Page 77 of Shifting Sands

Erin’s exact words were, “We see Garrett’s ugly mug enough; let someone who will appreciate it have the best view.”

I approach Garrett. “Are you ready for this madness?” I ask.

He gives an easy smile. “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he replies as he unscrews the cap of a water bottle.

“All right, if you’re ready, we’ll open the doors in five minutes. It should take around thirty minutes for everyone toenter. Audrey will start her introduction fifteen minutes after we’ve closed the doors. This will give them time to settle in and place their orders.”

He nods in understanding. “I’ve got about forty-five minutes until showtime. Got it. Let’s bring the house down,” he says, giving me a friendly slap on the back before walking over to claim Ansley and heading to the artist’s room behind the stage.

Audrey approaches me, holding a walkie-talkie as she communicates with Bruce, who is stationed at the exterior doors. “You can begin letting them inside in five minutes. Once everyone is inside, send four of your guys to the stage to cover Garrett and the band,” she says.

“Ten-four, boss lady,” he replies.

I walk over to our table of friends, and Brandee stands up.

She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes. “You look so tense,” she says, meeting my gaze.

“Just part of the job,” I reply, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Thank you,” I whisper in her ear.

“For what?” she asks.

“Making this happen.”

She pulls back to look at me. “You should really be thanking Erin. I think she went back to Balsam Ridge and twisted Garrett’s balls until he agreed to come back to the island with her.”

“Ouch! Remind me never to get on Erin’s bad side,” I say.

We share one last kiss before the doors swing open and people begin to flood in. The girls dart past the bar and head straight for the tables, eager to claim the best spot they can reach. Meanwhile, the men pause to place their orders, allowing the women to compete for the tables.

“I’ll be back,” I say.

I head to the front to help control the flow of people coming through the doors, ensuring we don’t have a pushing and trampling situation.

Once everyone is inside and most are seated, I dim the overhead lights, and the recessed lighting that Wade installed in the floor near each table begins to glow. A spotlight illuminates the stage as Audrey approaches the microphone. The excitement in the venue is so intense that her introduction is barely audible over the hum of the crowd. When Garrett steps onto the stage, wearing his guitar, a hush falls over the room.

“Hello, Sandcastle Cove. Are you guys ready to rock this place tonight?” Garrett asks into the mic.

A roar fills the room like I’ve never heard before, rising all the way to the rafters.

Brandee

The night is electric. I may have known him my entire life, but I’ve never experienced a Garrett Tuttle concert from the front row before. It’s truly something to behold. Girls of all ages are screaming, crying, and dancing their hearts out. The drinks are flowing, and everyone is having a good time. There’s no fighting, no destruction of property—just good music and an energized crowd.

Audrey and Brew are on their feet the entire night, constantly moving between our table and the staff to help serve drinks, run food, and replenish supplies. They operate like a well-oiled machine, and considering this concert was a last-minute event, I can only imagine how much better things would be with proper planning.

My mind drifts back to the night I walked in to see Cody Banks. It felt different then, and I’ve come to realize that Audrey’s absence played a significant role in that feeling. Brew has a great partner in her, and he knows it. She’s the reason he can leave town, confident that Whiskey Joe’s is in good hands.

I make my way over to the bar and wait for my turn. I’m one person back when Brew steps behind the bar and locks eyes with me. When I finally squeeze between two other patrons, he whispers something to the bartender, who nods and moves down the bar.

He sets a napkin in front of me and smiles. “What can I get you?” he asks.

“I’ll have a Pinot Noir, if you have it,” I reply.

He grins as he reaches under the bar and pulls out a bottle. “I happen to have one right here.”

It’s a 2022 Kosta Browne. He uncorks it and holds the cork out for me to smell.

“Very nice,” I say.

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