“You did it again,” Darrell said to her once they were in his car and heading away from the center.
“Did what?” Beau stretched her arms over her head in the passenger seat. She rolled her neck and winced.
Darrell’s hands itched to get at the crick that offended the perfection of her spine.
He shook himself. Perfection of her spine? Did he really just think that? Clearly he was spending too much time around Mrs. Isabeau Rosen. Her head-in-the-clouds ideals were seeping into his rational brain.
Perfection of her spine?“You took on more responsibilities,” he said.
In the span of time it had taken Darrell to go into the volunteer office and add the dates of the upcoming chess match to the calendar, Mrs. Paulson and Beau decided they would hold a debutante cotillion for the refugee, displa
