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“Ava, please call me Dez. All my friends do.”
He was so inherently charming and welcoming that I was immediately taken with him. After the cheek kiss, I thought it silly to offer a handshake, so I simply said, “It’s nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is mine.” His gaze dropped to my blazer, his eyes widening a fraction as he studied the hedgehog I’d embroidered. An eyebrow lifted. His head tilted. “Is that vintage Chanel you’re wearing?”
I nodded.
“Did you do the custom mending?”
I nodded again.
He laughed, a sound so cheerful and boisterous that I found myself smiling.
“You’ve got big nerve for such a tiny thing, don’t you? I love it. You might just fit in here after all, Ava Harrison, ghost or not.”
CHAPTER 5MAGGIE
A date. Adate.
Those were the last words I’d expected to hear from Donovan Quinlan today.
Or ever.
We’d never been on a date. Not arealone, at least. Despite our age difference—he was two years older—we’d been best friends as teenagers, growing especially close the summer he worked at the coffee shop when he was seventeen. Until he graduated high school and immediately enlisted in the Coast Guard, we’d been nearly inseparable.
“This is Molly,” Dad said to Ava, gesturing toward the cat sitting in the doorway. “Do you like cats?”
I tried to pull myself out from my thoughts of Donovan in order to pay attention to what was going on around me. It was near impossible, though. I’d barely been able to think of anything else but him since he’d asked me out.
Adate.
The young girl in me had been fairly jumping with joy at the thought of us getting a second chance. But I was older and wiser now and questioned whether our rocky past could truly be overcome.
Ava said, “I love cats. Is she a Ragdoll?”
“Dr. Eiderman, her vet, believes so,” Dad said, the deep lines between his eyes furrowing, “but I think she might have Maine coon in her lineage as well.”
Truly, Molly was the most ill-tempered, feisty, aggressive cat I’d ever met. Currently, her eyes were closed, but I knew shewas somehow watching us. She was always watching. Waiting. Biding her time before sticking a paw out to trip someone or flexing her claws to inflict a deep scratch. She wasn’t above biting, either, and I had the scars to prove it.
Dad said only, “Molly is reserved with her affection.”
I smiled at his vagueness. As I poured us all a glass of tea, my thoughts wandered back to Donovan and those blue-green sea eyes of his, that impish smile.
The summer after my freshman year of college, he’d come back to Driftwood on leave to see me. The visit had ended badly. So badly that I could hardly think about it now without bursting into tears.
I’d broken his heart. And I’d broken mine. Smashed them both to smithereens, really.
“Hey, hey!” Dad said, reaching out with a napkin to dab the tea I’d spilled, my hands suddenly shaky, my memories jarring. “Coffee jitters?”
“I guess I had one too many espressos this morning,” I lied, not wanting to explain about Donovan. In truth, since my health scare, I allowed myself only one coffee a day. “Sorry.”
Dad eyed me as though he knew I’d fibbed. “No big deal. Sit, sit.”
I carefully put the pitcher on the table and forcefully banished thoughts of Donovan, our past. As I sat, my gaze fell on the platter Dad had set on the table. Of course he’d served MoonPies. Not homemade ones, either. These came straight from the box, still in their plastic packaging. They were his signature dessert, the one he served at every party he hosted, the one he brought to every gathering.
It was actually somewhat reassuring to see them. If there had been something healthy on the plate like banana oat muffins or yogurt parfaits, my concerns about him would’ve only grown.
MoonPies were my daddy.
