Lauren turns and clinks her glass to mine. "So when's Mermosa opening? I need it on my calendar in ink."
We discuss the plans for a few minutes, then talk drifts the way easy conversations do, from neighborly gossip, to the holidays, and somehow over to weddings. Lauren stretches out her hand on the counter and taps with her soft-peach tipped fingernail.
"Someday soon," she says dreamily, "if Max and I can reach an agreement on a date, I want a winter beach wedding. Sunset ceremony. Champagne everywhere." She turns to me. "And I need your address, by the way. I want to add you to my list for planning purposes. The way you've wrangled that bar into shape tells me you're good with details."
"Oh," I say, surprised. These women really do seem to want to include me in their lives. Steve squirms when he sees Mrs. Hastings pull something out of a bag, and I notice it's a dog cookie. I set him down and he scampers toward her. What about his diet? Everyone had seemed so focused on that when we'd last talked. Maybe he gets a pass on Sundays.
"It would be gorgeous, that kind of wedding," Isabella pipes up, and she and Mrs. Hastings start dreaming up flowers for a beach ceremony. Steve stands in the middle of us, crunching his cookie bone. When he's finished, he looks up at Mrs. Hastings with a pleading expression.
"Only one, Steve," she says, wagging her finger.
The front door slams, and as if a tornado has blown in, a man bursts into the kitchen. He's older, with close-cropped, silver hair. I notice a heavy tattoo of four rectangles on his muscular bicep and wonder what that's about. Remy had mentioned something about his dad being in a band in the early eighties, so maybe it's from then.
"Hey sweets," he says, kissing Mrs. Hastings on the temple.
"Angus, this is Leilani. Natalia found her at the grocery store. Isn't that wonderful?" Mrs. Hastings says, taking her husband's arm. I grin at her characterization, as if I was a particularly interesting product for sale at Jack’s Grocery.
"Hey there," Mr. Hastings says amiably, shaking my hand with the firmest grip I've ever felt. "Welcome."
"Leilani's the girl Remy's been spending time with," Mrs. Hastings adds.
A wry smile plays on Mr. Hastings' lips, and I'm reminded of one of Remy's cocky facial expressions. "Uh-hunh," he says, nodding knowingly. "And what do you do?"
"She's a mermaid," Mrs. Hastings interjects in an excited voice.
Mr. Hastings snorts, then chuckles. "What is it with you women? My sons choose some unusual partners."
"Speak for yourself, Dad. You're the one who chose a yoga hippie nomad for a wife," Nat says.
"True. And I love my yoga hippie nomad." He plants a kiss on Mrs. Hastings' temple, and we all let out anawwwww.
"But, a mermaid? Come on. What's next? We've already got a princess." He points to Isabella, laughing.
"I'm no longer royalty and you know it," Isabella says, laughing.
"A princess?" I ask, confused.
"I'll explain later," she mutters in my direction.
"Whatever. Once a princess, always a princess. And this one over here," he waves his hand in Lauren's direction, "I still don't even understand what she does."
"Dad, she's an Instagram influencer," Nat says, rolling her eyes.
Mr. Hastings looks at me. "Right. An Instagram influencer. What's that in plain English? So, how are you a mermaid? How does that work?"
I tell him about my bar as he gulps down a glass of water.
"Is that like a strip club? I mean, no judgment, just asking," he says. "If it's a strip club I'm shocked you've gotten an occupancy permit."
"Dad," Nat cries. "No. It's not a strip club."
"Definitely not that," I say, cracking up while sitting on a stool at the island counter. There's something about Mr. Hastings that's both salty and hilarious. Maybe this is where Remy gets his sense of humor.
As he's grilling me about the mechanics of the mermaid tank, three big bodies saunter into the kitchen, which means that the once massive-seeming space feels crowded now.
The first guy in looks a lot like Mr. Hastings, blonde, blue-eyed, and tall, with fawn-colored skin. I gather that's Max, Remy's oldest brother. He and Nat look a lot alike; their skin is lighter than their brothers'. They look like their dad.
Then I spot Tate, who I've seen before at the springs on that first day I laid eyes on Remy. He wraps his arms around Isabella and kisses her forehead. A pang shoots through my stomach, because I love it when Remy kisses my forehead.
