Page 113 of His Secret
I meet Adrian’s eyes as I step inside. “Hello. Sleep well?”
He smirks, cheeks blushing, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he asks his own question. “Was Martin hitting on you?”
I smile back at him. “So, the kitchen?”
He makes a noise in his throat and closes the door. “Yeah.”
Martin’s talking to another man that I know I’ve seen several times, but whose name doesn’t come to me. But besides them, there’s nobody else in the house.
Adrian takes the bag of chips from me and puts them on the island in the middle of the kitchen, and I put the drinks next to some other ones that are displayed near the sink.
“I gotta get back to the grill,” he says. “Greg might be burning my food. Y’all can come out back.”
Through the sliding glass door, I see Charlotte talking to Diane, a woman I’ve talked to quite a bit. Pretty sure she’s married to the guy Martin was talking to.
“Hey,” Charlotte greets us with a wide smile. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course. Thanks for the invite,” I say with a small nod.
They have a rectangular table on their porch, with a large umbrella open and sitting in the middle, blocking out the sun.
There’s also a couple of chairs near a fire pit that’s several feet past the main seating area, and while I’d much prefer to be as far away from the group as possible, I guess it would be weird for me to choose to sit out there.
“So, you guys all know each other, right?” Charlotte asks, gesturing between all of us, including a couple already sitting at the table.
Martin speaks up first. “I know this guy right here,” he says, an arm going around my shoulder briefly. “And I know Greg and Diane, but I don’t think I’ve met you two,” he says to the couple at the table. “I’m Martin. I’m down at 479.” He extends his hand.
“Carl,” the man says. He gestures to the woman at his side. “My wife, Leslie.”
Leslie shakes Martin’s hand, a warm smile on her face. “Nice to meet you.”
I lift a hand at the Black couple, who look to be about mid-forties. Carl has a salt and pepper beard and a bald head, while Leslie has chocolate brown curls, and a smattering of freckles on her cheeks.
“I’m Matías,” I say.
They nod and smile, and I turn to Diane. “How are you?”
She grins. “I’m good. I missed you this morning.”
I laugh. “I slept in for once. Sorry to miss our morning chat.”
Diane smiles, the fine lines deepening around her mouth. “It’s good to sleep in once in a while.”
I met Diane almost five years ago, when I first moved into this neighborhood. She just turned forty-nine, because the last time I saw her, she mentioned it being the last year she can say she’s in her forties.
On Saturdays, I’m usually out front doing yardwork or cleaning my car inside and out. She always stops by during her walks with her little Yorkshire terrier to talk to me, and we also run into each other on my evening jogs when she’s once again out for a walk with her other dog, a long-haired chihuahua. She says they can’t be walked together because they don’t know how to act.
Adrian puts on some low music, and everyone starts talking about where they grew up, how long they’ve livedhere, what they do for work, and generalget to know youquestions.
“The food will be done soon, guys,” Adrian announces from the grill that sits a few feet from the table.
“It smells good,” Diane says.
“Let’s hope it tastes good,” Adrian says with a laugh.
“I’m pretty talented on the grill,” Carl announces. “Next time we can do it at my house.”
“I’m always down for a good meal,” Martin says, eyes sliding in my direction to give me another up and down.