“What’s up with you, Maurice?” Effie asked cautiously.
Maurice looked at her. “Effie, aren’t you going to explain why you ditched us that night and snuck off without saying a word?”
Effie blinked in surprise. “I didn’t sneak off! I texted you, remember? You were all passed out—dead to the world after drinking so much. Was I supposed to wake everyone up one by one?”
Maurice gave a dismissive snort. “I told you not to get so lovestruck, but you never listen.”
“I’m not lovestruck,” Effie retorted. “He explained everything, and I believe him.”
Maurice shook his head. “Men say whatever they want to get out of trouble. Don’t trust a single word they say—not even the punctuation.”
Effie couldn’t help but laugh. “By that logic, should I not believe a word you say, either?”
Maurice was momentarily at a loss for words. He shot her a look. “Must you always have the last word?”
Effie grinned. “Alright, alright, don’t be mad. I know you’re just looking out for me. But I know exactly what kind of person Lyman is.”
She wasn’t a child anymore, not after everything she’d been through. If anything, she was more sensitive than anyone else to these things.
She knew Lyman—better than anyone.
Maurice sighed. “Fine. But if anything ever happens, don’t bottle it up. You have to tell us, okay?”
“I know, I promise.” Effie smiled. “Now, hurry up and try the escargot—they’re delicious.”
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