Page 75 of Boston
“I don’t know about that, kitten.”
She leaned into his chest. “Oh, ‘kitten.’ I like that.”
“Do you?”
“Absolutely,” she said. “And there’s a place in town called Crab Shack that has great reviews.”
Boston shook his head. “They’re all lies.”
“So it’s not good?” Her expression fell, and Boston wished he had better news for her.
“It’s not good, sweetheart,” he said. “Trust me on this.” He took her hand and headed for the steps that would take them back down to the parking lot. “What do you want? A lobster tail? Because I don’t think you can get that in Coral Canyon.” He glanced over to her when they reached the bottom of the steps. “Maybe in Jackson.”
“We don’t have time to go to Jackson,” she said. “At least not before I get my car. The dealership closes at eight.”
“We could pick up your car first,” Boston said. “And just park it somewhere.” In fact, he knew a house that sat about a half-mile off the southern highway that led to Jackson Hole, where they could leave Cora’s car. Oh, the questions his father would have then. They almost made Boston smile.
Cora shook her head. “Once I get the car, I’m going to want to drive it,” she said. “Not park it somewhere.”
“All right.” He opened her door for her. “Your best bet for seafood is probably going to be the steak house,” he said. “I think the Branding Iron has shrimp and lobster, you know, surf and turf.”
“I was just hoping for maybe some really good clam chowder,” she said.
Boston grimaced. “I do not like clams. It’s like chewing on erasers.”
“They’re an acquired taste,” Cora said, as she somehow got herself in those heels into his truck.
He joined her and they headed to town, because he didn’t have to know where they were going to dinner to get them on their way. “I don’t know if we can get you the clam chowder tonight,” Boston said. “But my grandma makes a mean pot of clam chowder.”
Cora looked over to him, interest sparkling in her eyes. “Does she?”
“Oh, and by the way, my momma knows about you,” he said. “The whole family probably does by now.”
Cora glanced to him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I didn’t tell any of the cousins not to say anything to my parents, and apparently my mom talked to Bryce, and he said that he really liked you; that you’re really nice.” He grinned over to her. “I’m sure she called me within five seconds, and I had to tell her.”
“Oh, youhadto, huh?” Cora teased. “At least now you know how I feel.”
“It’s a totally different situation,” he said. “You’re not working for my mother.”
“I know, Boston,” she said quietly, and Boston dropped it when he heard her use his name like that.
“So what are you gonna name your car?” he asked.
Cora swung her attention to him. “Oh, honey.” She shook her head. “You don’t name the car before you drive it.”
Boston laughed, and just when he thought he might be able to stop, the humor in what she’d said came roaring back, and he howled again. She laughed with him, and when he did finally quiet, she said, “You have to see how she drives first.”
“What, like handles all the corners in the canyon?”
“Yeah, just like that,” she said.
“Or on these straight highways that go north and south.”
“Those too,” she said, a measure of dignity in her voice. “Sometimes it can take days or weeks to name a car. You have to find the exact right one.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “I’ve never named a car.”
