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Chapter One
Abby
It’s a Summer sister tradition that on the first Saturday of each month, the six of us get together. We take turns picking the location or activity, anything from margaritas and a movie to wine and painting classes at the small gallery uptown. One thing, though, is as certain as the sun rising over the Chesapeake Bay every morning; there will be alcohol involved.
Always.
The pleasant July night is perfect for a beachside round of disc golf; or at least that’s what AJ said. It was her month to choose our activity, and since she’s enjoying the heck out of her summer away from the teenage kids she teaches at the junior high, she opted to live it up along the Bay. We’re one of several groups playing tonight, which is higher than normal. Of course, the main reason for the extra bodies on the beach isn’t just because of the gorgeous evening. It’s because the band Crush is playing.
Levi’s band.
As much as I try to tune them out, his deep vocals can be heard all the way over here, on the opposite end of the public beach. He’s been the lead guitar player and backup vocalist since they started the band when we were nineteen. I can still recall the day he called me at school and told me his news. We celebrated together on my next trip home from college the one way we always did: a movie and strawberry ice cream.
I push the memory out of my mind and focus on now. My next throw is coming, and I’m trying to figure out how to get out of it. I hate sports. Okay, I don’t hate them, I’m just not good at them. Bowling, mini golf, Frisbee golf, you name it, I stink at it. The whole sports gene was just used up by the rest of the Summer sisters by the time I came along.
Let’s roll back around to disc golf, or Frisbee golf as some like to call it. The object is to take your plastic disc (think Frisbee) and throw it into a basket on a pole. There are chains and a technique to it, but I don’t really care about all of that. I’m basically here for the margaritas. Oh, back to the game. It’s like golf, except without the club. You throw your disc and try to get it in the basket. The person with the least amount of throws wins. I never win.
Our beach is considered a nine-hole course. It’s not sanctioned by the powers that be, the Professional Disc Golf Association. (Yes, that’s a real organization. Look it up.) It serves its purpose to those who enjoy the game in Jupiter Bay. Six holes are positioned along the beach, whereas the remaining three can be found just off the sand in areas of dunes and tall grass.
I suck not only at sports, but well, anything that doesn’t involve words. I like to read, always have, which is why my job as an editor for Stonewell Publishing is heaven-sent. I get to work from home, editing and correcting manuscripts for romance authors all over the world. The best of the best write under the Stonewell name, and I’m lucky to be attached.
“Abby, your turn,” Payton hollers as she stands by and waits for me to throw.
“Are you all set to move at the end of the month?” I ask, taking aim at the big chain-made basket.
“All set. Everyone’s available to help, right?” she asks, opening another can of beer.
“Did you really leave us a choice?” AJ quips, a smile on her face.
“Nope. You’ll all be there. I’ll make lunch,” Payton adds.
“You’ll make lunch?” Lexi asks, her eyebrow posed high into her hairline, an ornery smirk on her face.
“Well, Dean will make lunch. Whatever. Same thing. Don’t be a brat, just be at my house at eight a.m.”
“We only get lunch? You’re making us move everything out of your place and into either storage, take it to Goodwill, or to Dean’s. That calls for dinner too, I believe,” Jaime says, glancing over her shoulder towards the crowd on the beach.
“Stop it. He’s out there somewhere watching you. His lips are probably going to fall off because he hasn’t kissed you in like,” AJ says, checking her watch, “fifty-five minutes. Poor baby.”
“What did I do to you? Is tonight pick on Jaime night?”
“Nope, that was last night,” Payton adds.
I can’t help but laugh. “Anyway, I’ll be there,” I tell Payton.
“Good. Bring Levi. We need more muscle.”
Ah yes, Levi. The man we’re not discussing right now.
I don’t acknowledge the statement, but instead, turn towards the basket. I let the disc fly, but it doesn’t go anywhere near the intended target. Instead, it flies to the right by a good ten feet. At this rate, I’ll never get that stupid round thing inside the stupid hole.
Huh. Much like my sex life.
“Grandpa stopped by the shop yesterday and grabbed flowers for Grandma,” Payton says.
“That’s sweet,” I chime in.
“It was, until he asked me to make an arrangement with pussy willows and poppies,” she mumbles.
