“Owen raised his beer bottle, clinking it against Mason’s for an impromptu toast. They both sipped, long and deep, eyes shadowy and moist in the flickering candle flames. Outside the screen door beside them, nature sounds trilled in the air: rustling leaves, wobbly rockers creaking on the front porch, crickets chirping. It was all music to Mason’s ears, much the same way Owen’s dimples were a feast for his adoring eyeballs.”
Book:Stroke of Luck