Reagan smiled. “Why? Because I’m not a seventy-five-year-old woman with burgundy hair who doesn’t speak English, so why would I ever want to live in a shithole like Hialeah?” The rhetorical question slapped Libby in the face. “Don’t worry.” Reagan winked as she grabbed her bags out of the back of the truck. “I’m sure I’ll get the chance to correct all your preppy little assumptions about my hometown.” Getting called out for her bias would’ve normally triggered a defensive response, but Reagan was so nice in her delivery, it was impossible to be anything but embarrassed by her judgment of a
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