Myrtle said smoothly, “Of course I’ll pass the information along to Red.”
She had absolutely no intention of doing so.
Nash was about to further petition his cause when Blanche, a bit tipsy, ran up, grabbed Nash by the arm, and propelled him under the modest clump of mistletoe.
Miles looked about as uncomfortable at the potential for a public display of affection as Nash did.
“Just turn away, Miles, if it bothers you,” said Myrtle. “Although you watch so many soap operas that you should be immune to it.”
Miles flushed. “That’s not supposed to be public knowledge, Myrtle.”
“I won’t tell a single soul.”
Myrtle glanced over at Wanda’s empty plate. “Would you like a second helping?”
“I’ll get another plate of food for you,” said Miles in the manner of someone happy for something
