欧宝娱乐

“If I order an appetizer is there any chance I can get it quickly? I'm two and a half months pregnant with a Bradford," she said, not mentioning it was twins because the thought was actually starting to scare her and she hadn't told Trevor yet and didn't want him finding out this way. She just hoped the woman understood because she was close to crying. Judging by the slightly startled look on the woman's face she did.

The waitress shook her head. "No, you're right. You probably won't be able to survive the wait," she said, sending Trevor, who was still trying to get the woman to leave, a glare. "I'll bring you out a bowl of clam chowder followed by chicken fingers, they'll only take a few minutes to prepare. Will that work?"

Zoe nodded solemnly. "You are my hero."

"I'll put a rush on your food," the waitress said before walking away.

"Bless you," Zoe said, fighting the urge to kiss the woman.”
― R.L. Mathewson, Perfection

“I'm sorry. I can't serve him that item," the waitress said, only somewhat surprising her since she had a pretty good idea why.

"Why not?" she found herself asking anyway out of curiosity to see if she was right.

***

"Because he's a Bradford," the woman explained with a shrug.”
― R.L. Mathewson, Perfection

“None of them, not even what he suspected should have been little boys, were small. He鈥檇 always thought that the James boys were freakishly large, but the men that were beating the shit out of each other over food had been much, much bigger. Most every single one of them had been shirtless and all had been buff, making him feel scrawny and making him wonder if Rory thought he was scrawny.”
― R.L. Mathewson, Checkmate

“A framed print of a white flower in a jar standing in front of a range of mountains in varying shades of blue brightened the wall opposite the window, which admitted enough sunlight to make the wooden surfaces of the sideboard gleam. Mrs. Johnson noticed Susan looking at it.
鈥淚t鈥檚 a Hockney print,鈥� she said proudly. 鈥淲e bought it at the photography museum when we went to see his exhibition. It lightens up the place a bit, doesn鈥檛 it? He鈥檚 a local lad, you know, Hockney.鈥� Her accent sounded vaguely posh and wholly put on.
鈥淵es,鈥� said Susan. She remembered Sandra Banks telling her about Hockney once. A local lad he might be, but he lived near the sea now in Southern California, a far cry from Bradford. 鈥淚t鈥檚 very nice,鈥� she added.
鈥淚 think so,鈥� said Mrs. Johnson. 鈥淚鈥檝e always had an eye for a good painting, you know. Sometimes I think if I鈥檇 stuck it and not鈥︹€� she looked around. 鈥淲ell,鈥t鈥檚 too late for that now, isn鈥檛 it? A cup of tea?”
― Peter Robinson, Wednesday's Child