Page 28 of His Reckoning

“Temporarily,” I say quickly. “Most of it went to storage.”

He studies the box in my arms. “Books?”

“Yes.” I set the box down before my arms fall off.

“Are they all yours?”

“Some of them.”

“Define some.”

“Enough to justify the box.”

He nods slowly. “You know,” he says, glancing toward my belongings again, “most people hire movers.”

“Most people probably aren’t paying for a storage unit on a writer’s budget.”

That seems to surprise him slightly. “You make a living writing?”

“Yes.”

“I thought maybe it was a side gig.”

“It’s called moderate success,” I say. “Just not the kind that pays for movers.”

He considers that for a moment before he walks over and picks up one of the suitcases.

“I have an elevator,” he says. “And working arms.”

“You don’t have to help.”

“I’m aware.” He lifts the suitcase easily. “Where do want this?”

I point down the hallway. “My room works.”

He carries it past me without another word, and for some reason, that feels more helpful than I expected.

Sawyer sets the suitcase down in the guest room and turns back toward the hallway.

“I’ll grab the rest,” he says.

“You don’t have to?—”

The elevator dings. Both of us look toward the front door. A second later, the front door opens, and a man steps out.

He looks younger than Sawyer, dressed casually in dark jeans and a navy jacket.

He stops when he sees me. “Oh,” he says easily. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

Sawyer exhales quietly beside me. “Kayla,” he says, “this is my brother.”

The man walks forward and offers his hand. “Cole Maccini.”

I shake it. “Kayla.”

His handshake is warm and confident, the kind that comes from someone who spends a lot of time talking to people.

Cole glances at the suitcase and tote bag left on the floor. “Moving in?”