Page 228 of You've Got Hate Mail
“At ten in the morning?”
“Especially at ten in the morning when I’m showing up with news.”
My heart speeds up.
Mabel having news—and being dramatic about it—this feels likesomething. “Good news?” I ask.
“We’ll see.”
“This place isn’t boring, is it?” Vivian murmurs to Thor.
“One day, the next evolution of humanity will hike North America, looking at broken electronics scattered trailside and whisper tales of how we brought our own demise by being more technologically advanced than we were evolved to handle,” he murmurs back. “We’re witnessing a chapter in civilization’s history.”
“Wow,” I say. “That was deep.”
“Apologies.” He grins at me.
I laugh.
“What doeswe’ll seemean?” Heath asks Mabel.
“It means it’s good and bad.”
He grabs the wine bottle and accepts a corkscrew from Olivia. “Wine it is, then.”
“I’ll get glasses,” Samantha says.
“You’re doing okay with going viral again?” Mabel asks me as she takes a spot leaning against the fireplace.
“Are you kidding? This is fantastic. I’ll stay current until we can start putting outCheeky Beaver Chardonnay.”
Heath almost drops the wine. “What? No. Absolutely not.”
“Absolutelyyes,” I reply. “I’m not managing grape fields if I can’t name a wine after myself.”
I don’t care if I don’t get a wine named after me, but it’s fun to watch his face battle itself from horror through protectiveness and finally land on a reluctant smile.
I’m smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. “Lav can’t be the only one keeping you on your toes.”
“She won’t last that long,” Mabel tells Heath. “There’s a growing trend on socials related to a woman who made a video claiming to be Attila the Hun reincarnated that experience tells me will overtake attention on the two of you within the next three days.”
“Fascinating. Is this someone who’ll get invited here?” I ask.
“Unlikely, as the creepy factor was a bit too high.”
“You curate who comes here, and you picked me?” I joke.
Mabel’s expression softens. “Cricket. It’s impossible to not pick you. You have good vibes.”
“I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. I just—I meant I’m touched.”
“I know.”
“Ew,” Dori suddenly says. “Some guy namedSpankySpankyHottiejust emailed you.”
“Is it the name or the message that’s the problem?” Olivia asks as she returns with enough wine glasses for all of us.
“The Cheeky Beaver hasdestroyed Ava Benton’s widower and she should be dumped off a clip.”
