“Pardon me?” he asks, glancing over at her. She notices that his eyes never stray down at her legs—or any other part of her anatomy, save for her eyes.
“You said before her name was Crystal,” she says. “Then you said that Clara calls this the Maroon Boat.”
Bart drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I have three granddaughters. My son has a daughter named Molly. Clara and Crystal are my daughter’s. She’s expecting her third soon. If it’s a boy, they’re naming him Shane. Cindy, if it’s a girl. So, what’s your story?”