“We are not?—”
“Yes, we are,” Jo said. “Let’s comb our hair and freshen up. This is fun!”
There was no arguing with her, so Maggie went along with it, not willing to admit that a beer sounded really good. Had she had one in…ever? Not in years, but, hey, when in Crawfordville…
Two hours, one beer andtwo anda halfshots of bourbon—she tried to sip but Brick wouldn’t let her—later, Maggie gave up the battle.
She laughed ateverythingthat blue-eyed, bearded redneck biker with rough hands and a sweet smile had to say. Brick Collins met her snark, sarcasm, and condescension with so much humor that she gave up the fight.
The Wild Turkey helped, too.
And then Jo Ellen came clip-clopping over in wedge heels—when did she put those on?—and said, “Randy showed me how to work the jukebox.”
“That’s good.”
“It’s great, because…listen.”
After a beat, Maggie heard the iconic opening high-pitched organ notes that sent chills up her spine and whipped her back to the Tri-Delt House on the Georgia campus—which might have been the last time she had shots of bourbon…and this much fun.
“It’s the Monkees!” Jo Ellen cried and started singing with Micky Dolenz. “‘I thought love was only true in fairy tales!’”
“Stop,” Maggie pleaded.
“When ‘I’m a Believer’ plays?” Jo Ellen scoffed, tugging Maggie from her chair. In her weakened one-beer-and-two-point-five-shots state, she let herself be pulled to a stand. “Come on, Mags! We always loved Micky the best!”
She snortedagainand let Jo drag her toward the cleared space near the pool table, where two men were swaying off-beat with beers in hand.
Brick gave an appreciative whistle. Randy whooped and pointed at the jukebox like he’d just summoned the spirit of fun. Angel leaned against the bar and watched like he was their personal bodyguard.
Jo twirled and pointed at Maggie. “‘Then I saw her face!’”
And, Lord help her, Maggie sang right back. “‘Now I’m a believer!’”
They belted out every word that was burned into their memory and kept it going when “Build Me Up, Buttercup” echoed through the room. Then some Aretha, The Temptations, and the capper—The Archies singing “Sugar, Sugar.”
Maggie utterly surrendered to the night, the memories, the laughter, and even Brick’s arms when Percy Sledge belted out “When a Man Loves a Woman.” She danced with him, giving in to the bliss of being held, swayed, and serenaded with lyrics that melted the coldest of icy hearts.
Even hers.
When things speeded up again, Jo Ellen did something between the swim and the mashed potato, and Maggie nearly lost it laughing.
The bar, now full, clapped along. Someone—maybe the pink-haired bartender—shouted, “Go, Grandma!”
The whole time Maggie felt young, free, and ridiculously alive.
They didn’t make last call—not for lack of trying. By the time they headed upstairs, Maggie had a stitch in her side from laughing. The tiny room was cozy, clean, and cooled by a noisy fan that didn’t even bother her.
The sheets were crisp, their PJs comfy after showers, and Jo Ellen and Maggie shared a queen bed as they had for two solid years at the Tri-Delt House.
As they finally settled in, Jo sighed and proclaimed it, “The best night ever.”
Maggie closed her eyes and snuggled under the blankets, thinking about Brick’s funny lines and how good it was to…not care. Tomorrow, she would care again. She had to.
As Scarlett would say, tomorrow was another day. But this day? One of the most exhilarating experiences she’d had in seventy-eight years.
Tessa stepped into Dusty’s home with a whole different mindset than when she’d been here for the open house. For one thing, she wasn’t late this afternoon, and she really would meet with the selling agent. For another, after the Realtor gave her an official tour, she had plans for a dinner date with the man who owned the house. A date that Tessa was looking forward to even more than the showing.
She tapped on the front door and it instantly opened, revealing a woman around Tessa’s age with thick brown hair and a sparkle in her espresso eyes.
