Amused awe kept Vale’s lips slightly parted. “I’ve seen a lot in my years, but not this. Never this.”
I’d accuse him of living a sheltered life, but I was confident that wasn’t the case. Vale was a demigod, the mysterious eighth son of the more mysterious Enmesharra. We could probably spend the next six months trading outrageous stories if I were inclined to open that particular Pandora’s box.
But I wasn’t.
Margie stepped in front of the golf cart, prompting Vale to slam on the brakes. “Maya, perfect timing,” she said, seemingly oblivious to the near miss. “Come and dance.”
I shook my head. The only way she’d get me out there was by jamming a pair of cursed red shoes on my feet.
“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. You never let loose.”
“Our guest needs to get back to the mainland,” I said.
“It’s my boat,” Vale said. “I can leave whenever.”
I glared at him. “You hate social events.”
“Yes, but torturing you is a level of fun I didn’t know existed.”
Margie pointed across the street. “There’s a spot right there. Grab it before someone else takes it.”
Grinning, Vale steered the golf cart into the available space and parked. “Now I’m really glad I came.”
People were already swinging their partners round and round by the time we joined them.
“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” Vale observed.
“They wouldn’t show up if they didn’t. Neighbors don’t tend to do things out of obligation. If they don’t want to, no amount of guilt will force them into it.”
“I suppose that’s healthy, in a way.”
“It’s another end of a spectrum as far as I’m concerned.” There were people at one end who over gave and resented it. Then you had some Neighbors at the other end, who didn’t give at all, including their actions a second thought. I wondered whether it was a form of entitlement—that they’d lived a long time and had contributed more than their fair share by now. Thankfully, that group was only a tiny fraction of the overall population.
“You sound bitter,” Vale remarked.
I looked at him. “Do I?” I didn’t begrudge them their choices. I wasn’t walking a mile in their well-worn white sneakers. Who could say? Maybe if I lived to a ripe old age of two hundred, I’d feel the same way.
“A little, although I suppose that’s fair, as one of the few people on the island required to work.” He gestured to the gazebo. “Where’d you find the band?”
“They’re Neighbors. They love any chance to play their instruments.” Gerry McKinley was there with his guitar,which was probably why they sounded slightly out of tune. Undoubtedly, nobody wanted to tell Gerry to leave his guitar at home. His brother was Buck, and Buck’s bad temper was best avoided.
Lamont LaRue walked along the perimeter of the square to join us. The werewolf doffed his hat. “Miss August.”
“Hi Lamont. Having fun?”
“When there’s live music, always.” He extended a hand. “Would you do me the honor?”
“I’m not in the market to be swung round and round, but I appreciate the offer.”
“Indulge an old werewolf. You never know when it’ll be your last square dance.”
I smiled. “Can’t have a last one if you’ve never had a first.”
“Then you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I avoid dancing the way some adults avoid broccoli.”
“Gotcha. Childhood trauma?”
