I love Betsy, just the way you love Martha.
Betsy strolled in, wiping flour from her hands on a dish towel.
Martha stopped to grab Betsy's hand, leading the way toward the cabin while Quinn and I unloaded the car.
Betsy and Martha, now practically best friends, conspired together against the rest of us until they owned most of the board.
Betsy was seated at the table, forking sausage onto her plate and smothering pancakes in maple syrup.