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“Where do you want these?” Sam asked in his deep, baritone voice.
“Anywhere you can find an empty spot is great. Thanks, guys.”
Desmond leaned in to press a fatherly kiss to my temple. “No problem, sweetheart.”
When I started gathering up empty dishes off the long folding tables to take back inside and replace with full ones, Georgia popped up beside me, all but smacking them out of my hands. “Child, will you stop cleaning up already and come sit down? Enjoy yourself for a bit,” she ordered as she took my wrist and physically dragged me to the cluster of furniture where she was sitting with Monica and Luna.
“They’ll just pile up if I leave them,” I argued as she shoved me unceremoniously onto the loveseat.
“Everyone here is practically family,” Monica stated, putting the straw of her large insulated cup—that I was pretty sure contained sangria—to her lips, and sipping. “They’ll see the empty platters and handle it. Just take a load off for a bit.”
I honestly didn’t mind running around like a chicken with my head cut off if it meant making sure everything ran smoothly for my girl’s big day, but I also didn’t mind being strong-armed by my friends into hanging with them for a bit.
I stretched my neck, looking out at the beach for my daughter. At least a fourth of the adults had set up camp on the sandy shore to keep an eye on the kids who wanted to play down there. “Have you guys seen Renee?”
“She’s fine,” Luna assured me. “Someone organized a sandcastle building contest, and she was determined to kick everyone’s butt.” She leaned forward and flipped open one of the several coolers lining the deck. She pulled out a glass bottle, twisted off the top, and passed it to me. “Here. Drink this.”
I looked at the label and arched my brows. “Piña colada wine coolers? Seriously?”
She shrugged and took a drink from her own. “It’s a beach party. When in Rome, right?”
I let out a laugh and gave in, taking a sip of the overly-sweet concoction. As soon as the flavor exploded on my tongue, my face crumpled in disgust. “Ugh. This tastes like artificial sweetener and battery acid. How are you drinking these?”
She smacked her lips. “This sort of film builds up in your mouth after the first one so you can’t really taste the second or third. Just push through, and you’ll be good.”
Monica snorted into her drink, sputtering on her sangria. “You know you’re an adult now, right? You can buy the good stuff and makerealpiña coladas that won’t rot your gut.”
“I was feeling nostalgic. Thanks to these babies”—Luna shook the half-drunk bottle in her hand—“I had the courage to make a move on Mark Polanski during a bonfire party in the tenth grade.”
It was weird to think about how different my life had been back then compared to my best friend’s. While she partied and got drunk and made out with boys like pretty much every teenager alive, I’d been doing everything in my power to keep my head down and my nose clean. I didn’t want to do anything that could piss off my guardians and get me sent away like they’d done with my sister.
My mother’s cousin and her husband had made it abundantly clear from the very beginning that they never really wanted us, that my sister and I had been forced on them practically against their will when our parents died.
They hadn’t batted an eye at getting rid of Charlotte when she proved to be more than a docile, quiet child, and I spent the rest of my years with them, terrified the same fate would befall me.
I didn’t just toe the line, I stayed as far back from it as possible, something that inevitably led to the deterioration of every relationship I had. No one wanted to be friends with or date the girl who never did anything fun.
“Was Mark Polanski hot?” I asked teasingly.
“Eh. He was all right. But he was the captain of the basketball team and super popular. It was about the status, not the looks.” She winked salaciously.
The four of us burst into laughter.
Leaning forward, I abandoned the still-full bottle on the patio table. “Well, I’m not nostalgic, and that one sip feels like it’s burning a hole through my stomach lining, so I’m going to pass.”
Monica held up her cup and gave it a little shake. “I stashed a pitcher of sangria in your fridge if you want some of that.”
“I’ll stick to water, thanks.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” a deep voice asked just as a large figure stepped up to our area, blocking out the sun and casting a shadow over us.
I looked back over my shoulder, smiling up at Trent who was backlit perfectly by the bright sunshine. “Hey, you came.”
“Of course I did. Wasn’t going to miss Little Bit’s special day.”
“He calls her Little Bit?” Monica asked on a breathy sigh, looking up at Trent with a dreamy expression on her face. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Sam, who’d been standing a few feet away, talking with Desmond and a couple of the other men in attendance, rolled his eyes skyward and broke from his group to come closer. “Honey, you mind not drooling over another man when your husband’s standing ten feet away from you?”
