Page 9 of Stuff My Turkey
I finally found my voice again. "Thank you, Laverne. You've... really transformed her."
Laverne grinned, missing my diplomatic tone entirely. "Right? Oh, and don't worry about the bags. They're all stacked up by the register—enough to outfit her for a month!"
"Bags?" I blinked at the mountain of shopping bags. "All of these?"
"Every last one!" Laverne nodded. "We hit every boutique in Bitter Root this afternoon! She just looked so cute in everything, we couldn't help but get it all! More is always better, right? Plus, she'll need options for your holiday events."
The sound of fingers tapping on a screen drew my attention as a tall, willowy teenager I recognized as Laverne’s daughter appeared from the back room, phone already raised.
"Perfect timing! This is gold for the blog," May announced, positioning herself for the best angle as she snapped a selfie before continuing. "Mom's makeover magic deserves the Bitter Tea spotlight. 'From City Chic to Country Queen' — what do you think? Or maybe 'Bitter Root's Hottest New Couple Makes Their Debut'?"
She bounced on her toes with barely contained excitement. “Stand together, please! This is going to get so many clicks. The lighting's better this way.
"Hope you don't mind, but I ran her through Whataburger for lunch," Laverne said, patting her ample stomach. "Got myself a double patty with double cheese and all the fixin's plus onion rings. This one over here just had lettuce on a plain bun and a diet soda. Can you imagine? No wonder she's so skinny!"
"How much do I owe you?" I pulled out my wallet, afraid of what we'd get roped into if we stayed any longer.
She named a figure that made me blink twice, but I paid without comment. This was an investment. If the Vickerys signed on, it would be worth every penny.
"Just make out a check—you do know how to spell Laverne, right?" she winked. "Or just make it to Fringe Benefits if that's easier."
"Y'all come back anytime," she called as we staggered under the weight of Honey's new wardrobe to the truck. "And Heath? You treat this one right! She's a keeper!"
Outside, Honey waited until we were in the cab before turning to me. "A keeper, huh?"
"She's just being friendly," I said under my breath, starting the engine.
"I look ridiculous," she said, checking herself in the visor mirror. "This isn't me at all."
I glanced at her as I pulled onto Main Street. Under all that makeup and hairspray was still the woman who'd stood up to a judge, who'd driven two hours in the rain to rescue turkeys she thought were in danger. Who'd accepted my crazy proposition with blinking an eye.
"You look fine," I said gruffly. "The Vickerys will be impressed."
She let out a short laugh. "That I can stand upright under the weight of this hair? It's an engineering marvel."
I couldn't help but smile. "Hungry? We've got time for an early dinner at the Hungry Heifer before they arrive at eight."
"Sure," she agreed. "Though fair warning—if you take me somewhere with that name, I might just stick with soup."
My half-smile grew into a full one. "They make a decent tomato soup."
"Sold." She leaned back in her seat, then winced. "Ow. I think one of these rhinestones just stabbed me in the butt."
And just like that, the tension between us eased a fraction.
The drive to the diner took us past rolling hills dusted with the faded golds and browns of late autumn. A few early Christmas decorations had appeared on the storefronts, mixing oddly with the Thanksgiving birds and cornucopias in the window displays. The temperature had dropped since morning, and low clouds hinted at more rain on the way—typical for November in the Hill Country.
The Hungry Heifer hadn't changed in twenty years—worn vinyl booths in faded red, walls decorated with cattle brands and old rodeo photos, Patsy Cline playing softly from the ancient jukebox in the corner. Doris Jenkins, who'd been serving food here since before I was born, seated us by the window.
Honey ordered tomato soup and Caesar salad, while I went with the chicken-fried steak and gravy special.
"And some of your jalapeño cornbread," I added, glancing at Honey. "It's worth trying."
Honey gave a quick nod to Doris, who smiled and headed off to place our orders.
Between bites of cornbread and spicy jalapeño honey butter, we pieced together more of our story—how we'd reconnected at that charity event, our first date (dinner at an Italian place in Austin), even our first kiss (on the Congress Avenue Bridge at sunset, watching the bats).
"What about Thanksgiving plans?" Honey asked, spooning up the last of her soup. "I'm assuming the Vickerys will ask."
