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Mallory stared at the empty doorway between herself at her father’s ex-best friend. While she hadn’t seen him in years, the memory of him had nothing to do with the drunken nightmare he’d just displayed.What had Aiden seen in Peter? And why did Peter seem to smirk at Mallory’s family, especially since he had such a monstrous mansion on the coastline— far bigger than the Remington House? Did he think he was somehow better than them?None of it made any sense.
“I’d better get going,” Brodie announced, pounding the last of his beer. His eyes glittered with malice.
“Please, Brodie. Stay for one more.” Mallory’s heart throttled. She wasn’t even sure what to say to him. She just knew her heart would shatter if he left.
Brodie puffed out his cheeks. She could practically hear the words rolling around the back of his skull:I don’t owe you anything. What Peter Larker said was right. You’re the reason my family’s a laughing stock.
“Please! Play it again,” Alyssa howled to the bartender at the counter. She sounded on the verge of a collapse, as though if she couldn’t hear the tune she so wanted to hear at that moment, she would ultimately die.
“Let me make a deal with you,” Mallory heard herself say.
“Okay.” Brodie’s smile became slightly crooked, just the way she liked it.
“If the bartender plays ‘Margaritaville’ by Jimmy Buffett in the next two minutes, you have to stay for another drink.”
“Please!” Alyssa begged the bartender.
“How do you know that’s the song she wants him to play?” Brodie asked.
“I think she’s at that phase of her night when she wants to hear ‘Margaritaville’ over and over again,” Mallory said. She dug her teeth into her lower lip, fearful he would rebuke her.
“I didn’t even realize anyone under the age of sixty could feel that way about Jimmy Buffett,” Brodie joked.
“Alyssa would never confess to liking Jimmy Buffett in any social circles, especially not to her Brooklyn or Manhattan friends,” Mallory whispered conspiratorially. “But once she’s on the island…”
Suddenly, the familiar bars began, sizzling through the speakers. Alyssa flung her arms through the air, overwhelmed with joy.
“Nibbling on sponge cake. Watching the sun bake.”
“All right. All right.” Brodie bubbled with laughter. “I’ll have one more beer. But you’re paying.”
Mallory flashed him a smile, feeling suddenly like the confident and wild-eyed teenager she’d once been. She bucked from the stool and headed for the one-eyed bartender, grateful for the gift of one more song. “Two beers, please,” she told him. “And many more repeats of ‘Margaritaville,’ if only to keep Alyssa singing all night long.”
