“England,” Becca breathed but she did it brightly and cheerfully.
“Um… yes,” I said to her.
“I forgot, Max told Mindy you were English.”
Mindy? Who was Mindy? And why was Max telling her about me?
“I’m not English,” I told Becca.
“I love your accent.” She kept breathing.
“I don’t really have an accent.”
“It’s so cool!” she cried, her eyes going to Max. “Isn’t it cool?”
“It’s cool,” Max agreed but he didn’t sound like he thought it was cool, he sounded like he was trying not to laugh.
I was going to look at him to see if he was trying not to laugh and maybe ask what was so funny when Becca kept my attention.
“Oh my God. I’d so love to live in a different country,” Becca declared. “You are so lucky.”
Me? Lucky? England was beautiful but…
“Though, I’d wanna live somewhere where it doesn’t rain,” Becca decided.
“It does that,” I told her, “quite a bit.”
“If I lived there, how long would it take me to get an accent?” she asked.
“Um… I’m not sure,” I answered.
“I’d have to practice,” she declared.
I thought of a bright, cheerful, bouncy American cheerleader going to England and practicing an accent. Then I tried not to wince.
“I’m gonna get my boots,” Max said and I saw he was rounding the counter.
“Max,” I called but he didn’t stop.
“Be back in a sec,” he said, not even turning.
“So are all the clothes in England as cool as that top?” Becca asked me.
“Um… not exactly,” I replied then asked, “Can you hang on a second?” I had one finger pointed up then I jumped off the stool and hurried after Max who’d disappeared up the spiral staircase.
When I made it to the bedroom he was sitting on the bed tugging on a boot.
“Max –”
He cut me off. “Extra sheets in the closet.”
“Okay, but –”
He tugged on the second boot. “I don’t know how long this’ll take, make yourself at home.”
“I’m leaving,” I said quickly, his head arched back and he looked at me.
“What?”