Page 236 of The Liar's Reckoning

“Hiya boys.”

We turn at the voice of one of our neighbors, another former New Yorker, Claudia. She’s in her forties, has big blonde hair, a leathery tan, and a love affair with floral prints. Her husband isn’t with her, but Deano—as he likes to be called—is a police detective and works odd hours. He reminds me of Joe Pesci in every mob movie the guy was ever in.

“Do you have an iPad charger I can borrow for a few hours.” she asks. “Mine up and quit on me.”

“Sure,” Graham says. “I’ll grab it. Need anything else? We have a lot of lighters.”

“I’m all set. I just want to download some shows in case we lose power.”

The wind is picking up, and she has to pull a strand of hair out of her mouth. When Graham goes inside, she sidles up to me. “He looks jumpy.”

“He’s already researching storm cellars for next time.”

She laughs. “What’s it been now? Two—three weeks? How’s it going?”

Graham just moved in full-time a few weeks ago, and how it’s going is fucking amazing.

She chuckles when my cheeks flush. “Honeymoon’s still on, huh? Good. Enjoy it. One day you’ll be sitting there, and he’ll breathe too loud, and you’ll want to smack him. These are the good times.”

Graham returns promptly with one of the iPad chargers and hands it over.

These are the good times for sure. In his white t-shirt andpale, yellow linen shorts, his tan is glowing. He’s let his hair grow out some, and it falls in careless waves around his face. He looks both younger, wiser, and happier than I’ve ever seen him. Not to mention more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever known.

The universe couldn’t have picked a better soulmate for me. Such a pretty package. Such an infinite surprise.

“Thanks boys,” Claudia says. “Time to go make the hurricane chili.”

I raise a brow. “I haven’t heard about this.”

“Oh, I make it every time a storm comes through. It’s good luck.”

“Can he get that recipe?” Graham asks.

I grin.

“Sure, sugar. I’ll text you. Or better yet—come by for a bowl later.”

Graham looks horrified at the idea of braving the wind and rain for a treacherous journeynext door.

“Thanks,” I tell her as she starts back to her house. “Let us know when it’s ready.”

Graham walks up to me, close enough to brush arms. “You’re not really considering walking in the storm. A power line could?—”

I kiss him to shut him up. One loud smack that makes my point. I’m not meaning for it to lead to anything, but his grip on my shirt tells me it gave him ideas. I’d tell him to chill, but I like him like this. “Go make the margaritas,” I tell him. “I’ll be ten more minutes.”

“I need to call my dad,” he says, unfurling his fist. “He’s been blowing up my phone with storm warnings. Actually, maybe you should talk to him.”

“Margaritas. I’ll call him when I come in. I’ll let you decide whether I do that before or after I fuck you.”

“Hurry up, then.”

He leaves me to finish unloading the sandbags. I stack them atthe front door where water is most likely to enter the house. Once I’m satisfied that the barrier is sufficient, I head around back and enter the house through the sliding doors on the raised deck. The backyard has a downward slope and isn’t likely to flood. The glass doors themselves are specifically designed to withstand wind and impact.

This is all shit I never had to think about before I moved here but was a major selling point of the house—how weatherproof it is. It’s fifteen years old, so it’s seen its fair share of Gulf weather. What Graham and his father are freaking out about are tornadoes. There’s nothing I can say to make either of them feel any better about those.

Fish jumps at me when I come inside. I put my arms around his thick neck and kiss his curly head. “Is daddy making you nervous, bud?” I switch my focus to Graham. “You’ve got him all worked up.”

“It’s not that many margaritas,” he’s saying into his phone. “Here’s Silas.”

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