Girls’ Happy Hour is a weekly tradition for us. We don’t always host an actual happy hour, and it’s not always about drinking. Sometimes, we have lunch or get coffee, but we try to make time for each other every week. It all started with a happy hour, though, so that’s what we began calling it.
Tonight, my girl squad and I are meeting at a local rooftop bar. It’s absolutely stunning. There’s nothing quite like a summer night in Denver. The evenings always cool down, no matter how hot the day has been, so the heat never feels overwhelming. And I don’t care what anyone else says—a dry heat is far better than a humid heat. I’ll die on that hill.
There’s a light breeze tonight, and it’s refreshingly welcome. I arrived early, so I’m claiming a section in the corner away from the bar since I know it will get crowded later. The best thing about this bar is its dog-friendly policy, so I can bring Abby, which she loves. They even have the cutest doggie menu, featuring options like a chicken breast and brown rice. In a pet-friendly city like Denver, it’s one of the best marketing ideas I’ve seen recently, so I’m thrilled to partake.
They have these cozy seating arrangements—soft, comfortable loveseats and plush chairs arranged around cute little coffee tables inconversational groupings spread out over the rooftop. Fairy lights are strung along the walls, giving the space a warm, low glow that encourages conversation and intimacy. The long bar occupies most of the wall at the back, adjacent to the entrance to the interior portion of the venue. It’s set up to service both the indoor and outdoor seating areas.
I push down a pang at the thought of sharing this romantic setting with someone other than just my favorite ladies. I try not to think about how nice it would feel to be cuddled up with someone, well, not someone. Damon.
You want to be cuddled up with Damon.
Lost in my daydream, I don’t notice the waitress until she taps me on the shoulder. I start and pull myself back to reality.
Nope, no romance for you. Not here for that.
I order a vodka tonic with lime, my standard happy hour choice, and a bowl of water for Abby. I peruse the appetizer menu and note Abby’s favorite dinner from the dog-friendly menu. She loves chicken. Could this place be more perfect?
I reach down to nuzzle my pupper’s ears. She’s perfectly content, curled up at my feet while quietly watching the scenery. She’s a mellow dog, not given to barking except at home when someone rings the doorbell. Generally, she’s content to lie at my feet and observe. We attended a training class when she was a puppy, and we occasionally attend a refresher course, but she’s always been easy to work with. It helps that she’s a food-motivated dog who’ll do anything for a treat. Just ask Jacob.
The waitress brings my drink, and I order the chicken breast for Abby. My pupper deserves a treat for being such a good doggo.
I sip my drink and look toward the patio door just in time to see my daughter, Lily, appear. She’s a mini-me with the same curly auburn hair and dark eyebrows, but she has her father’s striking emerald green eyes. Oh, those Irish genes are showing. At twenty-four, she’s still young but carriesherself with a maturity beyond her years. I think it comes from graduating from both high school and college earlier than other kids her age. She’s got an air of confidence I never had at her age, so sure of herself and her place in this world. I love to see it. Dressed to the nines in a smart black suit over a pink chiffon blouse, I can tell she’s coming straight from her office. She looks every inch the CEO she is, and I’m so incredibly proud of her.
Lily started her boutique finance firm after graduating from DU with a double major in finance and sports management. Her firm primarily caters to professional athletes, particularly hockey players. They manage various aspects of a player’s finances depending on each player’s personal requirements. Since her firm is small, she’s able to provide them with a much higher level of customer service than larger firms. It’s served her well, and her company is becoming quite successful.
“Hey, Mom.” She waves as she strides over to me, stopping for a moment to order her drink from our waitress. Her standard happy hour drink is a fifteen-year-old Red Breast Irish whiskey, a nod to her Irish descent. Her connection with her Irish heritage seems to give her a sense of belonging she craves, especially given her contentious relationship with her father. I’m glad to support her happiness in whatever way I can.
She leans in for a warm hug before bending down to rub Abby’s soft head in greeting. Abby licks her hand. She knows my daughter well. Whenever I travel, she stays with Lily at her place. At this point, it’s like her second home. I love that she stays with family when I travel, and can’t be with her.
