Page 58 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

“And?”

“And what?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“Nope,” he said, shaking the bottle vigorously before unscrewing the cap and dragging the brush against the opening.

He began painting her nails carefully. “You’re not going to tell me anything?” Jory asked, somewhat annoyed.

“Not a damn thing.”

“But I need to know what to wear! Taking me spelunking requires very different clothing choices than going to a movie.”

“You could wear spelunking gear to a movie. Just keep the headlamp off.”

“Robbie.”

“Jory.”

“Please. I’ve been in a tizzy all day. At least tell me what to wear.”

“Well, what did Cal tell you to wear?”

“He said I could wear anything I wanted.”

“So wear anything you want.”

“Robbie.”

Robbie smirked over her hand, his eyes focused on his work. But then he canted his head to the side a bit. “Wear something that makes you feel… like you’re the boss.”

“I thought you’d tell me to wear something that he would think was sexy.”

“I did.”

“You said?—”

“Honey,” Robbie interrupted, his accent thick, with far more twang than Esther’s drawl. “If you open that door looking like you feel like the boss, he’s gonna have a hard time keeping his paws to himself. Confidence is sexy as fuck.”

Jory bit back her smile. Just then, the kitchen door flew open, and Esther blew in like a gale force wind.

“I am so sorry I’m late. There’s like three stoplights in this damn town, and I hit every single one red. And before that, I had to help Hank hold a level because of course it couldn’t wait. And—helloooo.” Esther drew out the last vowel in surprise.

Robbie looked up at her with a genuine smile. “Hey, Esther.”

“Hiiii,” Ester drawled again, as if the vowels were moving at quarter speed. “What’s going on here?”

Jory answered, “Manicure party,” at the same time Robbie said, “Ritual sacrifice,” and Esther’s red eyebrows seemed to shoot straight through her freckles and into her hairline. Jory patted the coffee table with the hand that was drying.

“You’ve met Robbie, Esther.”

Esther moved further into the room but made no progress toward sitting. “Yes,” Esther said sarcastically. “Met.”

Robbie blushed bright red, the flush rising out of the crew neck of his black sweatshirt all the way to his ears. “Esther,” he said, setting Jory’s hand down and capping the nail polish. “I wanna apologize for scaring you.”

“You wanna apologize for scaring me?” Esther repeated.

It was funny to hear them parrot one another. Esther’s accent had the smooth viscosity of Blanche Devereaux. Her vowels were long and elegant. Robbie’s accent had the same shape but with sharper edges. It didn’t glide around the curves as much as it sliced through them.