“Not me,” June said from the chaise lounge next to mine. “I’m a world-class loafer.”
“Shouldn’t we be doing something to help?”
The clip-clop of Mary Jane clogs on the cement patio followed by a shadow blocking out the sun had me squinting to open my eyes. Clarke’s pristine ponytail bounced when she shook her head. Between her honey-blonde hair and pink, pastel sundress, she looked like a Barbie doll come to life.
Plus-size & Poolside Barbie.
“Oh, we are,” she assured us, rounding the chairs to top off our iced teas. “We’re, and I quote, ‘staying out of Wesley’s way.’”
I grabbed a handful of ripe Rainier cherries from the bowl between us and popped one into my mouth. The crisp crunch was enough to make an ASMR artist weep.
It was the perfect afternoon for a backyard gathering. Yesterday’s surprise rainstorm had washed away the balmytemperatures and brought with it a cool, coastal breeze. Between the cooler weather, the never-ending supply of slutty iced tea, and the cloud-soft outdoor furniture, I might just have to move in.
Clarke and Soren certainly had room to spare.
Their house was stunning. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a gourmet, eat-in kitchen, and the fireplace of my dreams—perfect for rainy day reading. Plus, it came with Wes Nuñez’s authentic Puerto Rican cooking, although that was just a temporary perk.
The happy couple had put a lot of work—and funds—into rehabbing the house since Soren had bought it back in July. It never ceased to amaze me what somebody could get done in such a short amount of time when they had the money to make it happen. Meanwhile, Nero and I had been saving to replace our dishwasher for almost a year, and we were still months away from making it a reality.
Three hundred days of handwashing had made my hands drier than the Sahara Desert.
I tipped my head back and lifted my nose. “I don’t know what he’s making, but it smells incredible.”
That was putting it lightly. I could take a bath in that garlicky, buttery goodness. The pungent aroma of herbs and some kind of seafood—shrimp, maybe—blanketed the patio.
“Seriously,” June echoed. “Wes is welcome at my place anytime. Not that there’s room for him. It’s a one-butt kind of kitchen.”
June owned and lived at Bed of Roses, a vintage trailer resort. Rose City might not have had any hotels—though town council had just approved plans for a boutique hotel on the outskirts—but we did have a collection of vintage Airstreams named after famous Roses. They had become increasingly popular with Gen Z and millennial travel vloggers over the last year or so.
“Not that I use my kitchen anyway.”
I scoffed. June was, and had always been, “cooking challenged.” And that was putting it politely. The truth was, she lived mostly off canned soup and takeout Chinese food.
I shielded my eyes with my hand and turned toward my best friend. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say the prepackaged veggie tray on the counter is yours?”
“You know me so well.”
“No judgment here,” Clarke said, lying back in the last available chaise and effectively sandwiching me between her and June. “After the last couple of weeks of unpacking and organizing, I’m worn slap out. I picked this party theme for a reason. Less work for me.”
There were two types of people in the world: those who enjoyed theme parties and the monstrous sociopaths who did not. Funny enough, they usually married each other.
Thankfully, I was of the first variety, and I had a dedicated trunk full of hats, costumes, and wigs to prove it. Not that a B.Y.O.B. party called for a cotton candy ombré wig—I was saving that for this year’s Halloween costume. That hadn’t stopped me from putting together something sweet for today’s festivities.
“Don’t tell,” Clarke said, barely louder than a whisper. Not that anybody could hear us. Last I checked, Matty was helping Wes in the kitchen while Soren prepped the barbecue. The rest of the guests were expected anytime now. “I already dipped into Nessa’s caramel sauce.”
“And?” I probed.
“To die for.” She practically moaned. “Cross my heart, when my time comes, I want to go slathered in that sauce.”
That perked me up quicker than my morning hazelnut latte. Desperate to manifest an early fall, I’d arranged a board inspired by one of my favorite autumnal treats: caramel apples.
Multiple apple varieties, a kick-ass caramel sauce recipe I’d found on Pinterest, sugary-sweet, candied nuts . . .
Alexa, play “My Favorite Things” by Julie Andrews.
For a moment, I second-guessed my choice to create a dessert board. After all, most of the party guests were Soren’s teammates, many of whom had strict diet restrictions during the season. But apples were fruit and fruit was healthy . . . even when covered in peanuts and rainbow sprinkles. Right?
“When did you say Kay gets back to town?” June prodded.
