Her supply shelving had drawn his attention again, and she smiled at his profile as she drifted to his side and reached for her cleaver.
“What’s in there?” He pointed to her locked cabinet, positioned safely off the ground.
“Lye.” Treated carelessly, sodium hydroxide could cause severe burns or even trigger an explosion, so she didn’t fuck around with those airtight plastic containers. “AKA the reason I need gloves and goggles and face masks.”
“I didn’t realize everything your work involved.” He wandered over to her curing racks, almost but not quite touching the soaps she’d colored and molded to resemble tiny, perfect oranges, future door prizes at the grand opening of a San Joaquin Valley farmer’s market. Leaning closer, he sniffed. “Orange and…cloves?”
“Yep.” Her cleaver felt good in her hand. Solid and familiar. She slid it into its sheath and added it to her bag. “Those are ready to go. I just don’t want to package them until the last minute. And speaking of being ready to go…”
“These soaps are beautiful.” He sounded sincere. “Before we leave, could you tell me what photo-editing software you use for your business?”
“Adobe Lightroom. Why?”
“What version?”
“I’d have to check?” She crinkled her brow at him. “Do you really think now is the best—”
“Thank you, Edie,” he said with remarkable, uncharacteristic politeness.
Getting him the info he wanted—for whatever reason he wanted it—would take less time than arguing with him about how heshouldn’twant it right now. After crossing the room to the computer, she checked the software and scrawled a note with the exact version she was currently using.
When she turned around again, he was fiddling with something in his hoodie pocket, which was also odd. Why was he so fidgety?
She passed him the paper, then led the way to the side door. “Your car or mine?”
“My SUV’s tires aren’t bald.” His look of stern judgment tempted her to stick her tongue out at him, but she resisted. “Also, I have heated seats and emergency supplies in my trunk, including a first aid kit.”
“Sold,” she said, and looked both ways before exiting her garage and locking the door behind them. “Morituri te salutant.”
Most of her high school Latin had disappeared over the years, but not that phrase. Which probably revealed more about her general state of mind than she cared to contemplate.
He shook his head and followed close behind her as they neared his own garage. “ ‘Those who are about to die salute you’? That sentiment seems a bit pessimistic for you, human.”
“Just checking if you know Latin.” Still scanning their surroundings, she snickered. “Which you evidently do, thus raising the following questions: Were you alive during the Roman Empire? Were you BFFs with Caesar? Is Maxime short for Maximus? Did you wear short leather skirts in a gladiatorial arena and fight tigers and look really hot, all while not ruining my cherished girlhood fantasies by later throwing phones at innocent hotel clerks?”
His garage door opened with a click of his remote control, and he gestured her ahead of him, toward the passenger seat, while he jogged to the driver’s side.
“Risus abundat in ore stultorum,” he murmured, sliding into his leather seat and slamming the door behind him. He waited a few moments, but when she refused to give him the satisfaction of asking and concentrated instead on fastening her seat belt, he translated for her. “ ‘Laughter is abundant in the mouth of fools.’ ”
“Hey!” she protested. “Rude!”
He laughed too then, and without answering even a singleone of her questions, he started the SUV and accelerated out of his garage and into the bright, dangerous unknown.
***
As they wendedtheir way through deserted, half-buckled streets to the Zone’s main access road, Edie studied Max’s calm, contained expression.
“I invited you to visit my workroom the first time we met.” The day after he’d moved in, she’d baked a pan of cheesecake-swirl brownies and brought them over, eager to chat with her new neighbor. Hopeful they could become friends as well as mutual sources of help in an emergency. “If you were interested, why didn’t you come before?”
Because he hadn’t ever rung her doorbell. Not once in three years. Even when she’d given him the brownies, he’d merely accepted them with a cheerfulWhoa, thanks, dude, then made reference to his raging case of munchies, listened to her invitation to visit, drained his Miller Lite, and crushed the can against his forehead. Only it wasn’t actually empty, so beer sprayed everywhere, including all over her. After accepting his hapless apologies, she’d promptly headed home again, already knowing her neighbor wouldn’t be much help in an emergency.
He hadn’t bothered to return her pan in person. It had appeared, unwashed, on her doorstep a week later. Which was when she knew he wouldn’t be much of a friend either.
And yet…here he was. Helping her in an emergency. Fresh from her workroom, which he’d surveyed with clear fascination and appreciation. Much like a friend might.
His lips thinned, and he squinted at the road ahead. “Iwasn’tinterested. Not at first. And then…”
She waited, but he didn’t finish his thought. Instead, he reached into his console for a pair of stylish oversized sunglasses, which he slid onto his nose. They made it hard for her to read his expression.
