It had started off its life with spiffy blue and yellow stripes, but after decades of wind and sun, it had faded to a washed-out beige. One year, home from college, she’d sewn half a dozen throw pillows in bright ginghams and florals and arranged them in a Better Homes and Gardens–style layout on the hammock. Cats and female family members adored those pillows. Males hated them. You could always tell who’d been using the hammock last because if it was a guy, the pillows would be dumped on the floor.Mazie had never been able to comprehend this male animosity toward throw pillows, but it seemed to be a gender-specific trait, like selective hearing or never unloading the dishwasher. At the moment the pillows were on the porch deck and Bonaparte Labeck’s long frame was sprawled in the hammock, squinting at his iPad.“Mazie—Holly sent the diary,” he said, looking up as she came out onto the porch. She’d changed out of her grungy shorts and T-shirt into a yellow sundress with skinny straps and espadrilles in fiesta colors.Ben set down the iPad and scanned Mazie top to bottom.
What do You think about Tangled Thing Called Love?
