“Mr. Baseball? Kevin worked in marketing for the Wahoos.”
The Blue Wahoos are the minor league baseball team out of Pensacola. Tati doesn’t like baseball, but she likes men with status, and this guy—Kevin—is high in the organization.
I roll my eyes. “Pardon me. So you were secretly hooking up with Davis while you were with Officer Lopez and Mr. Marketing?”
“NotwhileI was with them. Between. And don’t even think about giving me a hard time. Davis knew what was going on, and he was an eager partner.”
I snort. “I bet he was.”
She shakes her head. “I know he comes off like a goofball, but he’s different than you think. He’s a good man. A good father.”
“And an eager partner—don’t forget about that.”
She laughs, and my chest warms through. It’s not often that she and I talk this way. Like sisters. Likefriends. I don’t hate it.
“He got me through those breakups, if you want to know thetruth,” she says. “Helped exterminate those relationships from my system. He was the brandy you sip between the courses of a long meal. ATrou Normand,” she says in an overblown French accent.
My stick-in-the-mud sister’s been entertaining a casual bed buddy for more than half a year. My mind is officially blown. “Is he still aTrou Normand?”
She smiles. “No. Now he’s…something different.”
“Yeah. A personal shopper,” I tease, hoping to keep her engaged.
I’ve missed girl talk.
I’ve missedher.
She smooths a wrinkle from her top. “He swore this would look good. I’m not so sure.”
“It looks great,” I say with sincerity. She reminds me ofmeduring the pre-outing heart-to-hearts I have—had—with Gabi. I always spent ages in front of the mirror, fishing for reassurance. Gabi, who looks like she stepped off a runway after spending all of fifteen minutes getting ready, dished out compliments as readily as I trawled for them. The flattery went a long way toward calming my insecurities.
How interesting, this idea that my sister doesn’t always feel as perfect as she seems.
Maybe we’re more alike than I thought.
She crunches a carrot with intense focus, then dips another and gobbles it up too. She zeros in on me, more solemn now. “How’s work?”
“Good. It’s fun.” And hopefully only the first of many marine life–focused jobs on my resume.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I like it. Don’t worry, I’ve been depositing half of every paycheck.”
“I’m not concerned about your savings, Piper.”
I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms. “But youareconcerned?”
“Roger called.”
Roger. No one calls Turtle by his given name. Even my parents used his nickname.
“About what?”
“He said something happened with a guest last week. He said you haven’t been the same since.”
Quills of worry pierce my skin. “He doesn’t think I’m doing a good job?”
“He complimented your work ethic, actually.” She says this with a surprised smile, like she didn’t believe I was capable of putting my nose to the grindstone. “He’s worried, though. He said you’ve been subdued.”
