Page 63 of The Reluctant Reaper
Amara turned just as Gray loped into the kitchen. “Oh my God. That’s another smoked turkey, isn’t it? Hilly, I love you more than I love Milky Ways.”
“Wow. Half an hour,” Amara said with a smirk. “I’m impressed, Gray.”
“I can be speedy when it suits me.” He opened the fridge, pulled out a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice. “I love that sweater on you. It’s like a blanket with sleeves.”
She looked down at the vast green field she was wearing. “It’s not ‘like’ a blanket, itisa blanket. With sleeves. Oh, no. I’d know that curly paper anywhere.”
Gray held up the printout. “Yeah, I took the liberty of swinging by the libe and grabbing today’s list.”
She stared and stared and, for good measure, stared. “I don’t deserve you,” she muttered, then was mortified she’d spoken aloud.
“Well, yeah. What’ve I been telling you all these years?”
And I ruined it. Couldn’t resist making a bad situation exponentially worse with a bungled lip lock.
“Good morning, Hilly.” Skye came into the kitchen with a wave, sporting her trademark braid. She was wearing cargo pants (she adored all the pockets) and a black sweater with plain shoulder epaulets. In deference to the house, she’d left her hiking boots at the entryway. “Hi, Amara. Gray.”
“Hi, Skye! I was reading about you yesterday.”
“Thoughtful, Gray.” Skye’s smile faded as she looked Amara up and down. “How are you doing? I took a look at the scroll—the faxes—in the library earlier. I’m sure yesterday was rough.”
“Rough, torture, never-ending torment...”
“But we stopped at Dairy Queen on the way back,” Gray put in. “Which made it all worthwhile. Who knew they’d be open in March?”
“Still. I imagine it was unbearable.”
“You’re not wrong. Thank you, Skye.” As always, Amara was grateful for Skye’s kind interest; more than once growing up, Amara was convinced the only ally in the compound wasn’tofthe compound, but lived on the Isle of Skye. “I’d come up with a self-deprecating platitude like ‘it wasn’t all bad,’ but it was.”
“Well, I might have a little good news. Check this.” Gray handed over a stack of printouts. “Only a couple dozen people die today. Well, more like six hundred, but apparently when we Reap one, we’re really Reaping a whole bunch. Or something. So it’s practically a vacation.”
“Not for them.”
“I think it can be argued that it’s a vacation for them, too.”
“Yes, but we won’t have that argument, will we?” Amara replied. “Let’s eat and get back to it.”
Skye gaped, which was amusing for no other reason than she was not the gaping type. “You’re going back in, too, Gray?”
“We’re a team,” Gray replied. “Ever since I swan-dived into a giant mud pile back in college.”
Amara snickered. She’d never told the full story of their meeting to anyone, and never would, without Gray’s leave.
“Wow. Okay. I—good for you guys.” Skye shook her head. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect you to be so...”
“Competent?”
“Don’t answer that,” Gray advised. “It’s a trick.”
Skye nodded. “Excellent advice.” To Hilly: “La Croix asked me if I’d sit with your husband a bit. He had to flit off and deal with... whatever he deals with.”
“Probably looking for someone to devour a lobster omelet while he watches,” Amara muttered.
“Speaking of devour, breakfast is ready,” Hilly announced.
“Woo-hoo! I call the smoked turkey!”
ChapterThirty-One
