“Why not? You did.”
Ricky slapped Matt on the back with a loud hoot. “I like her even more now.” He leaned toward the supermodel, who continued to pass out tickets. Three hundred per session and no more. Every brownie in the skate room got a turn on someone’s feet.
“Well, Harlow, see, we were the ones who made Matt cool,soooo...” Ricky motioned between him and Jonas. “That means you’re going to have to hang around us.”
Harlow passed five tickets to a waiting family. “Here you go. Welcome to the Starlight.” Then she turned to Ricky and Jonas. “To be honest, boys, I’m cooler than all of you put together, including Rob Stone and Steve Hilliard.”
They laughed while the husband of the entering family got stuck between gawking at Harlow and grinning at Matt. His wife moved him along with chagrin. “Pardon him,” she said. “He doesn’t get out much.”
Matt always loved Harlow’s demeanor, her broken kind of confidence, but this version of her was totally ... tubular. Okay, so he spent last Sunday morning before work with a bunch of surfers.
With a light kiss for Harlow, he walked Ricky and Jonas to skate rental. They drilled him aboutFlight Deck. Did he really fly in a P-51?
More Nickle High alum breezed into the rink. Burke and Chambers, Caffey and McCord, followed by several faces Matt recognized from his elementary days.
Bodie Nickle arrived with his family. “Matt Knight, my favorite client.” They slapped hands, bumped shoulders. “Did you get my bill? Hey, Harlow, thanks for winning the case for us. I’d like you to meet my wife, Latisha, and this is Morris, named for my grandpa. We call him Deuce. Our daughter, DeShawn, whom we call Dish.”
“Matt.” Dad tapped him on the shoulder and held out a whistle. “Want to help on the floor? It’s really crowded.”
As he headed for his skates, someone called his name. The older, more mature voice of Booker Nickle.
“Booker, hey, man.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to bite your head off this time,” he said, offering to shake Matt’s hand.
The years peeled away, and when the first sob hit, Matt locked him in a hug. “Book, I’m sorry. So, so, sorry.”
“No, man, I’m sorry.”
“Me and my big mouth. You were right to hate me all these years. Look what I did to Harlow on Letterman.”
“Matt, look I need to tell you—” Booker paused. “Can we talk someplace quiet?”
Harlow appeared from behind him. “We’re at capacity, so no more ticket sales. I’ll work the floor. I’ve been dying to blow one of these whistles. You two grab a beer or something. Hi, Booker, I’m—”
“Harlow Hayes.” He cut Matt a glance. “You always had the best luck with girls.”
“Girls?” she said toward Matt. “You mean there’s more than Patti Evans? Tell more.”
“Book, don’t get me in trouble already.” Matt roped the whistle lanyard around Harlow’s neck. “He’s exaggerating.”
“Booker, you and I will talk later.” She grinned and whispered to Matt as she shoved him toward the door. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
He suggested the Fish Hook at the opposite end of Sea Blue Way. Small talk melted a bit more of the ice between them. Booker, who wore the plaid shirt, jeans, and boots of a rancher, was still in New Mexico.
“I bought the place, so now I’m the one with all the headaches.”
“Do you love it?”
“This beach boylovesthe land. The bookworm loves his horses and cows. Give me a hot, dusty day and a cold, dry night, my favorite horse, a couple of cows, and a pretty girl . . .”
“There’s a girl? Okay, now it’s all making sense.”
“Cassidy.” They stepped onto the Fish Hook’s back deck. “She wanted to be here, but someone had to watch the ranch. Literally. We’ve been married three years. Bodie didn’t tell you? I sent you a wedding invitation.”
Matt took a seat at the nearest picnic table. “I couldn’t bring myself to open anything you sent.”
The whirling fans cooled the warm air of the deck. Their server, Maisy, blushed when she saw Matt.
