Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Vansi cackled, and suddenly we were all laughing as the rain smashed against the windows, the world outside pitch-black.
19
At some point, Aaron and Grace wandered into the kitchen after Aaron decided to add another dish to the food he’d cooked earlier, which we’d then have for dinner later on in the evening. With the hot drinks and cookies already eaten, no one was hungry for a meal.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the coffee,” Kaea said from the sofa, “but how about we get some real drinks going? Seems like the kind of night for it.”
I groaned. “I’m getting flashbacks to many a night at the flat. I’ll only drink if you swear not to strip and start doing the ‘Y.M.C.A.’ dance.”
“I’m injured!” Kaea protested even as the room filled with laughter once more. “Your innocent little peepers are safe.”
We scattered to carry down the bottles of alcohol we’d brought so that Ash and Darcie wouldn’t have to bear that cost on top of what they’d already paid to get the place cleaned up for habitation. Despite their protests, we’d all chipped in on the money for the groceries, too. Everyone except for Aaron—oh, he’d tried, but we’d refused to accept.
We’d known he’d end up doing more than his share of the cooking. Because Aaron could cook the rest of us under the table any day of the week—and he liked having a group that he knew was game to try his more experimental creations.
The least we could do was pay for the ingredients.
After all, our accommodation was free and none of us were on the breadline. Of the entire group, I surely earned the least, but I’d also done barely any discretionary spending since my diagnosis. My bank account was healthier than it had been for a while. One positive, at least.
“I’ll get yours,” I told Kaea. “Where is it?”
“Closet. Thanks, Lunes.”
I grabbed my own two bottles of wine first, passing Phoenix in the hall as he emerged from his and Vansi’s room with the makings for a cocktail. I knew that without asking about the bottles in his hands, the labels of which I couldn’t clearly see. Cocktails were Vansi’s jam, and Phoenix was incredible at creating them.
“I’ll wait for you,” he said as I ducked into Kaea’s room. “Ash and Darcie brought stuff, too, and already put it downstairs, and Grace is helping Aaron in the kitchen, so it’s just us up here.”
“Thanks.” I made quick work of getting Kaea’s whiskey, my gaze falling once again on the old green pack as I left Kaea’s room. “That must’ve been scary when he slipped,” I commented as we began to walk downstairs.
“Just between us, I have to admit I was worried he’d broken his leg,” he said in that deliberate way of his. “With the lack of reception here, and the distance from any significant help . . .” He shook his head. “It wouldn’t have been life-threatening, but the delay might’ve ended up causing an infection.”
I hadn’t considered what it might mean if one of us got injured all the way out here, but of course he was right. Even a surgeon-in-training could only do so much without equipment. “What do you think happened to his boot? It looked bad when I saw it.”
A shrug. “Manufacturers are cutting corners these days, making things at lower quality. Just bad luck, I’m guessing.”
The glib response was not what I would’ve expected from Phoenix, and I was frowning when we entered the living room. Ash waved at us from a corner that held a curving wall of wood that I belatedly realized was meant to be a bar.
“Darcie’s ancestors were lushes!” he called out.
“Truth,” Darcie confirmed. “Cellar is full of wine. I should’ve told you that, Luna. Since I have zero liking for the stuff, I’m not sure whether it tastes like vinegar at this point, or how old it can get until it’s no longer drinkable, but you game to try one of the oldies?”
Startled at the friendly comment after the way she’d blown up at me, I decided to accept the olive branch. “Are you kidding?” I dumped my bottles on Ash’s bar; all the alcohol was to be shared anyway. “Let’s go!” Who knew what treasures lay dusty and forgotten under the house. “Wait, let me grab my camera. Will there be enough light to take photos?”
She waved her hand in that way that meant maybe, maybe not.
“Should we grab a flashlight?”
“Jim told us he stocked up the flashlights, but I haven’t found them yet. Cleaners must’ve moved them from the usual spot. Probably thought they were being helpful.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “There’s a lightbulb in the cellar, so we should be okay for a first look.”
“Sounds good.” Dim lighting could work for mood, too. It might well be perfect for shooting an old wine cellar that—hopefully—hadn’t seen a cleaner’s brush for years. I knew exactly the corporate client to which I could pitch those images.