Once again, I find myself liking someone for their suspicion of me.
Probably a sign I need to come clean. And soon. “Everyone has secrets.”
“Don’t let yours be the bad kind.” They bend over, catching a runaway toddler with short dark curls all over his head. “Andyou—you’re supposed to be upstairs. Margie, meet Henry. Henry, say hello to Margie.”
The little boy sticks a finger in his mouth and looks at me with big green eyes, not saying a word.
“Hello, Henry,” I say.
“Got boogie?” he replies, sticking a finger from his other hand up his nose.
“Uncle Theo’s in trouble,” Zen mutters. “I told him to quit teaching all of you that.” They jerk their head toward the door.“If this one’s here, the others and the dogs will follow. But help yourself to anything you want.”
“I won’t be grabbing the last of anything special?”
“It’s all special, and we’ll keep making more special, so it’s the kind of special meant to be consumed and enjoyed and remembered.”
It’s impossible to not smile at that sentiment.
“This one’s okay?” I snag a beer-size bottle in one of the rows on the wall.
Zen smiles. “Best one. Take it.”
“Would you say that about all of them?”
“Da boogie in da nose,” Henry says.
“Got that right, kid,” Zen says.
“Alcoholic or not?” I ask with a nod toward my bottle.
“If I answer that, I’m breaking the rules of kombucha roulette.”
I laugh. “Got it.” I take a second bottle and trail Zen upstairs.
Rhys is making himself useful at a large island in the kitchen, which opens into the living room, where Decker and Jack are deep in discussion with Theo, who’s once again holding a sleeping baby in his tattooed arms.
I set the bottle beside Rhys’s cutting board. “Workaholic much?” I murmur.
“Best view.”
“You like kombucha?”
“Guess we’ll find out. You?”
“We don’t have kombucha in Iowa.”
He grunts.
I suck in a smile.
Not like I’m going to tell him I drink it when I’m at my beach house, much like he’s probably not going to smile at me like he did last night when we were alone. “But apparently it’s a secret if it’s hard or soft. So consider yourself warned.”
A woman breezes through the back door, freezes when she spots me, and lights up. Her brown hair is tied back at the base of her neck, and her blue eyes are sparkling. “You must be Margie.” She walks closer and extends a hand. “Hi. I’m Laney.”
I shake and smile back at her, feeling suddenly on edge. Well,moreon edge. “Nice to meet you. Have you met Rhys? He’s Decker’s friend.”
Rhys nods to her, still slicing tomatoes.
