“Works for me,” Karen agreed. “But…butt size, huh? I think I have to have one more cookie, too, before the coffee, since it’s going to be at least twenty minutes before we reach the rest stop.”
Ashley noted, with a quick glance at her friend, that Karen delicately bit off a tiny piece of cookie and chewed slowly, savoring every nuance. That, she decided, was how Karen stayed the nearest thing to perfect. She ate everything, but had the art of nibbling down pat. One cookie could last Karen an hour. She was petite, a perfect size two, with huge sky-blue eyes and a sweep of natural, near-platinum hair, testimony to a distant Norse heritage, along with her family name, Ericson. Jan, on the other hand, was dark-haired, dark-eyed, five-nine and as fiery as her Latin surname, Hevia, suggested she might be. Ashley referred to them often by the fairy-tale names they had gained as children: Rose White and Rose Red. She was a green-eyed redhead herself, the coloration courtesy of her mother’s family, the McMartins, since her last name was Montague. Her father’s family had been mainly French, with a little Cherokee or Seminole thrown in, which meant that she had only a small spattering of freckles on her nose and the ability to acquire a fairly decent tan without burning like a beet first. She was the medium between Jan and Karen at five feet six. The two had playfully labeled her the thorn in the roses. The three had been friends since grade school, and had shared dreams, victories and heartaches ever since. This weekend was something they had been looking forward to for a long time, since their adult lives had taken them in very different directions. Karen was teaching and going to school for her master’s degree. Jan was a singer, and though she doubted she was ever going to achieve mega-star status, she didn’t care. She loved singing and songwriting, and her career was beginning to take off nicely, if modestly. She and her accompanist were being booked as an opening act for shows across the country. Ashley was in her third month at the metro police academy, and she had thrown herself wholeheartedly into every class, every subtlety of the law, rights and self-defense that could be learned.
“Think Sharon and your uncle Nick are going to get married?” Jan asked, leaning forward.
Sharon Dupre, the baker of the divine cookies, had been seeing Nick for almost a year now. They were definitely a hot item.
“Maybe. Who knows,” Ashley replied, watching the clock and the road. “Nick is such a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor. He loves his fishing and his restaurant, and I guess, as long as Sharon tolerates his habits, it could happen.”
“Well, Nick is going to have to tolerate Sharon’s weird real estate hours,” Karen said.
“True,” Ashley agreed. “He seems to deal with it all okay. Nick is a live-and-let-live guy.” She knew that well, having grown up with her uncle. She was often sad to realize that she barely remembered her parents. They had been killed in an automobile accident when she had been three. She adored Nick; he had filled the roles of both parents with love and tenderness, and there was nothing she wanted more for him than the laid-back happiness with which he had always lived. Whether that included marriage to Sharon or not was a decision he was going to have to make himself.
“Hey, there’s a great pair of pants in this ad,” Jan said, sitting forward to show the magazine she was reading to Karen. “Think they’d look good on someone with fat thighs?”
“They are great pants,” Karen said.
Jan tapped her on the arm with the magazine in mock anger. “You’re supposed to tell me that I don’t have fat thighs,” she informed her friend.
“Sorry. You don’t have fat thighs. And I think they’d be great on me, too—a little person with a bubble butt.”
“Great pants all around,” Jan said.
“You’re supposed to tell me I don’t have a bubble butt.”
“I’m jealous, considering I’m all thighs and no butt,” Jan said, then switched subjects abruptly. “You should have joined the Coral Gables force, or even South Miami, rather than metro, Ashley. What were you thinking? Coral Gables has some really cute guys. And they’re nice.”
“Yeah, the metro guys can be assholes,” Karen agreed.