The Reality of Everything - Rebecca Yarros Page 0,21
the ice again and pulled out a Coke, brushing off tiny bits of ice from the top before handing it over.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, popping the top as I used the bottle opener I’d installed on the edge of the grill. “So, where is Finley?”
A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Most women who ended up at our barbecues never thought to ask about my daughter unless she was actually there. “She’s with her grandmother.” I took a swallow of the cold beer and flipped over the first row of hamburgers.
“Oh.” Her forehead wrinkled as she watched the game, rotating the silver tab on her soda from side to side.
I nearly laughed—she looked so conflicted.
“You can ask, you know. I’m pretty open,” I offered, flipping the second row of burgers.
“Is she with her grandmother often?” She chanced a look at me.
“Vivian takes her a weekend a month. It gives them some girl time.”
“And you a little off time?” she asked, no judgment in her tone.
“Yeah, I guess. Lets me get stuff done, take a weekend shift at work—”
“And have Sunday barbecues,” she noted with a smile as she reached for the package of cheese slices on the grill’s side table. “Want me to unwrap?”
“That would be great, thanks.” I glanced past Morgan to see Sawyer and Garrett headed this way. “Okay, forgive whatever comes out of these idiots’ mouths. They know not what they speak, but they are my best friends,” I warned before they appeared on either side of her.
“Got it.” She nodded, already placing cheese slices on an empty plastic plate.
“You couldn’t help us out there?” Sawyer accused me, then promptly assessed Morgan while she wasn’t looking.
Asshole.
“Hey, I sent Moreno,” I answered, bringing his attention back to me.
Morgan glanced at them both and finished peeling the cheese. A tiny—okay, huge—pang of satisfaction smacked my chest that she hadn’t lingered on either of my friends the way she had when I’d run past her that first morning.
“Garrett, Sawyer, this is my new neighbor, Morgan,” I introduced them.
“Nice to meet you.” Her voice was soft, but her smile was fake. She was missing the little crinkles next to her eyes that had appeared when she’d smiled a few minutes earlier.
“Nice to meet you.” Sawyer poured on the charm. “Where did you get that delicious accent?”
“So subtle,” Garrett mumbled.
“Isn’t it the same as around here?” she asked.
“Not even close,” I answered and was rewarded with her attention. “Yours is deeper. Don’t give me that look—it’s not a bad thing. It’s pretty great, actually.”
She smiled, the crinkles appearing at the edges of her eyes, and I mentally fist-pumped.
“Southern Alabama,” she answered. “I guess I never realized it was that much stronger. Y’all don’t even have accents.”
“That’s because I’m from Oregon,” Sawyer said, like it made him foreign or something. “West Coast.”
For fuck’s sake, it was Oregon, not Brazil.
“And you?” she asked me.
“Maine.”
“My God, could you get any farther north?”
“Not without becoming Canadian.”
“Or Alaskan,” Sawyer suggested, stepping closer to Morgan.
“That would still be American, jackass,” Garrett interjected.
The two started trading insults, and Morgan stepped backward and picked up her beach bag. “You know, that water looks pretty great. I’m going to sneak away, if that’s okay with you boys.”
Boys? My eyebrows hit my hairline. Between that and pretty, I didn’t know if I should be charmed or offended.
Her hands twisted in the strap of her bag, and I nodded in understanding when she caught my eye. “Enjoy your alone time. Just a warning: the water’s still freezing.”
“Doesn’t seem to bother you.”
“Well, yeah, but I swim it every day.”
“Part penguin. Gotcha. I’ll watch my toes for frostbite.” She flashed me a quick smile and practically ran toward the water.
“That’s your neighbor? I mean, holy shit. I’m going to move in,” Sawyer said, grabbing his chest in dramatics.
“It’s a two-bedroom house,” I reminded him, slapping cheese on half the burgers.
“I’ll take the couch. I won’t eat much. I swear.”
“Do you ever not think with your dick?” Garrett asked, reaching for a beer.
“Nope,” Sawyer answered. “Why would I when it has the best ideas?”
“Man, those smell good,” Brie said as she came to stand next to Sawyer.
“They’re just about d—” My words died in my mouth.
Twenty feet ahead of us, Morgan peeled off her shirt, revealing two straps of a halter top around her back and neck, and was now sliding her shorts over her hips, exposing a cobalt-blue bikini