Brandon Poured Cold Beer Over Sarah Before He Learned About Her Athletic Past
He slid a stapled paper across the wood.
Three staples.
The top page had a line of type large enough to read from where I stood: Transfer of Real Property.
Martha’s pen was already in her hand.
“Just the top page,” Brandon said.
“I’ll handle the rest.”
David crossed the patio in four steps.
He didn’t raise his voice.
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