why my car has a name. Women respond to men with cars who have pretty names. It’s a fact.
This is normally where I love to walk a woman out to my car and watch her face as she gets a look at it for the first time, but I’m too leery of her catching any dead body whiffs that I’m going to have a hard time explaining, so I say instead, “Rooker’s truck is the big black Dodge riiight there,” I tell her, pointing to it. Out of the corner of my mouth, I add, “I’d like to point out that not all of us need to overcompensate with such a beast. Why, I have a very modest car. The only modest thing about me.”
Then I look at my lady and bounce my eyebrows.
She bursts out laughing and takes a step sideways. Which I find interesting. It’s a retreat, but not a you’re scaring me or I don’t like you. It’s maybe an ‘oooh, I feel compelled by our matebond to rub myself up against you right now, but I’m trying desperately to resist.’
A’right, I might be projecting.
“Is, uh…” she pauses, and I’d swear she’s beginning to blush. My ears perk up—and I mean that in both senses. I need to be careful before I go wolfhound on her. “Is Rooker Scottish?”
I slow blink.
“I thought I heard a Scottish accent when he said… Never mind,” she says with a quick shake of her head. “Actually, I’m not sure why I even asked. I have absolutely no reason to—I need a ride,” she says again.
And again, hearing naughty words come out of her pretty mouth, no matter how innocently she means them, makes me think bold, bold thoughts.
“I just got done with an interview and my car decided to quit on me. I need to pick up my son from school,” she explains.
“Where did your car die?” I ask, brushing past her to get the door and hold it for her.
This move seems to make her shy. She drops her gaze from mine like a submissive, but she’s no such thing—she’s doing it in reaction to how I’m making her feel, and it makes my blood fire.
Wait—son?
My gaze plummets to her left hand...
Oh feck no. Please no. “You're married?” I ask—and I'm surprised she can hear my question with the way I'm suddenly sucking for oxygen.
I’ve finally found my anamcharra... but she's married to the wrong bloke.
ALL IN A NAME…
A Note from Amanda
*Doggone! I could squeeze the hug-jelly out of you for getting this far with me!!*
THANK YOU for reading Lucan and Susan’s book! =D
A ways back, readers named Sue, Susan, Susie, and Suzy lamented that their namesakes are only ever secondary-character fodder, and I thought that was a crying shame. This one is for you, Sue and Susans!
(Susies and Suzy, you’re still getting shafted. I’m sorry! I can try again! XD)
SUE
Speaking of Sue, did you know that Johnny Cash’s song, "A Boy Named Sue," was written by Shel Silverstein? That trivia bit blew my mind, and boa constrictor poetry will now play in my head when that song comes on, I think.
FINN
Thanks to R for telling me about Finn the Wolfhound, a story that stuck with him for years. You too might have read this one in school, and if you did, you probably didn’t forget it either! https://amzn.to/3niAqoQ.
EVERYBODY SAYS MEIJERS
Susan mentions Meijer, which is a series of popular chain stores. During this book’s early draft, my beloved editor pointed out that although every yokel calls the stores Meijers, it technically isn’t spelled that way.
I was like “WHaaat?!”
My whole life I’ve known these stores, yet I had no idea there wasn’t an ‘S’ on the end. Conversely, did you know it’s BrusselS sprouts? Does anyone actually pronounce the S when referring to the food? Like, are you supposed to? Here, we call them ‘brussel sprouts.’ Yet when referring to Brussels, Belgium, we pronounce it Bruh-slz.
I’d say we’re just word-lazy, but that doesn’t explain the addition of the S on Meijers. Anyway, things that make you go, “Huh…” ;D
LLAMAS
Mentioning llamas in almost every book has become something of a game :D Enter Maggie’s adorable Llama story, which is a real book, one that I absolutely recommend if you’ve got children who are at the age for picture-book appreciation: