The yard was fully bright when I went back down to collect the tray, the shadow of the block wall shrinking toward the house. Daniel was standing by the edge of the pool, his back to me, his hands deep in his trouser pockets.
“The girls are ready,” I said, stopping three feet from the step.
He turned slowly. His face had that quiet, smooth look he wore when a contract was signed, but his eyes were flat.
“My mother says you were struggling in the kitchen,” he said.
“The skillet was heavy,” I said, my hand instinctively going to my ring finger, rolling the gold band against the skin.
He walked toward me, his leather shoes clicking on the concrete. He stopped so close I could smell his cologne, the sharp scent of cedar and mint.
