Page 129 of The Bad Husband

He makes the introductions later.

“Randal West,” the man says as our hands connect.

Wrinkles deepen around his eyes as he flashes a smile. He quickly shifts his focus to Damon and invites us to sit.

“I haven’t seen you in a while. Are things okay?”

“Things are fine,” Damon says in the voice of someone holding a different opinion about the matter.

“What would you like to drink?”

He looks at me.

“I’ve made some fresh lemonade,” he says.

“Sounds good.”

“And you?”

Damon says nothing, a faint smile curling his lips as he slides into a wicker armchair.

“Bourbon?” Randall suggests.

“Cold beer?”

‘Cold beer it is.”

The man vanishes into the house while Damon and I sit outside.

It strikes me how cozy the place is.

“Nice house,” I say.

“You like it?”

“Yes, I do.”

Glancing around, I brush a hand over the wicker armrest.

“I like the porch,” I say. “It’s perfect for this weather.”

A few moments later, Randal joins us and sets a wooden tray on the table.

“Your lemonade,” the man says before placing the cold cans of beer on the table.

“I figure one won’t be enough,” he murmurs. “I keep them in the cooler,” he adds.

The cans and glass of lemon drip with condensation.

He claims a seat, and they both open their beers and sip.

I pick up my lemonade and taste it. A fresh tangy aroma tickles my palate.

“Thank you,” I murmur, although no one pays attention to me.

“So, what brought you here?” the man asks.

Damon’s answer comes after a few moments of silence.