Page 88 of The Accidental Innkeeper

Gasps rippled through the room.

“This one’s mine,” said Lola cheerfully. “For safekeeping.”

Someone fanned herself.

Another woman whispered, “She’s incredible.”

“I am,” agreed Lola. She continued distributing cards, commentary included. “Oh, careful with that one. He knows his worth. And this one?” She tapped a card. “Has the stamina of a bull.”

I choked on my drink.

Lola moved over and offered a card to Helen. “Look. His shoulders are nearly as wide as yours. Perfect match.”

Ouch.

Helen made a face. “I won’t get involved in your sex games. I have principles.”

Lola smiled. “I don’t.”

Within minutes, clusters formed. Women huddled, comparing notes like they were prepping for finals.

Lola drifted back toward me, glowing. “See, darlin?” she said. “Preparation is everything.”

I looked around at the madness. The cards. The plotting. The pearls. The woman who was now bargaining for a card like it was beachfront property.

“This is insane,” I said.

Lola smiled, sipping her drink. “Oh, honey. This is strategy.”

“This is absolutely the craziest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said.

“Wait till tomorrow,” said a voice next to me.

I turned to find Becca in an immaculate light gray skirt suit next to me, a glass of red wine in her hand.

“Hey. Glad you could come.”

Becca grinned. “I never miss it. Wait till they have more booze in them. Last year, a few ended up topless.”

“Jesus.” I laughed. “And they come back every year?” I watched as Lola continued her rounds with her cards.

“Yup,” said Becca. “And they spend lots of money. Money the town needs.”

“Right.” I had to keep remembering that.

“So,” Becca said as she took a sip of wine. “I hear Alex has been here quite a lot lately.”

The thought of Dust-guy brought a smile to my traitorous lips, and of course, my face flamed.

“Ah,” said my cousin once removed. “So, things are… what between you two?”

I took a slow sip of my drink, mostly to buy time. Also to keep my face from spontaneously combusting. “Define… what.”

Becca’s grin widened. “Oh, come on. You don’t blush like that over plumbing.”

“It’s not plumbing,” I said defensively. “It’s chronic blushing. Very real. Google it.”

She hummed. “Uh-huh.”