Page 122 of The Gaybor War

Shania softens first. "Oh."

Candice smiles slowly. "Well."

Kiki clasps her hands. "I love this for you both."

I clear my throat. "Okay, enough vulnerability before noon."

But something warm settles in my chest.

Later, when I finally get them to leave, Carter leans against the counter beside me.

"They love you."

"I know. It’s a burden."

He smiles fondly. And standing there in his kitchen, surrounded by half-drunk margaritas, HOA emails, and the lingering echo of laughter, I feel my life expanding, reshaping, and making room for him. And the fact that it scares me a little? Only proves how much I already care.

We step outside into the crisp afternoon, arms full of my luggage and leftover muffins, and immediately freeze. Eunice is standing at my mailbox, holding a ring of paint swatches in one hand and a clipboard in the other, squinting at the box as if she’s assessing structural integrity.

Carter blinks. "Why is Eunice hovering over your mailbox with color swatches?"

I groan. "Last week she sent me a letter stating her suspicions that my paint color isn’t the HOA-approved shade of beige."

Carter looks from my mailbox to his. Then back again. "But it looks exactly like mine. And the rest of the street."

"Exactly. Enigmatic Ecru."

He snorts.

"That is an oxymoron," I inform him. "Ecru is not enigmatic. It’s plain, boring, and lifeless. Also, the builder painted it before I bought this house. So, whatever shade she determines it is doesn’t matter because I’m grandfathered in."

"Rules evolve, Benjamin," Eunice says without turning around. "The spirit of regulation transcends time."

Carter presses his lips together. I can practically see the laugh trying to escape.

"Did the spirit of regulation tell you to bring swatches?" he asks.

She finally turns. "If I’m going to cite a violation, I prefer to do so with visual evidence."

I clutch my chest. "You wound me."

She steps closer, holding a strip of beiges against my mailbox. "This is Oat Whisper."

"Sounds like a digestive disorder," I mock.

Eunice holds up another swatch. "Or perhaps Sand Dignity."

"Absolutely not."

Carter loses it, ducking his head, shoulders shaking.

"If she touches my mailbox," I mutter, "I will repaint hers hot pink."

Eunice gasps. "You would not."

"I absolutely would."

"Benjamin—"