Mr.

Vance gave a slight nod.

“Whatever you prefer,” he said.

He walked down the wide hallway to the front porch steps, his shoes tapping softly on the wood.

I stepped out onto the porch and settled onto the swing.

The evening air was cool and carried the smell of dry citrus leaves from the neighbor’s yard.

I looked up at the mesquite sign hanging firmly on its metal hooks over the front porch swing.

The tires of Daniel’s silver Lexus crunched across the gravel driveway at ten past ten.