Page 40 of Forever Never
Maybe it was time to start doing a little threatening of her own.
She dusted off her laptop, spread the articles out in front of her and went to work.
Hours later, she leaned back in her chair to roll her tight shoulders when she realized it was dark outside already. She’d spent an entire day parsing through news reports, gossip blogs, press releases, and her own overflowing inboxes, hoping for something, anything that would light the way out of this situation.
She’d come up empty. This was a fight she wasn’t equipped for. And the cost of failure was too high. She wouldn’t survive paying.
A shiver crawled up her spine as the gloom of the dark house sank into her bones. She needed light. And alcohol. And people. She needed to forget.
She jumped up from the table and dialed her phone as she turned on lights.
“Hey. It’s me. Want to get out of the house and—”
“Yes,” her sister cut her off.
“We could talk about that neighbor welfare check thing.”
“Don’t care,” Kimber snapped. “Get me out of here.”
“Do you want to go someplace we can take the kids?”
“I want to go somewhere no one will call me ‘Mom’ or ‘babe.’ Meet me at Tiki Tavern at seven and try not to be Remi late.”
Not the Tiki Tavern. Anything but the Tiki Tavern.
“Isn’t there another bar open?”
“Not in February on a Wednesday. Besides, your nemesis doesn’t work Wednesday nights.”
Hell. Why couldn’t there be more than one bar open on the island in the winter?
“Fine. I’ll see you there,” Remi agreed.
13
The Tiki Tavern was the kind of theme bar that shouldn’t work but somehow did. Its vibe was Caribbean rum shop meets country-western bar. The staff wore Hawaiian shirts, denim, and belt buckles while serving barbecue and bourbon next to jerk chicken and tropical drinks with umbrellas.
It was a skinny two-story building clad in white clapboard siding that hugged a busy street corner in downtown. In the summer, the rooftop patio with kick-ass water views and killer happy hour specials beckoned tourists. But mid-February on Mackinac meant local patrons were restricted to a smattering of tables in front of the bar and gas fireplace.
It was the only bar that stayed open throughout the winter, making it a gathering place for the lonely and the stir-crazy.
Remi congratulated herself on being exactly on time when she pushed through the front door, kicking a light powder of fresh snow off her boots.
It smelled like smoked meat, liquor, and sunscreen. A Jimmy Buffet classic about cheeseburgers in paradise bathed the room in a riot of colors she wished she could capture. She’d have to settle for ordering red meat, she supposed.
There were a few islanders hunkered around tables, another handful holding down barstools with beers and piña coladas. Kimber hadn’t arrived yet.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Look who just walked her trouble-making ass through my door.” The voice from behind the bar brought a smile to her face.
Darius Milett put the Tiki in Tiki Tavern. Born in Barbados, he’d moved with his family to Michigan—of all places—when he was a kid. His parents and most of his siblings had long since migrated on to the warmer climes of Arizona and Florida, but Darius had inexplicably fallen in love with the novelty of island winters. So he’d gotten a degree in hospitality and, with the help of a most unlikely business partner, had opened the doors to the Tiki Tavern.
Zipping in just a hair under six feet, he was broad-shouldered and muscular with smooth dark skin and the kind of laugh that was contagious. His head was shaved, but he sported an impeccably trimmed beard.
“Trouble-making?” she scoffed, unzipping her coat. “I am aparagonof good behavior.”
She had a role to play, expectations to meet in this place. No one wanted to see a trembling, afraid-of-the-damn-dark Remi Ford. They wanted the grown-up version of the girl who’d once filled a seasonal fudge shop server’s bed with horse manure after he got too handsy with her friend.
“How many times you been arrested, Remi?” Duncan Firth, grizzled local legend, called from the dart board.
