yourself.” Trace joked.
“Very funny,” she replied. “What a great day! I’m so glad you were able to meet us.”
“Did you and your friends stay up too late catching up last night?” he asked.
“Probably. It was fun, though.”
“Do I want to know what you talked about?”
“I’m sure you know what we talked about. Are you fishing for information?”
“Of course. Just tell me what questions Tatiana asked and then tell me how you answered,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “But you have to do one thing for me. When you repeat her questions you have to ask them in her sexy Russian accent.”
Meg laughed, “I’m not doing any of that. You can’t have the questions or the answers. Use your imagination.”
“Okay . . . it’s probably better I don’t know.”
Sissy arrived with a bucket full of steamed crab and dumped them on the newspaper in the center of the table, then plopped a large pile of thick paper napkins on the corner of the table. “Refills?”
“I’ll take another Corona. Meg more tea?”
Meg nodded and gaped at the pile of crab in front of her. Sissy returned in just a couple of minutes with their drinks and a small platter of corn on the cob. “Anything else I can get ya?”
“No, thanks,” Trace replied and he and Meg both dug in with their small hammers and shell cracking utensils.
There wasn’t much talking as they ate and after a while Meg leaned back in her chair resting her hands on her stomach. “Oh my gosh! I don’t usually like to work that hard for my food,” she said as she reached over to toy with her shell cracker. “But . . . so good!”
“I know . . . I’ve only been here a couple of times, but I love it.” He was still working at digging the meat out of a crab leg shell with great concentration.
Meg looked around and noticed the place had gone from empty to about half full. The bluesy rock music continued to play. Sissy caught her eye and called, “I’ll bring over more drinks in a minute.”
Trace called back, “Sweet tea for me this time, Sissy.”
Sissy finished serving the drinks at another table and nodded toward Trace.
Meg and Trace chatted more about their visit with her friends while he finished his dinner. “So, Trace, did you kill lots of imaginary terrorists at the range this morning? I forgot to ask.”
He laughed, “No, I was instructing today, not shooting.”
“Oh,” she laughed along with him. She looked around again as he wiped his hands and face with a wet towel. “I really like this place. The music is really great.”
“You like this music?”
“Of course! I’m just waiting for you to ask me to dance.” She gestured toward the tiny dance floor at the back of the room.
“Oh no . . . there’s no way I’m brave enough to dance with you.” Just then The Allman Brothers Band’s Melissa gave way to Stevie Ray Vaughn’s Texas Flood .
“What? You think I’m going to ‘go rogue’ and just start leaping and dancing circles around you? What do you take me for?” Meg laughed.
“Fine. Come on then.” He stood up and pulled her by the hand to the dance floor where they joined a few other couples.
He pulled her close, held her hand flat over his chest with his and started to move. It was like he was part of the music and a piece of her. “Wow, Trace. You do have some moves. You are your mother’s son.”
He stopped and dropped her hand. “Don’t patronize me,” he said in an offended voice. But then Meg noticed his eyes were twinkling at her, so she laughed.
They finished the dance and when the song ended neither immediately stepped back. As they stood there it seemed like time stopped, but then Trace cleared his throat and stepped away. He held on to her hand as they weaved in and out through the tables to reach their own. He dropped money on the table with a nice tip for Sissy, then picked up Meg’s hand again as they left the Hideaway.
Trace carried her bag into her room for her when they got
“Very funny,” she replied. “What a great day! I’m so glad you were able to meet us.”
“Did you and your friends stay up too late catching up last night?” he asked.
“Probably. It was fun, though.”
“Do I want to know what you talked about?”
“I’m sure you know what we talked about. Are you fishing for information?”
“Of course. Just tell me what questions Tatiana asked and then tell me how you answered,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “But you have to do one thing for me. When you repeat her questions you have to ask them in her sexy Russian accent.”
Meg laughed, “I’m not doing any of that. You can’t have the questions or the answers. Use your imagination.”
“Okay . . . it’s probably better I don’t know.”
Sissy arrived with a bucket full of steamed crab and dumped them on the newspaper in the center of the table, then plopped a large pile of thick paper napkins on the corner of the table. “Refills?”
“I’ll take another Corona. Meg more tea?”
Meg nodded and gaped at the pile of crab in front of her. Sissy returned in just a couple of minutes with their drinks and a small platter of corn on the cob. “Anything else I can get ya?”
“No, thanks,” Trace replied and he and Meg both dug in with their small hammers and shell cracking utensils.
There wasn’t much talking as they ate and after a while Meg leaned back in her chair resting her hands on her stomach. “Oh my gosh! I don’t usually like to work that hard for my food,” she said as she reached over to toy with her shell cracker. “But . . . so good!”
“I know . . . I’ve only been here a couple of times, but I love it.” He was still working at digging the meat out of a crab leg shell with great concentration.
Meg looked around and noticed the place had gone from empty to about half full. The bluesy rock music continued to play. Sissy caught her eye and called, “I’ll bring over more drinks in a minute.”
Trace called back, “Sweet tea for me this time, Sissy.”
Sissy finished serving the drinks at another table and nodded toward Trace.
Meg and Trace chatted more about their visit with her friends while he finished his dinner. “So, Trace, did you kill lots of imaginary terrorists at the range this morning? I forgot to ask.”
He laughed, “No, I was instructing today, not shooting.”
“Oh,” she laughed along with him. She looked around again as he wiped his hands and face with a wet towel. “I really like this place. The music is really great.”
“You like this music?”
“Of course! I’m just waiting for you to ask me to dance.” She gestured toward the tiny dance floor at the back of the room.
“Oh no . . . there’s no way I’m brave enough to dance with you.” Just then The Allman Brothers Band’s Melissa gave way to Stevie Ray Vaughn’s Texas Flood .
“What? You think I’m going to ‘go rogue’ and just start leaping and dancing circles around you? What do you take me for?” Meg laughed.
“Fine. Come on then.” He stood up and pulled her by the hand to the dance floor where they joined a few other couples.
He pulled her close, held her hand flat over his chest with his and started to move. It was like he was part of the music and a piece of her. “Wow, Trace. You do have some moves. You are your mother’s son.”
He stopped and dropped her hand. “Don’t patronize me,” he said in an offended voice. But then Meg noticed his eyes were twinkling at her, so she laughed.
They finished the dance and when the song ended neither immediately stepped back. As they stood there it seemed like time stopped, but then Trace cleared his throat and stepped away. He held on to her hand as they weaved in and out through the tables to reach their own. He dropped money on the table with a nice tip for Sissy, then picked up Meg’s hand again as they left the Hideaway.
Trace carried her bag into her room for her when they got
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