Page 124 of The Gaybor War

"You’d think a place called Morningwood Estates would have more stamina."

He chokes on his cider.

We’re mid-debate over whether Spiced Orchard Fantasy tastes more like apples or regret when a blur of motion barrels through the clubhouse.

Kiki’s kids. Of course.

They clip the edge of the tasting table, and suddenly an entire tray of sample cups tips, launching cider across the floor in a sticky, fragrant splash.

Everyone freezes. Then Kiki shouts, "NO—" Too late.

One kid slides in it, arms pinwheeling, while the other shrieks with delighted laughter.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Who brings children to a drinking event?"

Kiki shoots me a look. "You don’t have kids."

"Obviously. Nobody’s knocked me up yet."

Carter is already grabbing napkins. I’m laughing too hard to be useful. And Kiki’s husband makes a beeline for the bathroom.

Malia corners the recent divorcee from—God help us—Knob Lick Court. She’s leaned in too close, twirling a strand of her hair, nodding far too encouragingly.

"Is she flirting?" Carter whispers.

"Actively."

"With the man who cried at last month’s HOA meeting because his begonias died?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because he’s emotionally available and owns a boat."

"But she’s married."

"Obviously not for long."

I steer him towards another tasting table where we try Harder Cider for Harder Times.

Carter winces. "This tastes like poor decisions."

I take another sip. "I feel judged."

His throat slides as he swallows, drawing my eyes. I’d like to bob on his Adam’s apple.

Carter lowers his cup. "That one has notes of oak and recklessness."

"Honestly, same."

He hands me Crisp Apple Delight.

I take a sip and consider. "That’s aggressively wholesome."

"That’s because Eunice picked it."

"Of course she did. She wants us to behave."