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... hat they wanted and just enough pride to make it click. But ironing out the fine details? That was where time melted.
Now, seated beside a pair of sunbathing chairs that hadn't seen the sun in weeks, Don and Charles nursed the tail end of their second whiskey glass. The moonlight did most of the lighting now—low, clean, unbothered by urgency.
Charles stretched one leg out and tapped the rim of his glass with a fingernail. The sound barely carried.
"If we both handle our p ...
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