She stood frozen in place as her entire life flashed before her—one that was always still and controlled and sharp-edged and fearful.
And then, shocking herself more than anyone, she nodded. “Okay. I guess I’m going to die on a motorcycle behind a man named Brick.”
He let out a belly laugh. “Oh, no, honey. You’re going to live a little.”
Ten minutes later, Maggie was on the back of Brick’s Harley, arms around a strange man while Florida pines blurred past them. The sun hit her face and for the first time in…too long, she laughed. Loud. Like she meant it.
Tomorrow, they’d deal with the truck.
Tonight? God help them—ajukebox.
Maggie climbedoff the motorcycle with knees that had no interest in supporting her anymore. Brick caught her elbow before she could crumple to the gravel like a poorly pitched tent.
“You okay?” he asked.
She just gave him a warning look. “I left my dignity on the turn to 319,” she said, brushing dust from her slacks. “Along with my equilibrium.”
“Nothin’ a cold brew won’t fix.” He pointed across the street to…a place. Yes, she could call that a place. A two-storyplacewith a torn green and white striped awning and a faded sign that saidGator Jack’swith an alligator as the apostrophe. “You two go in and square things with Mikey, then get set up in your room.” His finger rose to the second-floor windows. Then back down again. “The boys and I will be waiting for dinner.”
Her eyes widened. He was serious?
“I know it’s four o’clock, but dinner’s half price before five and we love us a good early bird special. Then, we’ll dance.”
They’d see about that.
She managed a tight smile and walked to Jo Ellen, who was positively as giddy as a girl getting off a roller coaster as she climbed off Randy’s bike.
“Settle down, will you?” Maggie muttered.
“Don’t make me quote your favorite character, Mags.”
Maggie lifted a brow in question.
“‘Fiddle dee dee!’” she exclaimed in a terrible Southern Scarlett O’Hara accent. “I had fun and I’m not done yet.”
Oh, heavens. Therewouldbe dancing.
They followed Brick’s instructions—as he took their suitcases and they justlethim. Then they found Mikey in the “shop” that smelled like old shrimp. Was bait standard in every gas station in this part of Florida?
Jo Ellen walked around in a daze, talking about how much Artie would have loved this place. After Maggie signed her life away and watched Mikey spit enough sunflower seed husks to sprout a garden, they made their way across the street to Gator Jack’s.
Inside, it was all dark wood, neon signs, and the faint but permanent scent of stale beer and fried things. A scarred old jukebox stood proudly in the corner like it had survived three hurricanes and a few fights. A couple of locals sat at the bar, wearing ball caps and sunburned noses.
The bartender, a tall woman with bright pink hair and a T-shirt that said, “Bite Me, I’m Local,” gave them a nod.
“Ladies? Brick got you settled. Room’s upstairs. Here’s the key and before you ask, it’s got one bed, a queen. Sorry, it’s the busy season.” She lifted her brow as she held out a key. “Go through that hall past the bathroom, up to the second floor, first door.”
Maggie opened her mouth.
“We’re happy to share,” Jo Ellen chirped, dragging her toward the hall.
“Is there a shower?” Maggie managed to ask as Jo pulled her away.
Pink Hair guffawed. “Of course! What kind of place do you think I run?”
Just then, Brick walked out of the men’s room, shaking off his wet hands. “Hurry back, ladies. We’ll order for you.”
“Thank you!” Jo Ellen called, ignoring Maggie’s glare.
