“Of course there are. Just takes finding them, I guess. Especially ones that are up for having fun until you decide they’re worthy of beingMr. Right,” I laugh, jabbing at her favorite term to use.
This city is filled with men who simply want to hook up, or men who want to hook up and then return to their families at night.
You’d think our generation would have evolved by now.
“Oh, thank god you’re here,” Kimber, our other best friend, greets us, pulling us toward the closest barstool. “I’m two lavender cosmos in and dying to spill about my day. What took you girls so long?”
“Ask Cove,” Betsy calls me out, brows raised with extra spite.
I send her a charismatic smile. “Oh, just stuff with my mom and the house. You know…same shit, different day. I hate it here,” I sigh.
Kimber orders three tequila shots and turns back to face us. “Is she okay? Don’t tell me something else broke again?”
I shake my head, truly at a loss for words on what to do. “Not exactly. There’s another leak. I showed up this morning to a flood of water across her kitchen floor. I feel so bad. It’s just one thing after the other.”
“Jesus,” Kimber sighs. “Does she have a plan?”
“I’m still trying to help her figure that out. First, it’s the roof damage from the hurricane that she’s still battling insurance over. Doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. Then the mold in the bathrooms. I swear all of her appliances are going out one by one. And to top it all off, I know the air conditioning is on its last leg. I could hear the fan kicking on and off, like it’s working overtime to cool the house down. And those are just the obvious things we can see. I’m dreading to hear what comes from the full house inspection.”
“That can’t be good,” Betsy mumbles worriedly. “I know firsthand how expensive home renovations are. If there’s anything I can do…”
“I hate that for her. Your mom is one of the best women I know. She shouldn’t have to worry about these kinds of things,” Kimber says.
I nod, because she is. My mom raised me on her own. Worked two jobs for most of my childhood just to give me a stable life. That’s why I’m adamant about helping her.
But she’s stubborn and refuses my help. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose. “If only she would let me help her. It’s infuriating. She refuses to take my money. Although my savings are almost entirely depleted, so I’m not sure how much help it would be. I’ve been working more, hoping I can save up. She refuses to stay with me and Betsy until we can figure out how to make the repairs. I feel like I’m just at this roadblock right now with no clue where to go from here.”
“I’d totally welcome Mama Davenport at our place,” Betsy chimes in, grabbing the tequila shots and distributing them. “It can’t be safe for her to stay in that house.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” I agree. “I’d hate to see her get sick and be unable to work at allbecause she was too stubborn to accept help. But it’s exactly something my mom would do.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” Kimber retorts, fluttering her far-from-innocent eyelashes at me. “Wait a minute. No book tonight?” She searches my arms for a hidden novel. I’m notorious for bringing an aged paperback everywhere I go, just in case a spare moment calls for it.
Tonight, I left the love letters and historic novelists at home. I have no intention of boring her.
“It’s just me tonight, bitch,” I press. “How about you get to talking about all the drama you needed to spill and leave me and my novels alone?”
Kimber smiles wide, and while I can typically read what she’s thinking, this time I’m confident it could be anything. “We’re gonna need to sit for this,” she says before turning on her heels and leading us to a velvet couch against the corner wall.
The space feels sultry and sensual with dim lights, velvet couches, high top tables, and oddly shaped chairs for members to unwind. A bar made from polished concrete and granite lines the back wall, servers waiting in perfectly manicured tuxedos to wait on our every need.
The ceiling of the vault is the most exquisite part of all. Dismantled pieces of massive compasses cover the entire surface, tucked alluringly into the crown molding. Most are larger than the diameter of a cocktail table. The compass housing, lines, arrows, and magnetic needles are all intentionally warped together in a weathered bronze, making the vibes of this place feel otherworldly.
Not a single detail is missed.
It’s timeless and rightfully a coveted spot for the elite Miami crowd.
Lucky for Kimber and me, Betsy’s family is the top-selling real estate company in all of South Florida. Miami is the city bringing in the most profit and capital to maximize its net worth.
It’s because of Betsy’s family status that we even have access to the VIP area.
Settling onto the couch, we hold our shot glasses out high to clink together. “First, we cheers to being the successful women we are. And second, because your girl just landed a job with the Nightingale brothers!” Kimber tells us with the brightest smile on her face.
“Kimber, are you serious?” I shout. “You got the job? You get to design the Nightingale houses?”
“I do!” Kimber squeals, bouncing in her slinky purple dress with excitement. “Drink up, babes, and I’ll tell you more.”
“The things I would do to those men,” Betsy groans, tossing back her shot.
