Page 108 of The Sebastian Guarantee
“What is it, Phoebe?” Harper pressed, her gaze glinting with mischief. “Are you enjoying the new Wham Bam as much as . . .” She turned to Libby. “How many have you sold?”
“Seven million nine hundred thousand.”
“Are you enjoying it as much as nearly eight million chicks?” Harper inquired.
Phoebe grimaced. “Um . . .”
Libby gasped. “Hold on. I’m refining my reading. Phoebe is open to new possibilities with quite a bit of sexual energy on the side.”
“What are we talking about here, Libbs?” Harper probed. “Like eighty percent open to possibilities, twenty percent Wham Bam?”
“I’m thinking sixty-forty,” Libby clarified.
And mega-ugh!Phoebe was damned sure her cheeks had gone from pink to beet red. This was worse than dreaming about being naked in public. Scratch that. This might be worse than actually being naked in public.
“Smile!” called Charlotte, then snapped a picture with her camera.
Phoebe cradled her head in her hands. She loved these women. It was like having four aunts, which was great—until they rented a puffy-pink stripper pole party bus and instigated an interrogation.
“Ladies,” Madelyn said, like a judge calling court to order, “let’s allow Phoebe to take a breath and tell us about her day.”
How would Madelyn know that?
“Yes,” her aunt Penny agreed. “Tell us about Stratlin.”
Phoebe couldn’t help but smile. “I met the former principal and school secretary at my mom’s high school—the wife was the principal, and the husband was the secretary.”
“Busting the patriarchy. Woot, woot!” Harper interjected.
“They showed me around the high school and gave me this.” Phoebe removed the yearbook from her tote, opened it to her mother’s page, and set it on the table. “You’ll never believe this, but my mom and I had the same senior quote.”
“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. Eleanor Roosevelt,” Charlotte read.
“Why did you pick that quote, Phoebe? I don’t think I ever asked you,” Penny commented, touching the page.
Phoebe watched her aunt closely. “You and Uncle Rowen gave me a book of quotes from notable women in history for one of my birthdays. I think it was for my thirteenth.”
“No, honey,” her aunt answered with a furrowed brow, “that book wasn’t from your uncle and me. I would have remembered giving it to you.”
“Then who gave it to me?” Phoebe asked, glancing at Charlotte, Harper, and Libby. “It was on my desk in my bedroom. I remember seeing it wrapped in shiny silver paper with a red bow.”
Madelyn adjusted her scarlet scarf. “It was from me.”
“It was?”
“Yes, and it wasn’t for your thirteenth birthday. It was a year before, when you turned twelve.”
Phoebe stared at the matchmaker. “Did you know my mother and I picked the same quote? Did you want that to happen? Is that why you gave me that book?”
Madelyn maintained a poker face, giving nothing away. “Your mother’s maiden name is Funke.”
Phoebe reared back. That was one hell of a pivot in the conversation. “Yes, Melanie Funke.”
“Funke is German. It translates tosparkin English.”
“Okay,” Phoebe answered, stretching out the word. Where was Madelyn going with this?
“And that’s what you are, Phoebe. You’re the spark of the group,” she explained without explaining anything.
