Page 37 of No Judgements

Mrs. Hartwell was standing in front of the stove—a very old-looking six-burner, on which multiple pans were sizzling. I could smell the tantalizing scent of frying onion and garlic.

But she wasn’t looking at what it was that she was cooking.All her attention was focused on her nephew, whose strong, muscular back was pressed up against the refrigerator, his arms folded across his chest and his head bowed low enough that his dark hair fell across his face, obscuring it from view.

He’d managed to find a new shirt somewhere and had even buttoned it up properly and washed his hands. But he was still wearing the Timberlands with cargo shorts, a look I could only imagine Caleb sporting on Halloween when dressed as some sort of celebrity contractor from a fixer-upper show on cable television.

“Haven’t you been listening to a word of what they’ve been saying on the news, Drew?” Mrs. Hartwell was demanding. “This isn’t some run-of-the-mill tropical depression! It’s a full-fledged hurricane—the strongest one that’s come close to this island in years. And you still intend to weather it out in your new house on the beach?”

“Lu.” Drew sounded tired. “I told you. I built that house to withstand a storm this big.”

“Fine.” She waved a wooden soup spoon. “That’s great. But why do you have to beinit while the storm is going on?”

“Because.” I caught a brief glimpse of one of those preternaturally bright blue eyes as he lifted his head. “I’ve got to be there to fix things on the fly in case something goes wrong.”

“Oh, things will go wrong, all right.” Mrs. Hartwell turned back to her onions and garlic and gave them a vicious stir. “Do you remember how Sandy Point looked after Wilhelmina? That’s what it’s going to be like with this one, but maybe ten times worse.”

“Now, Lu.” Ed was standing by the pantry door, unloading the barbecue sauce and beer he’d bought at Frank’s. “What the boy is saying makes sense. Lotta people want to be in their own homes so they can make repairs when storms like this hit—”

“Or so they can be swept away,” Mrs. Hartwell said, angrily turning down the heat on her onions, “in the ten-foot tidal surge they’re expecting. That sounds stupid to me. Do you think that sounds stupid?”

I noticed with a start that she was pointing the wooden soup spoon in my direction.

“Me?” I nearly dropped my tote bag. “Oh... I really don’t think my opinion matters either way.”

“Yes, it does. Tell him.” Mrs. Hartwell turned off the heat on her onions and folded her own arms across her chest, mimicking her nephew’s stance exactly. “Tell him he should stay here with us, where it’s safe.”

I blinked in surprise. Why was she putting this on me? I was a virtual stranger here.

“Um,” I said. “I really don’t think I—”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. He’ll stay if you ask him to.” Mrs. Hartwell went on. “You’re a pretty girl, and he likes you.”

“Lu.” Drew’s warning was so low, it was practically a growl.

“Well, it’s true.” Aunt Lu uncrossed her arms to lay down her soup spoon and wipe her hands on a kitchen towel, though I couldn’t see that she’d dirtied them in any way. “I haven’t seen you this way about a woman since before Leighanne. Lord knew you never liked her much, she just followed you here from—”

“Do you have room in your fridge for this?” I interrupted hastily, holding up Daniella’s container of starter.

I did it more for my own sake than Drew’s, since I knew everything Mrs. Hartwell was saying was untrue, and I couldn’t let her embarrass me—or her nephew—a second longer. If Drew Hartwell was interested in me, it was only because I was the only girl on the island with whom he hadn’t yet had sex.

And sex was the last thing I was interested in, at least for the time being. Or so I told myself.

From the look on Drew’s face, the feeling appeared to be mutual.

“Uh,” Mrs. Hartwell said, glancing from the plastic container in my hands to my face. “Yes, I suppose so. Ed, move out some of that beer so she can put that in the fridge, will you?”

Ed looked dismayed. “But, Lu—”

“There’s plenty of beer in there already. Put what you’ve got there in the fridge out back in the shed.”

“But it’ll be raining! You want me to have to go outside to get beer in the—”

“Ed!”

Ed moved some of his beer, and I found a nice dark place in the bottom of the Hartwells’ fridge for the starter. I also managed to squeeze in my cheese ball.

“Now,” I said, straightening. “If you’ll excuse me, I just have to run back to my place really quick to get my scooter. If that area actually does flood, I can’t leave it parked there.”

“I’ll drop you off.” Drew pulled the keys to his pickup from one of his many pockets.