“I’ll not apologize to Chevelle for shite.But I’ll show her that I can have a platonic relationship wit ya.” He’s bringing up yesterday? That’s what this is all about? Am I his apology to Chevelle? I doubt it. I’ve seen the looks, but I’ll play along.
“Then what? You’ll play nice for a couple of days? That’s where I come in? I’m supposed to tell Chevelle, ‘Ya know what, girl? Brody was such a nice guy. Whatever grudge you’ve held against him—’ ”
“Tell yer friend to get over it, aye. Pretty it up, though.”
Lips curving into a smirk, I retort, “Maybe. I get a peaceful day for once in my life. We do what I want—no grumbling, no cuss words.”
“Wit the feck? Ye cuss too.”
“So? To flower my language, you act like Broody Brody.”
Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined a stranger would facilitate the final bookend to a horrible time in my life. Looking a gift horse in its mouth is a sin. But this one sports a massive ego. Brody gets under my skin and lives there. So, we can play this little game. A smile falls onto my lips as I shake his hand. Prepare to lose, Mr. Smugs.