The waitress returns with Lily’s whiskey as she sits down next to me. She turns to look at me with a smile, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. She loves to tease me. According to her, I should be out there dating and living my best life. I disagree about dating, but I love our banter. It’s so different than my relationship with my own mother. I can’t remember us talking much at all, especially about anything intimate. My daughter and Ihave a beautiful friendship, and I love it with all my heart. We usually talk daily, and there isn’t a topic under the sun I won’t discuss with her, even if it makes me feel uncomfortable. I don’t want her ever to feel like she can’t ask me anything. However, she does enjoy pushing my buttons about my dating life.
“How’s it going with your new GM? Do we think he can turn this all around this season?” And here we go. Sure, she genuinely cares about the team’s status. The ownership will eventually go to her and her brother as part of their inheritance. While she has a stake in the team, she’s not at all interested in being an active participant. She has more than enough work with her firm, and she’s never felt drawn to it in any capacity other than as a fan. I can only hope my son will consider a role with the team after he retires from hockey. I’m going to pretend that’s why she’s asking me about Damon, not because she thinks I need an office crush. I have no intention of telling her I already do.
Before I can answer, Lainy flops down in the chair across from me with an exaggerated sigh. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing jeans and an old Wolves t-shirt that obviously belongs to her husband. It’s tied at her side, right above the waistband of her jeans, drawing attention to her bare midriff. How does she look so damn good just six months after having a baby? Sometimes, I envy people and their impressive genetics. It took me a year after each birth to get myself back in shape, much to Kurt’s dismay. He never tired of reminding me of my perceived failures as his trophy wife. One more thing I couldn’t get right. It’s taken me years of therapy to learn to love my body.
“Oh my God! Have kids, they said. It will be great, they said. Ugh.” My bestie whines sarcastically as she flops into the chair beside me with an exaggerated sigh.
“Um, I think it was me who said that.” I chuckle. I know it was me. “Still not getting enough sleep, I see.”
“Thank God Scott’s retired. How do people do this by themselves? I’m in awe because I’m exhausted.” She looks wistful. I had plenty of help, just not from my husband. She’s so lucky to be going through this with Scott. His co-parenting skills are on point, and I’m seriously jealous. What would it be like to go through life in a marriage where partnership is the norm? I’ve never experienced it, and sometimes, it makes me incredibly sad.
What doesn’t make me sad is that Lainy’s dramatic arrival shifted the focus to her and away from any discussions about my newly acquired GM. I made the mistake of saying I thought he was good-looking at happy hour last week, and now the girls are relentless, bringing him up at every opportunity. No one needs to know about my fascination with our sexy GM and his luscious arm porn. Even if he has a beautiful body, the fact that I can’t stop looking at it or thinking about him is something I’m not willing to share with the group.
Lily’s best friend and business partner, Andrea, is the last to arrive. I used to do contract accounting work for them, and I loved it. Many of the Wolves players use her firm to handle their personal finances.
I give the petite brunette a warm hug. Those two have been best friends since grade school, so Drea is like a second daughter to me.
“Hey, sweetie. How are you? How’s work?” It’s been a while since I’ve seen her, so I’m anxious to catch up, especially since she missed our girls’ night last week. I’m not judging, I’ve missed a few lately myself due to my new team responsibilities. When the kids got older, I missed having them around all the time, but as my responsibilities with the team have increased, those feelings have been fading away.
“Same old, same old. We’re getting old and boring now that we’re business owners.” She sighs heavily before taking the seat across from me.
I smirk behind my glass. I love these girls, but they are nowhere near old. Of course, I’m not going to say that. I do think they work too hard and could use more work-life balance, but it’s not my decision.
“Work-life balance is hard to achieve when you own the company. I’m finding that out on the daily. Every time I think I’ve done everything I need to do, something else comes up. It’s exciting and terrifying at the same time,” she continues, sounding proud but tired.
She sighs as she takes a big sip from her gin and tonic. I watch her shoulders relax as the alcohol does its work. Setting her glass on the table, she gives me a penetrating look, her smile full of mischief.
“Hockey ownership looks good on you. I’ve never seen you look this content. I hope you’re enjoying yourself because if anyone deserves it, it’s you.”
