Page 54 of On the Run
Yet, here I was, breaking all the rules of an entire adult lifetime—crackity crack crack—just to have him kiss me in that unhurried way of his, like kissing wasn’t the vehicle that got us to our destination but the destination itself.
“Definitely better to be an expert at a few things,” I slurred, licking my lips when he finally pulled back. “You were totally right. We’ll stay home.”
“And miss Littlejohn’s trivia night?” Beale shook his head. “Nah, we’ll go, and then we’ll come back.” He winked. “I think they call that edging.”
I think they called thisscrewed.
* * *
Beale pulledhis Jeep into the gravel parking lot of a little bar on Cooter Key just after sunset. The place was relatively tiny—a single low turquoise building with a slightly pitched roof and wooden shutters, bordered on two sides by an L-shaped patio half again as large as the bar itself—but it was packed to the rafters. Light and laughter spilled out each wide-open window and led us up the conch-lined path from the lot.
The crowd on the patio seemed mostly to be tourists—either that or folks around here really loved wearing I-Heart-Cooter T-shirts—but when we got inside, the vibe was a bit different, and the faces were already familiar just from hanging around town for a few days. A group of bikers sat in the corner and nodded at Beale when we walked in. Bubba Irvine and his wife, Lety, who owned the Concha, called out our names, and a bunch of older men and women playing a board game looked up and waved cheerily. Dale Jennings, Littlejohn’s cousin, turned away from the television over the bar and embraced me like a long-lost relative.
“Trey! Dude, you’re here! LJ said you were coming, but after the time he got sun poisoning and thought I was Big Bird, I ain’t ever sure if he’s serious anymore. We’re gonna murder these Cooter clowns and mop the floor with their entrails,” he said gleefully.
There was a lot to unpack there, and I debated explaining how mopping worked, but before I could open my mouth, Maddie McKetcham threw herself into my arms, blonde curls bouncing dramatically.
“Oh, Trey, thankgoodness. Juju, Carolyn, Grandma, and Mr. Wynott were discussing your party? And I offered to make homemade decorations, you know? Like maybe a sign with the tiniest bit of glitter and stuff, since signs are kinda my thing? And also maybe streamers? In coordinating colors? But Mr. Wynott said nonsense ’cause that was tacky and they’d want elegant tablescapes.” She crossed her arms. “Glitter isnottacky.”
“Pssht,” Dale scoffed. “’Course it’s not. Marius don’t know nothin. ’Sides, ya can’t decide on decorations and tablescapes until ya have a theme. Trey, what’s our theme?”
They looked at me expectantly.
I gave Beale a look that said,Help a fake soul mate out?
And he gave me a smiling look that said,You’ve got this, ringer, which was not at all helpful.
Truth to tell, the Mason I’d known before would probably want elegant, but the Mason who’d voluntarily committed himself to a blue-collar beau and a full-time life with these folks?
“The theme is… homemade glitter,” I said firmly. “So your decorations would be perfectly suitable. And if Mr. Wynott has concerns about that, he may address them with me directly.”
Marius Wynott had impressed me the first time I met him because he wore a waistcoat like nobody’s business, and I’d give him points for that, but I was deducting points for abysmal people skills.
“Yay! I’ll tell them,” Maddie said. “Oh, and also? Ms. Charbonnier says nobody added her to the Facebook group for the party, and how’s she gonna make sure no one else is bringing ambrosia if she’s not in the group?”
I sighed. “Ms. Charbonnier is Bernie, right?”
Maddie nodded.
“Hmmm.” I pulled out my brand-new phone and opened my very new “Trey” Facebook profile. The irony of having a profile for my alias when I’d avoided even creating a profile formyselfall these years was not lost on me, but that wasn’t remotely the weirdest part of the situation.
Yesterday at the Bean, Dale had officially made me an administrator of the Whispering Key Happenings Facebook group. This was a trifle concerning since I’d only been here four days—and Jesus Christ, when I stopped to think about that my brain got stuck, ’cause I’d once spent fourweeksdebating which kind of underwear to purchase and what each choice said about me as a person—and I’d told Dale maybe a visitor to the island wasn’t the best choice of admin.
Dale had looked all kinds of confused. “But you and Beale are soul mates.”
“Erm. Yeeeesss,” I’d hedged. “But possibly long-distance soul mates for the foreseeable future?”
Dale had looked back and forth from me to Beale, whose arm happened to be around my shoulders at the time, then tipped his head back and laughed uproariously. “Ah, laws, that was a good one, Trey. You’ll be permanent by Christmas. Just make sure new members answer the challenge questions correctly before you let ’em in, m’kay?” He’d thumped Beale on the shoulder appreciatively as he’d walked off.
I hadn’t been sure how to take that. To be honest, even a day and a half later, I still wasn’t, but that hadn’t stopped me from doing the job.
“I’ve got her join request here,” I told Maddie. “She’s in.”
“Trey! Getcha self over here!” Littlejohn yelled from the back of the bar. “It’s almost trivia time!”
Beale nudged me in that direction with a little smile. “Go on, ringer. Wow ’em with your variety of knowledge.”
Littlejohn jumped up and wrapped his arms around me as soon as we got within hugging distance, just as Dale had done. I was pretty sure I’d been embraced more in the past week than in the last thirty-five years. It was incredibly off-putting.
