“Hey! Lassie?” The white-suited punter at the far end of the counter beckoned Becky over.
If he intended to hit on her… But perhaps she maligned him. Looks of his face, he needed advice on after-sun care. She checked that no others were waiting, and headed down to his end of the bar.
“Sir! I just love you Yanks.”
Becky bit back a retort. Once more…
“What is it with you Yankees that you have to spell everything wrong? Quay. Q. U. A. Y. Not bleeding Key like you use to open a lock.”
That was it. She treated him to a beer shampoo.
106 words, written for What Pegman Saw: Middle Torch Key, Florida
Apparently, the two words are related, being the French and the English words for a sand-bank or island. But the English word has since developed to mean a wharf.