Page 109 of Every Chance After

Nope, I can’t think about that now.

His hand brushes against mine as we stand there, watching our little boats teeter. Mine starts to tip, drifting against Grady’s. Wren’s boat seems magically pulled into the tunnel of bald cypress trees and waving moss. It’s so serene, the quiet.

A gator suddenly breaks the surface, snapping its impressive jaws over Roy’s boat, taking it and capsizing the others.

I scream, grabbing onto Grady’s shoulder. Christie and Roy jump and curse. Even Wren takes a startled step back.

“Holy fuck. Bessie’s back,” Wade says, completely still and mildly amused. “You frightened us, honey.”

“Guess she likes chicken wings,” Roy decides.

“You okay?” Grady asks.

I nod, even more flushed. “Yeah, wow, she’s a big girl.”

“Twelve feet as the day is long,” Wade says. “Comes here to have her babies. Ain’t nothing like gator watching in the spring.”

My brain fires with new ideas as Bessie chomps on the paper-covered chicken wing and disappears into the algae, taking our meager boats with her. “That’s it.”

“What’s what?” Roy asks.

“Our hook to bring in tourists,” I say. “Local products, hot dogs, and gator spotting. We’ll need signs and a new observation deck with a railing. I’ll call Peter Pike. What adventurous family on vacation wouldn’t detour a few miles for a chance to see gators? It’s perfect.”

“They’re so misunderstood,” Christie nods. “It’d be nice to give them some positive attention.”

“Oh, I could give gator talks,” Roy offers, “tell ‘em stories about playing keep-away with the babies and that time Bessie nearly killed Wade.”

He shrugs sheepishly. “We were still getting to know each other then.”

“Well, let’s keep the near kills on the down low,” I say, “but the rest, yes. We’ll win the locals with lower prices and our new, family-friendly look. But now, we’ll win the tourists, too.”

“We could sell gator gear,” Roy chimes in, “like little stuffies and toys. Kids love that shit.”

“Hell,youlove that shit,” Wade laughs.

“There’s a kid in all of us, Wade,” Roy says.

I flip my notebook open and start jotting down ideas.

Grady’s hand circles my waist again as he whispers in my ear. “I’ll leave you to it. See you at six?”

“Maybe sooner because I can’t wait,” I giggle in return. As he wanders away, the rest turn to me with wide eyes and gaping expressions. I’m not sure who starts cooing first, but they all join in—a teasing chorus. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Grady hesitating at the sound before heading to The Beast anyway.

“Oh, stop,” I tell them, blushing. “It’s nothing. Just dinner. We’re friends.”

“Well then, can we come?” Roy asks.

“I’ll bring a Chardonnay,” Christie teases.

“I’ve got the love potion,” Wren adds.

“Aw, how sweet, but no,” I laugh. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you all so much homework you’ll be too busy to think about me and Grady Tripp.”

They groan and disperse quickly, as if worried I might divvy out tasks right then and there.

The day creeps by slowly. I make phone calls, arranging the billboard designs with Marigold, and construction of the gator observation deck with Peter Pike. The boys and I rearrange the cigarettes behind the counter between taking care of a slow trickle of customers, more than usual but still not enough to make up for all I’ve spent on upgrades. It’s a marathon, not a race, I tell myself.

Excited for my date with Grady, I leave earlier than usual, desperate for some me-time. I spend time with the cats, telling them and all my plants about my plans for the evening. I put on music—at first heart-pounding rap to match my excitement, but already too hyped, I soon switch it to something more low-key. The calming sounds of Norah Jones fill the house as I deliberate on my outfit. With four possibilities strewn across my bed, I take a long bath, towel-dry my hair, put on lotion and light perfume, and even paint my nails a soft pink. First dates don’t happen very often, at least not for me. Why not make it the celebration it is?

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