NOVEL NEXT 290: The Night Was Magic
"Here we are!" Paddy announced as the porter came to a stop next to a small pink house. We got out and followed our hostess around to the back yard where a man was climbing up from the ground, wiping his face on the sleeve of his bright blue Hawaiian shirt.
"Paddy?" he asked.
At the same time, I said with my face contorted, "You actually do live in your grandma's basement?"
The eyebrows of the man in front of me flew up as he looked at me. He was round, wide, grey-haired, and looked exactly like Santa Claus — the Miami version in an Hawaiian shirt and shorts.
"Wimpy, meet Ayela Scarsdale," his wife told him. His face broke open in a grin, and the moment those bright eyes met mine, I lost all sense. I ran.
"HC! Oh my god, HC!" I collided with that large frame, and warm arms wrapped around me. I didn't even know why I was shaking with sobs. Was it happiness? Joy? Relief? Grief at the friend who almost wasn't?
"Ayela! Oh, thank god you're okay. I was so worried when I didn't hear from you. Oh dear lord, Ayela— Sam." His voice softened to a whisper. "Is that okay?" I nodded against his shirt, and his arms tightened. "Sam, god, I was so worried. Those fuckers. Those fucking fuckers copied our conversations. You saw it, didn't you?" I nodded again, and he pulled back, hands on my shoulders, looking me in the face.
"None of that was me, you hear?"
I nodded.
"I don't know what's going on, and I don't know who is doing this, but we are not going to let it go. Those fuckers picked the wrong guy this time, so it's over for them. We've got a lot to do—
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
"Wimpy, they've already started. Rhoda's farther along than you with details, research."
He nodded, but I interrupted, "HC, what do I even call you? I'm Samantha."
"Mooneyhan, I know, Sam, it was on your documents every time you sent files to me, and I don't care. Your identity was never something to worry about in my hands. As far as my real name goes, I'm just fine with you calling me 'HC.'"
He grimaced. "Bernard Harcourt is not really what anyone calls me anymore; I mostly just have nicknames—"
"'Wimpy' is a fantastic one. I think that's what I'll call you forever," I snickered.
He threw his head back and laughed, "If you knew why she called me that, you'd rinse your mouth with soap."
"Oh god, I did not need to know that!" I raged, and we were all in stitches.
"You're a couple a dirty old coots, aren't you?" Rhoda laughed at them.
"You have no idea," HC agreed. "Alright, alright, dammit, woman, you brought them to mother's when I'm clearing out the cellar, covered in cobwebs and dust. You did this on purpose. You're gonna pay for this," HC smirked at his wife.
"Oh, I'm counting on it," she leered.
"Ew, for real? Do we really have to watch this? Imma go be sick behind that tropical greenery over there. This is your mom's place? Nice garden, by the way, HC," I said with a pukey face.
"Dear god, are we gonna talk about plants while Discord is burning the world down?" was his reply.
"I need another umbrella drink and some desert," Rhoda suggested.
HC nodded, "Yeah. I need to shower off the spiders and get something to eat." He looked at his wife, "I'm feeling the Pit, how about you?"
"I've had dinner, but we gals can get drinks and desert," Paddy nodded, and we headed to the larger light blue house next door.
"Give me ten minutes, then we'll head to the best seafood in Miami, girls. The kids?" he asked Paddy.
"Already sent them to Karsh's. I don't want my grandbabies anywhere near this Discord mess."
"Agreed," HC nodded. "Good then. Ladies, we've got a lot to do, so get your thinking caps on and be ready to rock and roll."
That's exactly what we did, and half an hour later, I was eating dinner with my favorite best-selling author and his wife, and the night was magic.
