Page 23 of The Woman By the Lake

He asked, “When were you in Sonoma?”

“A couple years ago,” Bubbles murmured.

And damn, that was one of his many tells, considering the man rarely murmured.

“Anyway,” Bubbles went on. “Wine doesn’t go bad that quick, unless it’s opened. It’s good. Real good.” He shook the bottle at Riggs. “Here. Take it. Great apology.”

Slowly, Riggs took it, saying, “You’re not handing me a bottle of hot wine, are you?”

“’Course not.” He was again murmuring.

Shit.

“Bubs—”

“Seriously, Doc. Your neighbor will be impressed.”

“Not if I’m giving her a bottle of stolen wine. We got a deal. You do you, but I want no part of it when it’s like that.” He pushed the bottle Bubbles’s way. “No shade. You know that. But I can go to a liquor store.”

Bubbles held up both hands. “Doc. No. This is really good wine. And it isn’t like that.”

He wasn’t murmuring anymore, but he also wasn’t looking Riggs in the eye, which was often another tell.

Though, Bubbles sometimes simply didn’t look you in the eye.

But when Bubbles caught his gaze and gave him a goofy smile, Riggs relaxed and stopped extending the bottle.

Bubbles reached in, grabbed another one and held it to Riggs. “You take both of those, then we’re square.”

“We’re already square.”

Bubbles shook his head. “You did me a solid. Now I’m doing the same.”

He wasn’t talking about overstaying his welcome and eating and drinking Riggs out of house and home.

He was talking about something else.

“I told you when I did it, I wasn’t keeping a marker.” Riggs set the bottle on the shelf and pulled out his wallet.

“Not gonna take your money, Doc,” Bubbles declared.

“Twenty-five dollars a glass?” Riggs asked.

“Bud, seriously.” Bubbles was getting agitated.

Riggs had no problem looking his friend in the eye, which was what he did.

“Lucille kick you out because you didn’t pay your half of the rent, or because you did that and borrowed money off her to make payroll again?”

Bubbles’s lower lip stuck out a beat before he stated, “Hassle don’t come with paying my marker.”

“I don’t hold a marker on you,” Riggs muttered, opening his wallet and counting four hundred-dollar bills, and two fifties.

He offered them to Bubbles.

Bubbles didn’t take them.

“You know I’m not gonna walk out of here with that wine without paying for it,” Riggs told him. “Take the money.”

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