Page 14 of No Judgements

Wind Gust:20 MPH

Precipitation:0.0 in.

He’d changed out of the beat-up T-shirt he’d been wearing earlier in the day into a soft blue chambray button-down and a pair of chinos so faded they looked almost white.

“What are you doing here?” Drew Hartwell demanded.

This didn’t seem like the most welcoming way to greet a guest, even one he hadn’t been expecting, so I didn’t think I could be blamed for bristling.

“Uh,” I said, hoisting up the bottle of champagne I’d brought along. “It’s a party? Your aunt invited me? I don’t know. Are Fresh Waters not welcome, or something? Should I leave?”

He blinked those impossibly blue eyes like someonewho was just waking up from a particularly bad dream and shook his head.

“But,” he said. It was difficult to hear him due to all the laughter and conversation coming from the people in the yard, and the salsa music playing merrily from the outdoor speakers above us. “I thought you were evacuating.”

“No. I said I wasn’t evacuating. Remember, we had a whole conversation about the frustrations of family?”

He shook his head again. His pupils weren’t particularly dilated, so I didn’t think he was high on anything.

But his eyebrows were constricted, and he definitely wasn’t smiling. He seemed genuinely concerned.

“Have you even been listening to the weather reports?” he demanded. “Do you know how bad this storm is?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Do you?”

“I live here.”

“Well, so do I.”

“I’ve lived here mywhole life. I know about hurricanes. And this isn’t one anyone should mess around with.”

“You mean like someone who lives on the beach?” I blinked up at him, feigning wide-eyed innocence. “The beach everyone is warning people to evacuate?”

It was at that exact moment that I was hit by a slim, sweet-smelling rocket that came racing toward me out of the darkness of the yard, wrapping a sweaty arm around my neck.

“You came!” Nevaeh planted a kiss on my cheek. “I knew it! I knew you’d come!”

“Oof,” I said, as she crashed into me. “Of course I came.What else was I going to do tonight? I’m surprised you’re here. Didn’t you have a hot date?”

Nevaeh’s lack of hot dates (her aunt said she was too young to date and forbade her seeing any of the many young men who constantly hung around the café, thirsting for her) was a steady source of humor between us.

“No,” Nevaeh said, pretending to pout. “But what about you?” She backed away, eyeing my dress. “You look so pretty! You could have had a date tonight if you wore this more often. Why haven’t I ever seen you in this before?”

“Well, I thought about wearing it to mop the floors at the café. But then I decided it wasn’t formal enough. Where can I put this?” I waved the bottle of champagne. Drew, I noticed, had drifted away, probably to whichever section of the party had been reserved for hot brooding bachelors who were building their own beach houses.

“I told you not to bring anything.” Mrs. Hartwell was standing right behind her niece, looking stern.

“I’m glad she didn’t listen to you!” Nevaeh eagerly snatched the bottle out of my hands.

“Not until you’re twenty-one, young lady.” Mrs. Hartwell took the bottle from her niece. “Very nice,” she said, glancing at me with raised eyebrows after scrutinizing the label. “Hardly worth wasting on this bunch. I might have to hide this for my own personal use.”

“Please do,” I said. “It’s for you.”

Mrs. Hartwell snorted, looking embarrassed, and called to her husband, who was in a sunken part of the yard by thegrill—or I should say multiple grills, with multiple men, all of whom were busily barbecuing by the light of numerous tiki torches.

“Ed,” Mrs. Hartwell screeched. “Ed, Bree Beckham brought us some champagne!”

Unsurprisingly, since Ed Hartwell hardly ever spoke except to yell at someone, there was only a grunt in reply. It sounded approving, however.