None of Mackenzie’s friends have eaten more than two bites of anything. They’re pushing food around their plates, sipping champagne, checking their phones like they’re expecting news that the world is ending.
Spoiler: it kind of is.
Jasper and Leo are standing nearby, and both of them have that look—the one that says they’re on duty even when they’re off duty.
I head on over and shed a forlorn smile.
“Any news on the case?” I ask as Fish, Sherlock, and Biscuit Gravy bolt on past me. And after them comes an entire slew of other dogs that have come down to the cove along with their owners. I’ve never seen so many pets or bodies here at once.
“I won’t have access to Tamsin’s phone until tomorrow,” Jasper says. “The lab is backed up with the holiday.”
Leo shifts his weight, hand drifting to his holster. “I’ve got a dark feeling about tonight.” He scans the crowd, cataloging faces, exits, and potential problems. “I’m going to patrol the grounds,” he continues. “Keep eyes on everyone.”
“I’ll do the same,” Jasper says. “We can cover more area that way.”
He turns to me and kisses my forehead, and I can feel the worry radiating off him. “Please steer clear of danger.”
“That’s asking a lot on a normal day.”
“I’m serious, Biz.”
“So am I.”
He gives me a look of resignation mixed with the knowledge that telling me to stay out of trouble is about as effective as telling the ocean to stop having waves—and then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd he’s hoping to protect.
Leo heads the opposite direction just as Emmie appears and touches my arm.
“I need to keep the buffet topped off. Mackenzie sent me fourteen texts about the shrimp situation.”
“What shrimp situation?”
“Exactly.”
She disappears toward the catering tent, and Gwyneth appears with Dad, who’s holding a completely unconscious Ella in his arms. She’s clad in pajamas, thumb in her mouth, and dead to the world.
“We’re taking her back to the cottage,” Gwyneth says. “The fireworks will be too much, but we’ll bring her back if she wakes up in time.”
“She’s been down for the count for twenty minutes,” Dad adds. “She didn’t even wake up when Georgie dropped a tray.”
“Poor baby. She’s all tuckered out.” I kiss Ella’s forehead—warm, sweaty, smelling like baby shampoo and sunscreen and everything good in the world—and watch them disappear into the crowd as well.
There’s a pang in my chest because I’m missing her already and worrying about what’s coming.
Too many hoomans. Too many feet. Too many loud noises incoming,Fish grumbles as she lands somewhere near my ankles.
But SO MUCH FOOD,Sherlock counters, eyeing the buffet with single-minded focus.And it smells like hot dogs. Why can’t every day be the Fourth of July?
The fancy hoomans aren’t eating. Can we have their treats?Biscuit Gravy asks so politely, I’malmost moved to give it to them.
“Treats incoming soon,” I tell them and all three yip for joy.
Mom and Georgie materialize with red, white, and blue snow cones, while Mom checks her phone every few seconds.
“Ben just texted. He’s here somewhere,” she lights up at the mention of her handsome boyfriend.
“Good luck finding my little brother in this crowd,” Georgie says. “He once got lost in a Walmart for three hours.”
It’s true. Ben is Georgie’s little brother. But shockingly, genetics took a turn in an entirely different direction in every way possible.
