Tavi
It’s remarkable how much can change in just a few months.
The things that matter. Where my heart is. What I want to do with my life.
I thought I had it all figured out before Gigi called and demanded I move to Tickled Pink if I wanted to keep my trust fund, but life changed, so I changed.
And I don’t regret a minute.
Not even the especially wild whirlwind that’s been the last several days. Hard to believe it wasn’t quite a week ago that I faked my sprained ankle and thought I’d never be back in Tickled Pink again in my life.
“You’re on my shit list,” Shiloh Denning tells me with a scowl.
I smile.
Not a fake smile either.
Thereal-me smile. “I heard I would be. Happy birthday.”
Bridget giggles next to me. “Don’t listen to her,” she whispers loudly. “Shelooooovesit.”
“If she doesn’t now, she will once she gets all of her birthday presents,” I whisper loudly back, gesturing to a table near the door that might not be big enough for all the gifts people have brought. “Ibrought her an exclusive private batch of Zero Ducks peanut butter cups.”
Heard a very reliable rumor that peanut butter and chocolate are her kryptonite.
Shiloh grunts and stalks away to glare at Jane and Gibson, who are running the beer taps and the music in one corner of the largest room in the almost fully renovated community center. Multicolored streamers and balloons line the walls and ceilings, fanning out from a disco ball slowly spinning in the center of the room.
The caterers have tables lining two of the walls with everything from fried cheese curds, which I will 1,000 percent be trying tonight, to stuffed brie bites and shrimp cocktails, which I will also be enjoying without hesitation. It’s a low-key menu compared to what I would’ve had catered if I were throwing a party for an acquaintance in New York or Los Angeles—not to mention the overabundance of meat, fish, dairy, and sugar—but it fits here.
The cake, though—for the birthday cake, I totally called in a favor.
Abigfavor.
Not everyone gets a birthday cake flown in from LA’s top baker, but cake isn’t something you scrimp on.
“Oh mygah, Tavi, I didn’t think you’d come back, buthere you are.” Lola launches herself at me and hugs me tight. It’s a little like being hugged by a gazelle that smells like she slept in a rosebush.
My eye twitches, but I ignore it and hug her back. “Thanks, Lola.”
“When I found out your grandmother had put those listening thingies in your room, I gotso mad. Like, what kind of grandmotherdoesthat? I thought she was so nice, inviting me here, and then—”
“And now she’s gone,” Dylan interrupts, slipping a hand to the small of my back as he joins me in the main room of the community center that Gigi insisted on renovating before she departed Tickled Pink a couple of days ago.
I look up at him. “Gigiput those listening devices in my room?”
“That’s what Teague told me. Guess he got a chance to talk to her before she left. Fried cheese curd?” He lifts the plate.
Lola squeals. “They areso good, Tavi. Like,oh my gaaaahgood.”
I eyeball everything on the plate he’s brought. Small round fried things—definitely fried cheese curds. There’s a pinwheel-looking thing that seems to be made of deli meat and cream cheese, and I won’t lie—I have a minute ofI approved that on the menu?
But these are the birthday girl’s favorite foods. As are the veggies and ranch dip. The cheese cubes. Something that looks like a miniature shrunken hot dog wrapped in bacon.
My hand hovers over the plate. “There’s too much to choose from.”
“Definitely the cheese curd.” He plucks one off the plate and pops it into my mouth, andoh my God.
Lola’s right.
