Page 83 of Sirens
Her smile was brief, a flicker of warmth before she masked it with a shrug. “Who knows where the wind will blow, deputy?” There it was, the nudge back at him, an echo of their usual repartee. But it was fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, leaving Trent grappling with the worry that maybe, just maybe, he was thinking long term while she was already half packed in her mind. “But I haven’t even started recording yet, so I’ll be here for at least a handful more weeks.”
“I’ll tell my men to be on alert,” he teased.
“You’d better prepare them for the likes of me.” She laughed deviously, the sparkle returning to her haunted eyes.
Arm in arm, they wandered through the crowd, stopping at various booths along the way. Maggie inspected handmade quilts and locally sourced honey while he debated the merits of various craft beers. Their casual banter flowed easily, as if they’d been together for years instead of weeks.
There she was. He’d done it, coaxed the devil-may-care attitude from Maggie and brought the laughter back to her every interaction.
What if he could make her laugh every day?
The intrusive thought was dispelled as they arrived at the Bazaar Girls booth, beside which Gabe, Gemma, Ethan, Darby, Myrtle, and Vee gathered around Vee’s Lady Garden tent. The air vibrated with the laughter of friends and…actual vibrators.
As they approached, Gabe regaled the coterie with tales of his latest mechanical conundrum—a car that was more rust than metal and an owner with more money than sense—while Gemma finished a sale of hand-dyed alpaca wool that cost more deconstructed than a finished craft project would.
Ethan sidled up to Trent as Maggie abandoned him for the ladies. “Glad to see you two worked things out.” His pale-blue eyes gleamed knowingly. “Maggie was looking a bit…stormy earlier.”
Trent glanced at her, unable to stop his smile. “Skies are clear now.”
“So, it’s serious, then?” Ethan waggled his Viking-blond brows. “Should we be expecting a wedding invite anytime soon?”
“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Trent held up his hands in mock surrender. “We’re keeping things casual. No need to pick out china patterns just yet.”
Ethan’s laughter boomed, drawing the attention of the others. “You pass that detective exam?” he asked with a magnanimous change of subject.
“I didn’t know you were going for detective!” Darby bopped over to them in a feathery coat that might have once covered a turquoise-assed sasquatch.
“Scheduled for the summer.” Trent dipped his head, unprepared to be the center of attention.
Darby poked Maggie. “Twodetectives in a relationship? The best part of Ethan and my relationship is that I barely know what’s going on half the time, and this man has to know what’s going on all the time. Oh, and thatdee-ock!” She punctuated her appreciation for her man with a smack on his very tight (in all the ways) ass before saying, “Neither of you will be able to keep secrets from each other.”
Trent glanced at Maggie in time to see her creamy skin empty of any shade but a sickly gray as she summoned a wan smile. When she might have given a witty rejoinder, she just let her smile wobble until her gaze latched on to the social distraction that was Vee and Myrtle.
“Hey, you two!” she greeted them, with a bit more brightness than he expected. “So glad to see you’re out and about after your protest ordeal, Myrtle.”
“Ordeal?” Myrtle’s bright yellow coat and oversized orange waders made her look like Big Bird’s elderly (and recently molted) aunt. “You sayordeal, I sayadventure.Probably needed my new fingerprints on file anyways, so it was about time I was processed. At least this time they didn’t make me squat and cough.” She jabbed Trent with one broken yellow wing. “Been a few decades since I hid coke in my cornhole.”
Most of the laughter Myrtle received was born of astonishment and fueled by mirth once the shock wore off.
As per usual, the validity of her outlandish claims was left open for interpretation.
Vee was a picture of elegance in a flowing, long pink wool coat over mauve slacks and buttery-looking boots. In her hands was the most realistic-looking dildo Trent had ever seen. So realistic, in fact, he had to look away as a well of undiscovered Judeo-Christian shame brought heat to his cheeks. She brandished the…devicelike Samuel Jackson trying to be a Jedi.
“What’s that monstah?” Gabe marveled with a pervy smirk. “You getting your product from the Lorena Bobbitt collection? Because that looks real as fuck.”
“And so it is.” Vee’s coy expression brought out a vision of the young, mischievous woman she’d been fifty years prior. “A perfectly rendered cast of the actual member, as it were.”
Gabe made a rude noise. “I don’t believe in God, butsheblessed the owner ofthatbody.”
“Right?” Myrtle relieved her wife of the product, wriggling it like a spring. “Sales have been down a bit lately because kids these days buy their dildos on the line. So Vee ’n’ me were thinking…know what women need? RealDick.”
Trent shifted along with the other men in the vicinity. “Er, Myrtle. That isn’t?—”
“I mean,Idon’t. But RealDicks are the best! Tell your friends!” She eyed Ethan. First in the face, and then in the crotch. “I know you have to have a good one with how strange this one walks sometimes.” She hitched a thumb at Darby. “Wanna be part of the flagship product?”
Ethan stared at Myrtle for a full five seconds before he answered. “Are you having a stro?—”
Darby slammed her fingers over his mouth. “I think this conversation needs more context, Myrtle.”
