Page 109 of Made

“Yep. That’s the one.”

“Well, now that you can make your own clothes, I guess you don’t need me,” Esme said, deliberately trying to sound pitiful.

“Don’t worry, Esme,” I said. “I’ll never make my own clothes. I couldn’t leave home without you to dress me first.”

“Do you think Kagan…?” Esme began, but stopped. “Since you brought it up, I do think Kagan seems more, ah, I don’t know, confident?”

I grinned. “He’s certainly earned that.”

“Agree,” Evie said. “The bards will sing sagas of his heroics.”

“In what time machine?” I asked.

Though Maeve had moved to the queen mum's castle after Diarmuid’s coronation, it couldn’t really be said that it was a step down in lifestyle. Not to ever be outdone, she’d gone to some trouble to make sure her residence was the largest and grandest with the widest staircases, the most exotic plants in the garden, and the tallest guards.

The king didn’t care. When Evie mentioned it, he just laughed and said, “Aye. Sounds like Mum.”

Evie would never understand how someone like Maeve could’ve birthed and raised someone like Diarmuid. It would remain one of the all-time great mysteries.

“I think we should tell your mother no presents.”

Diarmuid laughed out loud. “Good luck. The dogs and I’ll be huntin’.”

“For what?”

“Hamburgers.”

Evie rolled her eyes. “When did you become a comedian?”

“Always been funny, love. All the lasses say so. Can no’ help it.”

She lunged at him. “I HATE it when you do that ‘all the lasses’ thing!”

He was laughing and playing keep-away with his body. “I know. ‘Tis why I do it.”

She stopped. “You deliberately set out to vex me?”

“Aye. Full attention on me. No one and no thing other than me.”

Growing suddenly serious, Evie said, “Are you feeling deprived of my notice?”

He pretended to think about it. “No’ really. But ‘tis a good excuse for vexin’ ye.”

“Arghhhhhh!”

“And yer so beautiful when yer on the verge of a tantrum.”

“TANTRUM?!?” That was the wrong thing to say.

“Aye. Look in the mirror. Yer color is high. Just beautiful.”

She looked in the mirror. Truly, her cheeks were flushed and, truly, she did look good. “So, you intentionally make me mad as a beauty treatment.”

“Guess ye might say so.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“Or what?”

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