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When she followed his riveted gaze, she landed on Bernadette, who appeared equally flustered. Attempting to listen to Pinkie going on and on, while throwing furtive glances toward the elderly Scot.
Once again, Birdie was verklempt. Watching Bernadette absently tucking loose strands of her hair back into its meticulous braid and fidgeting with the folds of her dress. Her dark brown eyes seemingly pulled toward the ginger Scot, as if aligned poles of one another’s atoms were inextricably drawing them together, not despite but because of their magnetic opposition.
Mia’s voice broke through her thoughts, whispering, “Do you see what I see?”
Birdie nodded. “Sure do.”
“I kinda think they like one another.”
“Has anyone introduced them?”
“Pinkie tried, but before they could get past their smitten hellos, Willa Mae pulled him away, making a plate for him while Erma kept asking him why he wasn’t wearing his kilt.” Mia leaned closer, looking between the two of them, unable to keep their eyes off one another. She whispered, “It’s sweet, right?”
“It is,” Birdie agreed incredulously.
The day turned out to be one chocked-full of surprises.
