Page 20 of Back in the Saddle

I kept shaking so the chill level would be just right before I slipped off the cap and poured. I topped up with ginger beer and was going for the apple slices for garnish when Martha batted my hand away, snatched up the glass, and I, along with Eric, watched her put it to her lips, tip her head back and down it in one.

She slammed the glass to the counter when she was done, smacked her lips and gusted, “Ah.”

She then looked at Eric and blinked.

Oh boy.

I opened my mouth again, but Martha was quick on the draw. “Who’re you?”

“Martha, this is Eric. He works with Cap,” I introduced.

“Of course you do,” she stated, not taking her attention from Eric. “I’ve seen those other boys. Jesus. Are you all recruited from modeling agencies, or what?”

I busted out laughing.

Eric’s lips were twitching as he replied, “Not exactly.”

“So?” Martha pushed for more info.

“I was in the FBI,” Eric shared.

I stopped laughing and stared.

Martha’s eyes bugged out. “The Federal Bureau of Investigation?”

“Yup. That FBI,” Eric confirmed.

“I’m in no mood to be impressed,” Martha declared. “So congratulations, because I’m impressed.”

Eric shrugged.

Martha looked at me and squinted. “Are you two a thing?”

I studiously kept my gaze on Martha when I replied, “Just friends.”

Martha was still squinting. “Just friends sharing a Thanksgivingà deux?”

“Just friends sharing Thanksgiving,” I asserted.

She continued squinting.

I fought squirming.

Her squint swung to Eric.

I braced and looked at Eric.

He was taking a sip of his cocktail.

I stopped looking at his face and started obsessing on how his strong throat convulsed during a swallow.

Yum.

“Welp!” Martha cried. “I’ve gotta head back. Face the music. Explain to my daughters-in-law, once again, that they will one day enter the joyful period of their lives where they’ll no longer need the likes on their Instagram posts to validate their existence, and they’ll learn life’s way too damned short to put up with a horse’s ass. They’ll disagree with me. Then they’ll go home. Still in tizzies. Which means they’ll forget to take leftovers. Which works for me. Have fun.”

And with that, not waiting for either of us to say anything, she marched right back out.

I held the shaker to Eric. “Ready for another one?”

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