Page 19 of WASP

Max didn’t placate her with an answer, but the slight tinge of pink sitting high on her cheeks told Annie she was enjoying their banter. “Okay, my honest first read of you was that you were a privileged trophy wife to some rich, old, Republican white man.”

Annie’s jaw dropped slightly with outrage. “Uh, you—you thought I was a Republican?” she started.

“Really? That’s your takeaway?”

“I mean, yeah. The privileged part is true. And I have no problem with age gap relationships regardless of sexual orientation. So that leaves the Republican portion of your assessment for me to take issue with.”

Max raised a challenging eyebrow. “Who did you vote for in the last election?”

Annie piled another cracker with cheese and an apple slice, biting into it to buy herself a moment to find her courage. “I may have forgotten to vote,” she said quietly, a slight twinge of embarrassment creeping into her words.

“Like I said…”

“What? No, c’mon, that’s not fair.”

“Who did your parents vote for?”

Annie’s cheeks turned pink. “Fine. I accept defeat. But while my parents may be Republican, I am not. Obviously, I’m not.”

Max raised an eyebrow, laughing, as a clattering drew their attention across the tasting room where they watched one of the other staff members struggle. “Shit, I should go help.”

It was another fifteen minutes until Max returned to the bar, this time with a leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

“Ready to go?” she asked, giving Annie an unexpectedly expectant look.

“Go where?”

“I’m driving you home.” Max smiled, jingling her keys in her hand.

“I’m fine to drive, really,” Annie argued, touching her fingertips to her nose.

“I’d feel better about your safety if I drove you. I don’t mind, I’m heading back towards town anyway.”

“You’re really not going to let me drive myself home?”

“I take patron safety extremely seriously.” Max’s expression was straight-faced, but Annie caught the flash of amusement in her clear blue eyes.

“Fine,” she groaned, following Max out of the building and across the parking lot where a navy blue Volvo station wagon sat parked.

“Annie, meet Maggie, my chariot. She’s not a looker, but she gets me where I need to go.”

Annie didn’t know whether to laugh or not; she didn’t know Max well enough to decipher her humor. “You named your car?”

“Yes. Is yours rawdogging life without a name?’

“It’s a car, Max.”

“And?”

Annie laughed as she slid into the passenger seat, surprised by how meticulously clean she kept it—a stark contrast to Annie’s car’s current state. Shit. Text Andrew about picking up the car tomorrow, she reminded herself.

“Where to?” Max asked, turning the key, bringing the engine to life.

“You know the old saw mill, the one on Jacob’s Lane right outside of town?”

“Yup.”

“My parents live in that big blue house at the end of the road.”