Page 81 of But For You

“Home,” I sighed, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I’m worried about Kola.”

“Oh, honey, Rick told me. You’re so good; I’d have hired a hit man to take care of that guy. You’re showing amazing restraint.”

Smiling, I squeezed the hand she offered me and then turned to her husband. “You wanna get up so I can hug you or what?”

He chuckled and rose. I leaned, and he grabbed me. It was not something he and I did—the hugging—but it was warranted.

“I couldn’t figure up from down today, and I really needed some help. You were great, and Nadira was awesome when she came over and explained what she was doing and what was going on and what I should expect. Thanks for just stepping in and fixing stuff. That’s normally Sam’s part.”

He gave me a last squeeze, and then I moved back.

“It’s no problem,” he assured me. “We’re friends too, you know?”

“We are,” Aubrey chimed in, taking my hand and squeezing it.

“Okay,” I agreed before leaving them, heading toward the coat closet beside the front door.

I was pulling on my topcoat when someone called my name.

“Mr. Harcourt.”

“Oh, hey.” I grinned at Randall when I turned. “Man, I’m sorry I was a dick to you—so not your fault. And please, call me Jory.”

“I … pardon?”

I pointed at my nose. “When I was doing you, I did that nasally thing you do when you talk, like a … goose sort of noise. That was an asshole move, and⁠—”

“I’m sorry?”

Uh-oh.

“Well, when I was telling my friend Dylan about you on the phone,” I lied, “I said there was this guy at my brother’s party with me that had shoes made out of platypus or something, and I was sure you had a lot of redeeming qualities, but that, so far, since you were the only one talking, it was kind of hard to get an idea of what those were.”

“You—”

“So, she was saying that being gracious was a virtue and that maybe you were nervous, which accounted for the monologue of your charitable … activities.” I cleared my throat. “And I got to thinking that maybe we could have lunch far, far in the future.”

“I just wanted to ask for some clarification on how you knew Kevin, but … am I understanding that you were making fun of me?”

“Just the”—I pointed at my nose again—“honking thing.”

“Mr. Harcourt!”

“It’s just Jory,” I corrected him. “Dane is the mister.”

“You—I—how dare you insult … why would you—I …”

How did I always end up making people sputter like that?

“Oh, I know.” I had an idea for a peace offering. “You like rich people. I could invite Aaron Sutter—you know him; everybody knows him—and as long as you talk about stuff that’s not, ya know, just you, then we could all hang out and eat some endangered species of pelican or something, huh?”

“Who are you?”

“He’s my brother,” Dane said from beside me suddenly. “Please go home.”

“I was,” I defended myself. “He’s the one who stopped me.”

Dane pointed toward the door, and I headed that way.