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This has to work out.
“Ready!” Alex reappears, grinning from ear to ear, letter in hand.
Every time I look at her, I wonder how Olivia could have abandoned her. Olivia’s not the friend I used to know, who stuck up for me when times were tough or spent hours gossiping late at night in my bedroom. We lost touch after I left town, but how did she change this much? Was it the celebrity lifestyle? She pushed me into quarry when we were kids as a “prank”, but looking back on it now, it was just part of a pattern of behavior I accepted. Just like with Mom. Except with her, I didn’t have a choice.
“Saddle up, sailor,” I say, and grab the picnic basket.
“Saddle up?” Alex asks.
“I don’t know. It made more sense in my head than it does out loud.”
We lock the house and descend into the heat, fanning ourselves. Unfortunately, Ol’ Rusty’s air conditioning is nonexistent, so we ride through town with the windows rolled down, Alex holding her hand out of the window and catching the air.
I park the car outside Daisy’s house—a cottage close to the beach—and Alex runs up to the mailbox and drops the letter in, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Go, go, go!” she cries, and I laugh. You’d swear this was a special ops mission.
Five minutes later, we park outside Chuckles Bar, and my joy fades into anxiety. The bar has shiplap walls, window shutters that are currently closed, and a heavy wooden door that’s wedged open. The steps that lead up to it are worn from years of use, and the old live oak is still beside it, a testament to the history of the place. I remember playing under that tree when we were kids.
I gnaw on my lip.
Alex gets out of Ol’ Rusty and starts up the steps without me.
You can do this.
Time to put my big girl panties on.
I grab the picnic basket out of the back seat and I’m two steps into the building when I find Cash, standing near the bar, power tools discarded, grinning down at his daughter.
He’s shirtless.
Cash Taylor is shirtless. His body is unreal. Planes of muscle, tattoos arcing down the right side of his chest and onto his arm. He’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat that makes him even sexier, and he runs his hand through his hair as he laughs and talks to Alex.
Our eyes meet and he does a double take, his throat working.
I lose my breath.
Cash stares.
“…picnic! We brought everything,” Alex says. “And fried pickles. Because I know how much you love them.”
Cash looks away from me. “Fried pickles?” His expression falters and he tries to smile. “Uh, that’s great!”
Alex and I burst out laughing.
“What?” He frowns. “What?”
“Come on, Dad,” Alex says. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know you don’t like the fried pickles we made, even though they were amazing.”
Cash gives her a sheepish grin, and I go a little weak at the knees. He’s got such a tough exterior that seeing him soften for his daughter is special.
“What did you actually bring for this picnic?” Cash asks.
“Oh, everything. We’ve got candy, cupcakes, chips, and soda.”
“Anything healthy in there?” Cash asks pointedly.
“Don’t worry,” I say, “I made her pack fruits, veggies, hummus, and other fun healthy snacks. There isn’t that much bad stuff.”
