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“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “So what are you pouting about?”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got time.” She motioned for the bartender. “Tell you what. I’ll buy our next round and you can tell me all about it.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
The beer kept flowing and the words kept coming. I probably wouldn’t have told her the entire story if I hadn’t been drinking. But I was, so I did. From my screw-up back in the day, to how I spent the next however many years avoiding Marigold, to the moment when I thought I was going to die in her salon. Then I told her about my attempts to beat out the douchebag she was sort-of-dating so I could win her over and finally be with the woman of my dreams.
She laughed a lot more than I thought was necessary.
“I’m glad my train wreck of a life is amusing,” I said.
“I need another shot just to process that story.” She waved for the bartender again. “You’re a mess.”
She wasn’t wrong.
We drank more and she laughed at me more. Not that I was insulted. I was probably too drunk for that. Besides, it felt better to laugh about my mishaps than brood about them. Sandra was right, the whole situation—from ignoring Marigold for so long to the squirrel prank—was ridiculous.
Or maybe it was the alcohol. I couldn’t tell anymore.
“The question is,” Sandra said out of nowhere, “what are we going to do about it?”
“About what?” I asked, my speech only slightly slurred. “Marigold?”
“About our problems.” She punched me in the shoulder. “We can’t let them get us down. We have to do something.”
I held up my beer. “This is what I’m doing ‘bout it.”
“No, no.” She shook her head and slid off her stool, then held the edge of the bar until she was steady on her feet. “I know what I’m going to do.”
“What?”
“Something Rocco’s gonna hate.” She smiled. “Wanna come?”
I hesitated, blinking in confusion. She couldn’t mean… My head was fuzzy, but even drunk me wouldn’t do that. Not a chance. “Wait, what?”
She laughed so loud the bartender shot her a glare. “Don’t worry, kid. I’m mad, and probably drunk, but I’m no cheater. Besides, you’re too young for me. I’mma do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Just need a friend along to keep me brave.”
Keep her brave? I had no idea what that meant, but the bartender was eying us with a look that said our welcome was wearing thin. Laughing too loud, probably.
“Can we get chips first?” Drunk me always wanted potato chips. Something about alcohol and salt.
“Sure.” She patted me on the back. “Let’s go.”
I followed Sandra out the door and up the sidewalk into town. I wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but I had a feeling it was going to make a good story.
CHAPTER 19
Zachary
My head was killing me.
There’d been a time when I could be drunk off my ass, fall into bed for a few hours, and get up like nothing had happened.
Somewhere along the way, I’d gotten too old for that kind of bullshit.
Damn it.
