“Death threats?” Mark grinned. “Nice work, killer.”
Aaron rolled his eyes. “At the moment, the only thing I’d kill for is a glass of wine.”
“Now we’re talking.” Mark chuckled. “Okay, okay. I’ll grab the drinks.” Then he flashed me a smile. “Thanks, Remi.”
“Wednesdays,” I replied.
“Huh?”
“I’m committing to Wednesdays for family dinner. Just the three of us. Okay?”
His smile grew. “That’d be great.”
“Oh, and Bowen needs a drink too. Whiskey neat, please.”
“Yeah, he looks like a whiskey neat guy. Let me guess… Yuppy CPA who wears pretentious suits with pocket squares but drives a truck because he thinks it will make him appear more down to earth and rugged when in reality his archnemesis is a peanut.”
“Holy shit,” I breathed. “You got all that from his drink order?”
He gave me a wicked side-eye. “Remi, I’ve been slinging drinks since I was old enough to drink them.”
“Still, that was…oddly specific.”
As he disappeared around the corner of the bar, he grinned wide and toothy. “I’m kidding. Motor Mouth over there filled me in on the guy.”
I punched Aaron on the shoulder, knuckle out. “What the hell, dude?”
“What? I’m sorry,” he replied, rubbing his arm. “I’m bad with secrets. Stop telling them to me.”
“Nope. Just for that, I’m telling you all of them.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I was in fifth grade when I started my period.”
“Oh my God,” he groaned, slapping his hands over his ears.
Sure, having guy best friends did have its pitfalls sometimes, like communication and processing emotions, but revenge was sweet and oh so simple.
I pried his hands away only long enough to continue with my story. “I called my mom to bring me a maxi pad.”
“Stoooooop,” he hissed into my face.
I did. But only because he sprinted away.
True to his word, Mark was kind and friendly when I introduced him to Bowen. They made small talk, and while I wouldn’t say it was a best-friends-forever kind of match, they both liked the Braves, the Bulldogs, and even the Falcons, so I figured we had plenty of room to grow.
The party was a huge hit that ran late into the night. My dad teared up when we forced him to give a speech. He told the story of his dream to open The Wave and his regrets at the one-month mark when he’d thought he was going to have to shut it down because he had no idea what he was doing. He thanked me for taking it over and keeping his dream alive. And then he thanked Crystal Dawn for giving him a new dream and forcing him to follow through with the move to Miami.
It was a wonderful evening filled with love and laughs. I was going to miss Dad so damn much, but as I climbed into Bowen’s truck, his hand wrapped around mine, I realized my dad wasn’t the only one who was living a new dream.
Remi
“Keep going,” he murmured, his smile threatening to swallow his whole damn face.
“Stop it!” I gasped as we walked down the corridor at Truist Park, home of the Atlanta Braves. With a twenty-four-ounce beer in one hand, I shuffled ahead of him and stared in wonder as the baseball diamond came into view. “Holy shit. How did you do this?”
Bowen tossed his empty beer into the trash can as we passed it. “The short answer? Sold my soul to Cassidy’s husband.”
“And the long answer?”
“I asked her husband, Reggie, for the seats he uses to woo wealthy clients. In this deal, I had to agree to keep my nephews for a weekend so he can whisk my sister away to God only knows where to do God only knows what. If he isn’t willing to ask my mom, who would no doubt require an exact location, daily agenda, and hourly check-in calls, chances are I definitely don’t want the specifics of his plans.”
I giggled and peered at him over my shoulder. “Does this mean I get to meet the nephews?”
“Psh, meet? I was counting on you to help babysit those hellions. It’s a two-man job.”
I dropped back a step and linked my arm with his. “These better be seriously good seats, then.”
“Hopefully second row behind home plate will suffice.”
I stopped in the middle of the walkway, fans headed to their own seats flooding around us, and gazed up at him. “No way.”
Draping his arm around my shoulders, he pulled me into his side and started walking again. “Remember this moment of awe when you’re forced to watch Preston’s millionth ventriloquist act.”
“That is more than a fair trade.” I laughed. “This is seriously incredible, Bowen. I grew up at Turner Field, but I’ve only been to a few games since the Braves switched stadiums. Dad insists on the cheap seats though. He swears it’s the best view in the house.”
Jerking his chin toward the field, he mumbled, “You can update him later and let him know if he’s right or not.”
