On the fifth day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

“Well, thank you very much,” Jayce said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I had to get past the fact that she saw me here yesterday when I was quite drunk, and then you have to traipse in here and declare that I’m a no-good cad.”
“Forgive me, cousin, but I had every reason to believe that you are a no-good cad.” He chuckled, hoping Jayce would find the humor in his words. “If something has changed, you’ll need to let me know.”
Jayce looked at his plate and stirred his food with his fork, admitting quietly, “Something has changed.”
“And that change would be . . .”
Jayce glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of her wiping off tables on the other side of the room. He glanced back to his cousin, who was openly taking notice of her, as if he was trying to look past his impressions of just another tavern maid.
“She’s very beautiful,” Jayce said and proceeded to eat.
“Yes, she is.”
“She’s Irish.”
“How observant of you, cousin. And . . . she’s not skinny.” Timothy took on a sing-song lilt.
“No,” Jayce chuckled, “she’s not skinny.”
“She reminds me a bit of your mother,” Timothy said, and Jayce glanced up from his meal. “Is that what you like about her? She reminds you of your mother?”