Page 44 of His Reckoning

Hosting my friends is always a mistake. I remember this every single time I do it, yet somehow, I keep doing it anyway.

Tonight is proving the point.

I’m arranging the charcuterie board when Kayla walks into the kitchen. She stops immediately when she sees the counter filled with wine bottles, cheese, and olives.

Her eyes narrow slightly. “You’re entertaining.”

“Yes.”

“That explains the olives.”

“They’re not just olives.”

“They look like olives.”

“Imported olives.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course they are.”

Kayla leans against the island, eyeing the spread like she’s evaluating a restaurant menu.

“My friends are coming over,” I tell her.

“All of them?”

“Yes.”

She considers that. “So, this is a couples thing.”

“Mostly.”

“And I’m”—she gestures vaguely toward herself— “what exactly?”

“Living here,” I respond.

She huffs. “That’s not a role.”

“You’re welcome to stay.”

“Or?”

“You can disappear if you prefer.”

Her eyes drift back to the cheese board. “Is that Brie?”

“Yes.”

“I’m staying.”

I almost smile.

The elevator opens a few minutes later.

Melissa steps out first, and Kayla visibly relaxes. Kayla crosses the room and hugs her.

“How’s penthouse life?” Melissa asks.

“Temporarily overwhelming.”