“Beauregard, I abhor you,” Lucinda sipped her iced tea, glaring across the brim at Beau. “Indeed, then, there is common ground. I too, abhor me,” he sipped his negroni, and stared back at Lu, “However, I still find your presence less palatable than my own.” Lu set her tea on a small round table beside her deck chair, put large round sunglasses on, and gave a slight tug to the rim of her floppy hat shading her face as she laid back. “It wasn’t always like this,” she muttered.
