Abigail
"And then I said, 'You have a problem with me eating chips, Carla? That's nacho business!'" Angel cackled. "Get it? Not your business, but Nacho's business?"
Our picnic blanket was spread out under a cluster of shady trees in the park that Finnegan's men had cleared out completely for us. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves in golden patches.
Angel was laughing so hard she was clutching her stomach, River was trying and failing to keep a straight face, while Annette shook her head.
"I guess the dry jokes run in the family."
"Oh, you have no idea," River groaned.
"Finnegan's jokes are the driest."
"Hey, that's my baby y'all are talking about," I shot back playfully, leaning back on my elbows. "His jokes may be dry, but they sure as hell get me wet—"
"Abby, there's a kid here," Annette coughed.
"Set," I covered up quickly. "I meant he gets things set."
