Petra
Owen looks like a deer in headlights, so I hurry to help him by saying, “Haha! Not again, baby.” Shaking my head, I look at the waitress. “My husband, Roger, gets this all the time. He does resemble the handsome doc from television, but he’s no surgeon. He owns a construction company in Boise, Idaho. But I do have myself a nice-looking man, don’t I?”
The old woman doesn’t even blink as she stares Owen down. “And he sounds like him too. I’m a religious watcher, saving up my pennies to get a facelift. I was once Miss Portland, and I’d like to get back at least some of my former beauty.”
“Cigarettes, huh?” Owen asks.
I look at him with squinted eyes, hoping he’ll realize he’s giving himself away with his spot-on question. “Baby, don’t be rude!”
“He’s right. I do smoke.” Her eyes na
