“British?” he asked. “London.” “Your voice sounds like how biting into a Granny Smith apple feels.” Now she laughed, with less abandon. “How does that feel?” “In a word? Crisp.” “As opposed to biting into a Pink Lady or a Golden Delicious?” “You know your apples.” He gave her a respectful nod. “But it’s insanity to suggest you sound anything like a Golden Delicious. That’s a midwestern accent.”
