“We’re going to a house party? What happened to Ed’s and karaoke?” I ask.
“ThisisEd’s. His house, not his bar. Come on,” she says and hops out of the low-slung car.
I follow and my eyes, traitors that they are, check out her ass in her little dress as she leads the way.
I assess the house. I shouldn’t be surprised this is where Ed lives. I recognize the same benign neglect of his bar. And both bar and house feature a truly spectacular coastal location. Judging from the aged exterior, it was probably purchased decades ago, when this was predominantly a fishing village, not an expensive tourist destination for people who want the quaint charm of a New England seaside town.
When we enter, I recognize several familiar faces from the bar. People are milling about, and a karaoke machine sits in the middle of the living room. An older woman is doing a surprisingly good “Private Dancer” rendition.
“Daisy!” Ed greets us from across the room. “And Ryder.”
“What’s going on?” I ask Daisy under my breath as the older man walks over to us.
“Ed felt terrible about someone filming me. Twice. He’s pissed that a customer of his would do that. So, to make up for it, he offered to host karaoke here on the night his bar is closed. And I couldn’t say no.”
“Couldn’t someone just film us here?”
She smiles at me, but her eyes look a little sad. “You know. Sometimes you just have to trust people.”
“Even if they’ve broken your trust before? We don’t know that it wasn’t one of these people who posted it.”
She shakes her head. “Ed vouches for every one of them. And I trust Ed.”
“You can’t be one hundred percent sure.”
“No. There’s no guarantee of anything in life. Except that if I go through it trusting no one, I won’t be happy and I’ll miss out on too much good. It comes down to karaoke or no karaoke. And, if there’s one thing you should know about me… I’ll choose karaoke every time.”
“Why do I get the feeling that we’re not talking about karaoke anymore?”
She’s still chuckling when the older bar owner joins us.
“Thanks for hosting this. Your place looks amazing.”
He shakes his head. “I could never have done it if you hadn’t helped me clear out the cottage.” He looks around. “I hated getting rid of clutter, but I’ll admit that it looks better since we did.”
I glance at Daisy, startled. “You did what?”
She blushes and addresses Ed. “It was nothing. You weren’t completely inHoarders’territory. But you were on the precipice. Having people over is the perfect incentive to make sure your house stays somewhat neat. Besides, Margery did most of the work,” Daisy adds slyly.
Ed turns toward the Tina Turner wannabe. He smiles, and she winks at him before belting out the next verse. Daisy watches the interaction with a grin.
I shake my head. This woman. She touches everyone’s lives. Meddling, but magic. Why does that fact feel like warm chocolate through my veins? Why does a simple drive with her make me lighter, more carefree, than I’ve been in a decade?
“There’s beer in the fridge, and the sign-up sheet for singing is on the dining table. And I have a guitar for you, young man.” Ed slaps me on my back before he ambles away.
Daisy turns to me with a wicked look.
“I’m not performing.”
“Of course you are. Or you’ll hurt our host’s feelings. He’ll think you don’t trust the people at his party.”
“I don’t.”
But she’s already at the living room table. Pen in hand, she bends over, her hair falling in front of her face. I know she’s signing us up to perform.
I should stop her. I should walk out of here. I should head back to Piper’s Peak.
But I feel truly alive. And that feeling has been elusive for too many years. It was the excitement of escaping the paparazzi. Driving with the top down and the music blaring.
