SERAPHINA "SERA" MORTEZ'S POINT OF VIEW
"Good heavens—are you alone out here? That's reckless! What if some fool decides to take advantage?"
The voice booms across the dirt path, full and sharp as a clap of thunder. I turn to find Mercing standing there-round and solid as a mango tree, hands planted on her hips. I meet her gaze from my doorstep, where wood planks meet concrete; the house is modest, but it holds us steady.
"Then maybe don't shout it to the whole neighborhood," I shoot back, tapping a finger to her lips with a grin. "Keep your voice down, or you'll scare off your only decent neighbor."
She swats my hand away, mock-offended. "You little devil! Don't you dare say that-I'd be lost without you underfoot!" She presses a palm to her chest, her gold necklace catching the afternoon sun.
"Lost? Or just missing the... attention your husband used to give you?" I wiggle my eyebrows, knowing exactly how to get a rise out of her.
