“Why are we talking about Wylder?” my dad asks from behind me, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.
“Tate was asking about him,” Daphne says, and then her eyes dip to me because she knows she fucked up.
Let the Angelo Gallo inquisition begin.
“Why?” Dad asks, and I don’t need to turn to know he’s standing with his arms folded, feet wide apart, a scowl on his face.
“His girls came in here yesterday, and I walked them home.”
“Cheryl called me about that last night to thank me. She was so worried,” Grandma says, trying to steer the conversation more toward the kids than Wylder.
“What do you mean, they were in here? And why would Cheryl be worried?” Dad asks Grandma.
I spin my stool around to face my dad, wanting to answer the question instead of Grandma. “They came in because they wanted Shirley Temples, and she didn’t know where they were,” I explain.
It’s the truth without giving him the whole story. I don’t know why I don’t tell him they snuck out, but I don’t want anyone to think the girls are troublemakers.
“After they had their drinks, I walked them back to Cheryl’s house since she was watching them,” I finish.
My dad’s face softens a bit. “I remember when you loved drinking those.”
“I still make myself one every once in a while…when I’m feeling nostalgic.”
“I make a mean Dirty Shirley,” Aunt Daphne says. “Want one?”
“A Dirty Shirley?” I ask.
She nods. “Same as the original but with a shot of vodka.”
My eyebrows rise. Why didn’t I ever think to do that? “Sounds delicious.”
“Next girls’ night, I’ll make some for everyone.”
“Tilly had a hangover for two days after the last girls’ night,” Dad tells Daphne.
“Hey—” Daphne lifts her hands “—don’t look at me. I didn’t pour the alcohol down her throat.”
I giggle at the memory of Tilly totally shit-faced the last time we went out. It was the drunkest I’ve ever seen her.
“Baby, we all have to blow off a little steam,” Grandma tells Dad.
The door to the bar opens, and Marvin sticks his head in. “Am I too early?”
A few years ago, we changed the time the bar opens to one in the afternoon, but some of the regulars always try to come in early.
“Five minutes, but it’s okay. Come on in, Marv,” Grandma says without turning around.
“Thanks. Thanks,” Marvin says.
“Well,” I say, climbing off the stool. “I’m going to go open Inked. The first appointment is at two.”
“I’ll walk you over,” Dad says, and I’m instantly on high alert.
Dad never walks me over unless there’s something important he wants to talk to me about without anyone else hearing.
“Oh. Okay.” I plaster a fake smile on my face.
“Uh-oh. Someone’s in trouble,” Daphne teases me, knowing the same thing I do.
