Page 5 of Feels Like the First Time
“Too windy. Bridget was afraid she’d get seasick,” Marty said and Ali wanted to call bullshit. Yes, Bridget did suffer from the occasional motion sickness, but only when they were out in the open ocean. And since Marty had been restricted to sailing within a few miles of home, doctor’s orders, Bridget would have been fine.
“I reminded her that I still have some pills left over from the last time she came up,” Marty said.
“I don’t think they make a pill for what Bridget suffers from,” Ali joked, because it was the perfect day to go sailing. And the perfect day for Marty to spend time with his other daughter. The sun was bright, the sky clear, and there was a gentle breeze coming up from the south.
The only reason Bridget didn’t want to go sailing was because Ali was better at it. And everything in Bridget’s world was a competition. Even father-daughter time.
Marty gave Ali a stern look, but his grin ruined the scolding. “I’d better check the corn bread.”
“I’ll get the corn bread,” Ali said, choosing to let it go. “And I’ll prep a nice green salad while I’m at it, so you can get the fish going on the grill.”
“The casseroles, dessert? I’m supposed to be cookingyoudinner,” Marty objected.
“I don’t mind cooking for you, Dad,” she clarified.
Marty had been taking care of Ali her whole life, always going that extra step to show her that she was loved. After her parents divorced and split everything right down the middle—including the kids—Marty had done everything he could to ensure Ali had a happy childhood. So what if their roles were a little reversed now? It felt nice to pamper him for a change.
“But it’s your big night,” he said quietly. “You should be sipping a cold one on the porch and letting me take care of you.”
“Just because they’re shooting my work doesn’t mean it will make it in the magazine.”
The purpose of the article was to showcase the bold and innovative design of one of the Pacific Northwest’s most renowned architects, Nolan Landon. Who had commissioned a piece of garden art from Ali, for his personal residence, last year.
“No sense in getting our hopes up until we know anything,” Ali said, her hopes so high it was hard to contain herself. The issue focused on the art of repurposing, a high concept design with minimal environmental footprints—Ali’s art in a nutshell. Making the cut would not only allow her to check off a major career goal, it would transform her career. “There are so many pieces in Nolan’s house to choose from.”
In fact, he had commissioned repurposed art from several different artists, Ali being the only unknown name. But, and this was what gave her the courage to hope, her work was the centerpiece of his property.
“I’d be thrilled to even be mentioned.” Ali turned around to find Marty standing right behind her, an expression of embarrassment mixed with sincere pride that made Ali swallow. She eyed the two ice-cold beers in his hands and lifted a brow.
“Just a sip,” he assured her, then handed her a beer, “to celebrate my daughter.”
She was too focused on the elegantly set kitchen table to argue.
Made from distressed white wood, it had a blue and green table runner to match the nautical theme of the house, with glass tapers filled with sand and seashells. There were even flowers on the table, picked from the yard and haphazardly arranged—but they were flowers.
Twinkly lights twisted around the two paddles that hung above the wall of windows that looked out over the Pacific Ocean. When Ali had been little, she’d drag a sleeping bag out on the back porch and let the waves crashing against the cliffs lull her to sleep.
The sound was calming, hypnotic. Yet today, they didn’t seem to help the building tension that came with seeing her sister. Or how many place settings there were.
Parties were supposed to be a compilation of the honoree’s tastes and requests. Ali was the honoree, and had requested a small, cozy, casual dinner. Yet she couldn’t help notice that Marty had brought in the extra table leaf from the garage. A leaf that took it to a party of seven.
“What’s up with all the place settings?” she asked.
“Oh, your sister sent those ahead and told me how to decorate the table,” Marty said. “Posted video instructions online and everything. She’s got a good eye, that one.”
“It looks great.” Very elegant, very posh, very her sister. “But I meant, why so many? Who else is coming?”
“Whoever you put on that list,” Marty said.
“There were four people on my list.”
Marty’s brows puckered in confusion. “Bridget told me to plan for seven.”
“If we’re being technical, Bridget was never invited, she’s crashing.”
“A girl can’t crash a dinner in her own home.”
Spending a mandatory two weeks a summer somewhere didn’t make a place a home—one of the few things about their childhood Ali and Bridget could agree on. Whereas Destiny Bay would always be Ali’s safe place, Bridget’s had been a two-story McMansion in a gated community with their mother and stepdad number two in Seattle.
