He returns my smile and watches as I slip the other one on. Looking down at my cowboy boots and sundress, I laugh and say, “I guess I’m a real Louisianan now.”
His laugh is deep and infectious, lighting up his eyes, and revealing the small lines around his face from years of laughing and being in the sun.
“With that Yankee accent? I don’t think so.”
I bring my hands to my hips. “What’s wrong with my accent?”
“Nothin’,” he says with a grin. “It’s very precise.”
“Well, sooorrry,” I say drawing out my vowels. I fan myself dramatically. “It’s hot as tarnation out here. Ain’t ya got a winda open?”
He rolls his eyes at me, but I see the corner of his mouth twitch and know he wants to laugh.
“Now you’re just bein’ an ass. Just for that, I think your first chore will be horse shit.” He walk
