Stephanie, sprawled to my left, lifts her glass. “To Julia and her wild jungle garden. May she find her way out someday.”
“Speaking of wild,” Tara says from Whitney’s other side, “did you see the new couple in the Stevenson house?”
“Oh, yes.” Whitney perks up. “From New York. Apparently, they have a thing for outdoor showers.”
Stephanie nearly chokes. “Outdoor showers? In Tigertail Beach Estates? That’s one way to meet your neighbors.”
The waiter approaches, all sun-bleached hair and easy charm, like he stepped out of a romance novel.
“Ladies, can I refresh your drinks?”
I hand him my empty glass, offering a soft smile. “Another margarita, please.”
“Piña colada,” Whitney adds, flashing him a wink.
As he moves down the line, the conversation hums back to life, easy and bright.
“Has anyone heard from Caroline?” I ask. “She’s been quiet since Italy.”
“Recovering,” Stephanie says dryly. “That woman treats carbs like a competitive sport when she’s abroad.”
Tara laughs. “I heard she tried to smuggle a wheel of parmesan home. Caused a full scene at customs when they took it.”
Whitney snorts. “Worth it. Italian cheese is worth a breakdown.”
The waiter returns, drinks in hand, smile unwavering. I take mine, letting my fingers brush his briefly.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“Just doing my job, ma’am,” he says with a wink before moving on.
Whitney watches him go. “Is it just me, or does he look like he belongs on a movie set?”
“Not just you,” Stephanie says. “We’ll tip well. Keep him circulating.”
Laughter rises again, drifting into the rhythm of the waves and the distant cry of gulls. The sun burns lower now, a molten orange slipping toward the horizon.
“Back to Caroline,” I say, leaning into my chair. “She mentioned a new venture.”
“Please don’t say yoga,” Whitney groans. “We have more yoga studios than coffee shops.”
I smile. “Wine and yoga.”
Stephanie claps. “Finally. A class I can commit to. Downward Dog with a side of Merlot.”
We laugh, and for a moment, everything feels easy. Predictable. Safe.
That’s the thing about places like this.
Everything is always just as it should be.
Until it isn’t.
“Speaking of ventures,” Tara says, eyes bright, “Marcus and I are thinking about buying a vineyard in Greece.”
A collective gasp, then a flurry of questions.
“Greece? When did this happen?”
