Page 150 of The Gaybor War

Benji scoffs. "No."

I side-eye him knowingly, and he caves in an instant.

"Yes," he admits reluctantly.

"I knew it! You sprayed me with that hose on purpose."

"Did not!" Benji defends hotly. "It was an accident. Did you miss the part where I practically drowned myself?"

"Par for the course."

Outside, Eunice emerges with her clipboard like a general reporting for duty. She pulls the man into a fierce hug, then points decisively at the sign lying on the curb.

"Told you."

As if on cue, the man bends, muscles flexing obscenely, and hoists the sign upright with irritating ease.

Benji groans. "I hate him already."

"He hasn’t even spoken."

"He doesn’t need to. His biceps are doing all the talking."

Benji watches for another second, then sighs dramatically. "Well. We can’t just lurk at the window like weird neighborhood watch fanatics hoping for a real-life true crime documentary."

"I resent that. I was being subtle."

"You were pressing your face to the glass."

"Details."

I grab my coat from the hook beside the door and toss him his. "Come on. Let’s go be welcoming. Or at least confusing."

We step outside together into the late afternoon; the street buzzing with that familiar Morningwood energy. Eunice is already mid-orientation, pointing out invisible violations with terrifying precision.

"And that bush is dangerously close to three feet. It can’t reach four under any circumstances. I was lenient with Mr. Reed, but I expect better from you."

Lenient? Hardly.

"There’s nothing I appreciate more than a well-trimmed bush, Auntie," the man mocks.

Eunice stabs her finger in the air with conviction. "—and trash cans must be returned from the curb no later than sunset, unless there’s a federal holiday, in which case⁠—"

Her nephew stands there nodding politely, posture relaxed, eyes faintly glazed, as if he’s being held hostage by civic enthusiasm. He turns as we approach, and for a split second, his grin widens.

"Ah," Eunice says, swiveling sharply. "Perfect timing. Carter, Benji, this is my nephew, Trevor. He just moved into your old place, Carter."

"Welcome to Morningwood." I step forward and offer my hand.

He grips it firmly. "Thanks. I’m starting to think I should’ve brought a notebook."

"Or sedatives," Benji adds under his breath.

Trevor laughs, then glances between us. "You guys live together?"

Benji opens his mouth, but I beat him to it. "We do."

The word lands solidly. Comfortable. Certain. Something warm settles in my chest.