I waggle my eyebrows, earning me a slap on the shoulder.
“Just keep an open mind today, okay, Stopwatch?”
She straightens. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
I bring her hand up, press a kiss to her knuckles, then tug her toward the diner.
“Come on, tell me. What is it? Is your family weird?”
“Extremely weird.” I chuckle. “But that’s not it.”
I feel her grip tighten as I push open the door. The diner bell overhead rings with a sharp, nostalgic jingle. Ivy can’t even blink before the air explodes.
“SURPRISE!”
Noise slams into us—cheering, clapping. Someone whistles like we won the Super Bowl.
Ivy stops dead when she reads the banner:Thank you Ivy… The Salty Old Sea Hag Renovations Are Complete!
Ivy gapes, piecing together the purpose of my surprise. One year ago, her hard work at the Hotel Bellwether raised $6.2 million for a research vessel most people had never heard of. That money brought the Salty Old Sea Hag back to her former glory. And now, the Saltwater Saviors are back on the water, saving more sea lives every day.
I watch the awe move across her face.
She turns to me. “Cole.”
“Open mind,” I say.
She grabs my face and kisses me shamelessly.
Until—
“YO YO, PAUSE the PDA love birds! Content first, tongues later. We’re LIVE!”
Blaze appears, camera first.
“FAM! She’s here! Look at that face! That’s the face of a GAL who JUST GOT AMBUSHED by gratitude! SMASH that like button to show some love!”
“Blaze,” she says calmly, “Before you went live, tell me you ran backend metadata. Tags. A pinned comment. Accessibility captions.”
He staggers back, hand over his heart. “WHAT’S THIS? No ‘Hey, Blaze my bestie’? No ‘We missed you, you magnificent menace’?”
“Metadata?”
“I did the tags. I think.” He grins. “Either way, Boss, I SLAPPED A MEME of you as a mermaid on the thumbnail. You’re welcome.”
For a hot second, it felt like he was growing up. But nope, this is classic Blaze—all charm and no follow-through. Then again, I didn’t think I’d ever change. Maybe all he needs is a woman stubborn enough to put up with him.
My mom doesn’t walk toward Ivy. Shelaunches.
One second she’s behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron; the next, she has Ivy’s face cupped in both palms, her smile so bright it could power the neon sign outside. She has the homing instincts of a sea lion, which, yes, are different from a seal. Eleven months ago, I called home and saidI met someonein a voice that apparently told her everything she needed to know.
“Ivy!” she gasps, hugging her like they’ve been best friends forever. “Look at you. Cole’s photos don’t do you justice. You’re even prettier in person.”
