Page 27 of Crocodile Tears
“I promise to hook you up with the greatest masseuse in NYC if you come to the fundraiser?”
“No.”
Folding my arms, I arched my brow in challenge. “What can I do to convince you?”
She pursed her lips, pondering. “Fine. I’ll come.” I fist pumped the air. “Ifyou let us announce that you're coming to the zoo gala and put your face all over our social media and make a video of you telling everyone to come visit the zoo this summer,thenI’ll be your date. Oh, and you have to pay for an hour-long massage from that fancy masseuse of yours.”
I grinned. “Done.”
Her mouth fell open, as if she were clearly surprised by my instant agreement. Little did Dove know I had already volunteered to help Evelyn with the zoo gala promotion when I’d first pitched the trust to her. Like mother like daughter, I supposed. But if letting Dove think she was getting the better end of the deal meant she’d come, I wouldn’t let on.
“Fine then. I’ll be your date.” Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“I just never thought I'd have to bargain so hard to get a woman to go on a date with me,” I admitted with a chuckle.
“You haven't been hanging around the right women then,” Dove quipped.
“Clearly,” I replied. “I didn't think we'd ever have a more death-defying quest than raiding that dragon cavern, but this, I think, will be even more of an adventure.”
She smiled, and I hoped she was remembering how much fun we'd had that summer that we’d stumbled through my first and only D&D campaign. Did she watch all theDimension 20episodes like I did? Did she think of us when she did? I shook the thought from my head.
“I think this will be one hell of a campaign, Deacon,” she said and stuck out her hand. Matilda hung on easily as I shook it. “Just don't die this time,” she added with a wink, and she laughed as my expression soured.
I let her walk away with that last little dig. She didn’t know that I’d actually cried when I’d asked the Dungeon Master to kill me off our campaign so I could move to New York and start my music career. She didn’t know that for three years, I’d missed it every day until life had gotten too busy to think about anything anymore.
I’d relished that exhaustion. I’d tried to reach out to Dove a couple of times, but she’d never replied, and after a while I had just stopped trying. Still, I should’ve tried harder when her dad died. I should’ve just gotten on a plane and flown here in the middle of my international tour. No amount of time unspoken between us would ever make it okay that I let her live through those years without knowing I was thinking of her every day.
Oh well. Just one more thing on my list of never-ending mistakes when it came to Dove Lachlan.
I stood there backlit by the sunset, watching the space where Dove and Matilda had disappeared for a long time before finally turning around. When I did, I found a very pregnant blonde woman with pink-tipped hair standing directly behind me, looking at me with so much raw excitement in her eyes, I thought she might pass out or start crying . . . or go into labor.
“You must be Hannah,” I said, extending my hand.
“Oh my god, Deacon Harrow knows my name!” She shook my hand, her palm exceedingly sweaty. “I’m so, so sorry to bother you. I just have a question for you and I didn’t know when would be a good time to ask and it just seemed like now might be that good time and, uh, I ramble a lot, sorry, but I do it with everyone, not just celebrities. I’m kind of a ranter, and, uh . . . what was I saying?”
My smile widened. I could see why she was Dove’s best friend. She was like an excited golden retriever to Dove’s black cat energy, overly talkative where Dove was monosyllabic, extroverted where Dove was introverted. And I was grateful that Dove had people that clearly loved her and made her life full. The thought caught me off guard.
I’m just happy for an old friend. Yep, that’s all this feeling is.
With a mounting frustration at my own inner thoughts, I turned back to the bouncing, excited woman in front of me. “What did you want to ask me, Hannah?”
Chapter Fourteen
Dove
The table was practically full to bursting at Sunday Funday Fondue Day, growing year upon year along with our family. Lark and Logan sat watching from a laptop at one end of the table, having their morning coffee in New Zealand while we ate our decadently cheesy dinner. Finch and Frankie canoodled beside the laptop while Hawk, Hannah, and I sat on one side of the long rectangular table, Heron, Crane, and Wren across from us.
“It's decided,” Mom announced, lifting her glass to cheers the air. “I need to buy a bigger dining table.”
“We might need to knock down that wall if this gets any bigger,” Crane said, sizing up the wall that divided the dining and living rooms in our centuries-old house.
Our family home had been built by my great-grandfather during the establishment of Prickle Island Zoo. He probably never thought that not only would Prickle Island Zoo still berunning a century later, but also that his descendants would be so plentiful that we’d need a bigger house.
“We need space for a highchair,” Mom added, nodding to Hannah, who was four days away from her due date and looking like she wanted to murder someone.
Hawk already had their hospital bags packed and hotel room booked, ready for the baby’s imminent arrival. This was our last night together. They were officially on baby leave as of tomorrow and would be off island until my nephew’s arrival.
Wren scooted her chair over toward Heron and waved at the spot between her and Mom. “We can fit a highchair here.”
