Granger wraps the towel around his waist. He’s about Cash’s size, five nine or so, and is in extremely good physical shape, possibly even better shape than Cash, and he’s fifty-six years old. The villa has a full gym with two Peloton bikes; Granger and Tilda’s mother, Lauren, get up at five thirty every morning to ride together, then Granger does his weight regimen, then he swims.

“Want some green juice?” Granger asks Cash. On the counter of the outdoor kitchen is a carafe of liquid the color of shamrocks. It was most likely put there by Virgie, the housekeeper, who moves around the villa with the stealth of a ninja and who, this past week, has refused to let Cash do so much as take his own dishes to the sink.

Guilt—his mother; Baker; Floyd. If they knew how Cash was living, what would they think? “Sure,” Cash says. He accepts a glass of green juice, takes a sip, and immediately wants to spit it out. It’s liquefied kale, he suspects, with maybe a thin slice of apple or one green grape thrown in.

“Lauren and I are very protective where Tilda is concerned,” Granger says. “She tends to show all her cards. She doesn’t have much of a poker face, I’m afraid.” Granger gulps down the entire glass of juice and Cash shivers just watching; he’s unsure he can manage even one more sip. “It’s clear how much she likes you. She says you have other places you can go, so it’s not like you’re using her to avoid being homeless.”

“Right,” Cash says quickly. “That’s right, sir.”

“Please, call me Granger.”

“Granger, sir,” Cash says. He can’t help it; the sir comes automatically. Granger Payne is a sir as surely as Johnny Cash or Muhammad Ali would be a sir. “I could move in with my mother or my brother. And I’ll do that if it makes you more comfortable.” Here, Cash holds Granger’s gaze, willing the older man not to call his bluff. Irene is presently living in Maia’s bedroom at Huck’s house, and Baker is still at the Westin hemorrhaging five hundred dollars a night while he looks for an affordable year-round rental. Cash told Baker that if he found something big enough, Cash would happily move in, share the rent, provide child care for Floyd.

“Okay,” Baker said. “But you’d better have a backup plan.”

Cash had initially considered asking Ayers if he could take over her lease, since she had gotten engaged to Mick and would likely move in with him. He wasn’t sure how much she paid but if she could afford it, then he could, right? They worked at the same place. But Ayers had a second, very lucrative job waiting tables at La Tapa. Cash would likely need to get a second job as well. He should be looking now instead of goofing off every day with Tilda.