Sweet Talk Me by Kieran Kramer Page B

“Nice?”
    “That’s the world’s worst word. May no one ever remember me as Nice Carmela.”
    “But you are nice.”
    “I know.” Carmela sighed. “But I want to be remembered as Bold Carmela. Or Talented Carmela. Or even Bad Carmela.”
    “Yeah, well, I’m Lightweight True.” She’d felt so out of place at the mansion on the Battery, not because the owners were crazy rich but because she didn’t really know anyone. “I overdid it with the champagne to have a little fun with Dubose and to forget he’s leaving. But it didn’t work.”
    Carmela lifted a dark Italian brow. “Did you think about anyone else while you were at the shower? Someone whose name begins with H ?”
    “Of course.” True was mortified to admit it, but she couldn’t lie to Carmela. “I wondered why he pops up at the weirdest times, like an unlucky genie. But I’m glad he’s gone.”
    Carmela leaned in close. “You’re a bad liar,” she whispered.
    “I’m not lying,” True insisted.
    Carmela narrowed her eyes.
    “All right, I am .” True put her face in her hands. “But who cares? I’m getting married. This isn’t high school anymore. This is real life.”
    “Tell me how Dubose was last night.”
    “Distracted, checking his BlackBerry.” True had felt embarrassed, too. For a smart lawyer, he could be woefully lacking in good manners. “The only time he really paid attention to the party was when the hostess started talking about a recently married couple they all knew from college who’d already filed for divorce and were fighting over property.”
    “Ugh. Real nice topic for a wedding shower.”
    True had thought the same thing. “I did my best to act interested. But I wasn’t. I wished I were with you instead.” She grabbed Carmela’s fingers and squeezed. “We’ve hardly seen each other.”
    Carmela squeezed back. “I know. You’re busy being a farm girl. And I’m running a dying business.” She stretched out her long legs, the better for them both to admire her new platform heels, and eyed the restaurant entrance. The walls were covered in black-and-white photos of old shipwrecks. “You think Prince Charming is out there looking for me?”
    “Of course,” True said right away. Somewhere out there was a man who’d appreciate Carmela’s truth speaking and huge heart even more than her fantastic body and sultry looks.
    Carmela’s cat-eyes were hopeful. “I’ll get Roger to bring over some water with lemon.” Roger was the seventy-three-year-old busboy at the Starfish. “And I hope you and Penn have a fabulous lunch, even if she won’t buy anything from my store. Maybe you can work on her.”
    “You mean, drug her,” True said drily. “It would be the only way I could get her in there. General Sherman burned down her ancestral home during the Civil War. Your last name is Sherman, you’re from New York, and your store is called Southern Loot. She doesn’t have a sense of humor. At all. Plus, there’s a store selling southern-themed items on every street corner in Charleston County.”
    “Those are pretty good reasons,” said Carmela. “But she’s the queen bee around here. If she comes in, so will everyone else. Maybe she’ll want one of my Mississippi Mud Pie kits. I got in a whole case.”
    Carmela was nothing if not an optimist.
    When True was alone again, she inhaled a cleansing breath and focused on being happy.
    Happy.
    She tapped her foot.
    Happy …
    Shoot. She was still miserable. Maybe it was because she was always a little afraid to talk to Penn—although the woman was going to be her mother-in-law, so she needed to get over that. Right then, as a matter of fact. Penn was at the door, dressed to the nines, as always, in a cream-colored suit with gold buttons True had seen in a window in at the St. John store in Charleston. She could buy a small used tractor for the price of that suit. Or a hundred yards of new fencing for the back field where the deer feasted on her