“Yes, sir. But here’s the cool part: when you do, you’ll love her. Too.”
“Well, dear Shell, you’re hardly unbiased. But I do have to admit you look fetching. Plan to sweep her off her feet?”
“No, dad. I already did.”
* * * * *
Her perpetual motion swirled Shelley back to the living room, where both Steps were resting from their kitchen labors. She started in on one last lecture: deportment.
“Relax, Shell.”
“Yeah. Relax, Shell.”
“We’ll be nice to your friend. We’ll make you proud.”
“Yeah, we’ll be nice for–” Angie began. The their joined voices went from E-flat to C, imitating the minor third motto of some TV thriller—”starlight.”
“Now, where did you come up with that?” Shelley blushed briefly, but resumed. “Huh, pudding? Eh, pigeon?”
“Heard you on the phone last night.” Angie’s s
