Page 83 of Reeves

"You don't have to do that. I can figure something out. Maybe Benjy's right, and jumping in the ocean will do the trick."

"Well, first of all, no. You're not killing our sea life with latex. And second of all, are you going to then get in your truck completely wetandcovered in paint? Bad idea. Come on."

Benjy bounces on his toes beside us, delighted by this turn of events.

Reeves glances between us, jaw working slightly. I can see him calculating alternatives, looking for an exit that doesn't exist.

He's trapped, and he knows it.

NINETEEN

Reeves

The Parasol:A decorated umbrella carried by the grand marshal, color moving through the gray of the procession long before the music changes.

The walkto Charli’s house takes less than ten minutes. Benjy spends most of it narrating the state of my shirt like a sports commentator calling a game.

Thank goodness my phone and wallet were on the table, so they survived the paint's wrath.

“You missed a spot on your arm.”

“Yep. Looks like I missed a lot of spots.”

Charli walks beside us, quiet but smiling to herself every time Benjy points out another streak of paint.

By the time we reach the house, the paint on my shirt has started to dry. The fabric sticks to my skin every time I move my shoulders.

I step up onto the back porch behind them, but Charli reaches out and lightly touches my arm before I can follow them inside.

The contact is brief, but it might as well have lasted all day.Her fingers press through the damp fabric, warm against skin that hasn’t quite cooled from the walk.

“Wait right here for a second. I've got an idea.”

She looks down at my shirt and then back up at me, amusement flickering in her eyes.

“Yeah. I don't want to get this in your house.”

Charli gestures toward the side yard. “Come on. I’ve got an outdoor shower.”

She walks ahead of me along the narrow path beside the house. The bamboo enclosure comes into view around the corner. It's simple and practical, the kind of setup every beach house seems to have.

She pushes the small gate open and steps aside so I can see inside.

“There’s soap and shampoo on the shelf,” Charli says, pointing toward a wooden ledge mounted on the wall. “The hot water takes a second, but it works.”

I nod. “This is perfect.”

Charli glances at my shirt again, then back at the hose coiled nearby.

“Just leave your shirt and shorts on the ground outside of here when you’re in the shower,” she says. “I’ll grab them and hose the paint out before it sets.”

“You don’t have to?—”

“It’s fine,” Charli says easily. “Paint comes out better if you catch it early.”

She turns the hot water on, and the shower sputters to life, then she steps back toward the path.

“I’ll be right around the corner,” she adds. “Just toss the clothes out when you’re ready. You can put your wallet and phone here.”