“Okay.” I laugh too, my anxieties lifting. If I can’t trust one of my oldest friends, then who else is there? “Have fun. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Jack gives Stella a little peck on the cheek before spinning around and galloping back down the hall. Stella watches them, but I observe her. There’s something going on there. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe they had an argument before I got here. Westand I have had our fair share before brushing them off and stepping into a business-hosted cocktail party.
Shuffling my feet, I interrupt her gazing. “Everything okay?”
She turns and snatches her purse from where it’s sitting the entryway table. “C’mon.” She grabs my arm. “Daisy is out front waiting for us.”
I allow her to lead me out the door and back down her front steps until we’ve crossed the yard. We stand in front of a 1977 blue Volkswagen Slug Bug with a recent paint job and a surfboard rack on top. My eyes widen. “Wait. Daisy still has her Slug Bug?”
“Yep,” Stella says. “Crazy right?”
Daisy hops out and lunges for me, wrapping me up in a tight hug as soon as she reaches me. “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you’re actually coming out with us,” she says, following it up with a little squeal.
“And I can’t believe you still have your old car.” I breathe out a little laugh, gazing at its near perfect condition.
Daisy runs a palm over the shiny paint on the hood. “This girl hasn’t let me down yet. At this point she’s more reliable than the men in my life. And now she’s a classic.”
“Save the male drama for the taco bar.” Stella shoves the passenger seat forward and climbs into the back of the tiny car.
I glance over my shoulder at Dottie’s Mini Cooper. Daisy’s Slug Bug isn’t much bigger, but it’s got to have more leg room. “You sure you don’t want me to drive?”
“I drew the short straw, meaning I only get one margarita tonight because I’m driving.” Daisy slides behind the wheel. “Get in,” she calls to me.
I chew on my lip. Cruising around Golden Harbor in Daisy’s little death-trap in high school was one thing, but I’ve got Charlie to think about now.
“Hey?” Stella hollers. “The margaritas aren’t going to drink themselves.”
Exhaling a sigh, I give one last reluctant glance at the red Mini Cooper and get into the passenger seat. After I click the seat belt in place, I glance in the rearview mirror and Stella is smiling back in it, her hazel eyes sparkling. She’s right. Tonight will be good for me. Good for us.
“So margaritas, huh?” I ask.
“There’s this really cute margarita and taco bar right on the beach. It’s literally called Tacos by the Beach. You’re gonna love it.” Stella coats her full lips with another layer of pink gloss.
“Clever,” I mutter. Except I don’t drink margaritas. At least, not normally. But I don’t say this out loud. Because tonight, I will. The last thing I want is to be accused of being the designated Debbie Downer.
A few minutes later, Daisy pulls into an angled parking spot, turning some heads from the sidewalk at the rumble. At this point, her car is considered a classic. But the stares don’t affect her one way or another. She slides her sunglasses up to the top of her head, pushing back her long, blonde hair.
After Stella unfolds herself from the cramped back seat and adjusts her short leather skirt and top, being sure the girls are tucked in, the three of us strut down the sidewalk. A shiny black Jeep with the top off takes its time driving past us, and a few shirtless men send out catcalls and raucous whistles. I retract my assumption upon closer look—these are boys not men. The three of us let out a bark of laughter in unison.
“Damn, we must look good,” Stella says as she opens the door to the restaurant. “Those guys were at least ten years younger than us.”
We usher inside and it’s bright and colorful. Decorated in shades of oranges, teals, and pinks. Banners and canvases cover the walls, blown glass dishes adorn tables, and paper lanternshang from the ceiling. There’s ’90s music streaming from the speakers overhead and the servers are young and vibrant.
Stella was right—I love it.
“Let’s check for a table on the deck.” Stella brings up the rear as we weave through the bar.
“Already on it,” Daisy says in singsong.
She finds us a table in the corner of the patio with exactly three stools. Perfect. No uninvited guests can join us. No shirtless twenty-year-olds.
I drop onto a teal metal stool and glance to the side of me. The ocean stretches farther than I can see. The sun sits low in the golden sky just above the waves. The sunsets in Golden Harbor are known across California for how gorgeous they are. A warm tingle shoots across my bare arms and I shiver. I guess I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed them until now.
“What can I get ya ladies?” a woman’s voice chimes, pulling me from my thoughts.
“We will take a pitcher of your finest mango margaritas. By finest, I of course mean your cheapest,” Stella says under her breath with a smirk. “And frozen most definitely. And we’d like three of your taco flights, each one a different taco, please.” Stella hands back the menus before I’ve even had a chance to look at it.
“Oh, um…I don’t think…” I attempt to clutch at a menu before the server can whisk away with them but Stella shoos her away.
