Did she have to listen to Max’s lecture again? Lauren wondered, feeling a tad foolish standing in the shade of a palm on the corner of Cocoanut Row and Cocoanut Walk, wearing a not-quite-fashionable motorcycle helmet that afforded her only a small measure of anonymity. They were far too close to the chamber of commerce and Flagler Museum for comfort, and she knew that many prying eyes must be lurking behind their windows. Max, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care where they were or who was listening. He just sat on his motorcycle, arms folded stiffly across his chest, with a scowl on his face, no doubt annoyed because they’d had a similar conversation at the corner of Ocean and Worth. “There’s nothing I don’t understand,” she explained for the umpteenth time, “but could you please keep your voice down so everyone in Palm Beach doesn’t hear how disgruntled you are?” “I’m not disgruntled, and I am keeping my voice down.
