movement caught Maude’s eye.
