“What is this?”
“August Nights,” I say, my composure holding on by a thread.
Gage has spoken so many times about an old idea August used to have of them opening a tiki bar. One right in the sand where you can drink from coconuts, and no one wears shoes. A few months ago, I was having lunch with my sisters-in-law, plus Tenley, at one of the restaurants on the harbour front, when I saw that the old surf club building had a for sale sign in the window. The club recently moved into a brand new building, leaving the old, dated one empty and forgotten. It sat right against the sand, had a car park that was far too big for the small building, and it was close enough to other venues that it didn’t really need its own one. An idea formed in my head. I reached out to Dylan, who has experience running a beachfront bar and restaurant, and for the last few months, we’ve been working with Lex and Caleb to get approvals to expand the old building and extend the bar onto the shoreline. I signed the papers this afternoon as a co-owner with Dylan.
Gage continues to flip through the documents, finding Beth’s designs for the interior. Evelyn helped us with the design, telling us more stories about her son and what she thought he’d pick if he were here doing this with us today.
Apparently, that meant going all in with the theme. Bamboo and thatching, tiki torches, brightly coloured lanterns. Everything that you’d expect if you found yourself in a daydream of washing up on a deserted island. It’s full of charm and wonder, just like August, Evelyn would say.
“A tiki bar?” Gage asks.
I flip to the last page, one that has a full, rendered image of the outdoor bar. Beach lounges nestled in the sand, big white umbrellas with string lights connecting them, and a bamboo bar with a neon pink logo I’ve been secretly designing over the last few weeks, spelling out August Nights.
“Dylan’s already working on the menu, but we didn’t want to pick everything without you. So, these are just our proposals, but you get the final say.”
“Daddy, sad?” Isla asks, twisting on his lap as she holds his face between her little hands.
“No, Sunshine,” Gage whispers. “Daddy’s really happy.”
