Page 121

“Oh my God,” I hear my wife shriek, and the next second she takes the steps up on the other side of the tiki bar and flies into the back. “Maribel wouldn’t stop talking. I’m going to wet myself.”

“Daddy,” Lila says, and when I glance back at my kids, I watch as my baby girl carries her book toward me. My four-year-old holds it up and points at a word. “What’s this?”

“Adventure.”

Repeating the word over and over, she returns to the table and climbs onto the chair.

A couple of months ago, she got upset because Tyler had homework to do and she didn’t have any, so we’ve been giving her reading assignments so she doesn’t feel left out.

“Why do I have to do my homework on a Friday?” Tyler mumbles. “I can do it on Sunday.”

Before I can reply, Ana comes up behind me and asks, “How are things here?”

“Good.” I jab a thumb in Tyler’s direction. “Your son wants to know why he has to do his homework now.”

I walk away, but stop dead in my tracks when I hear her say, “Last time I checked, you were there when he was made.”

Turning around, I stalk back to her. Locking my arm around her, I yank her flush against my chest, and leaning down, I murmur in a low tone, “It’s been eleven years since we made him. My memory’s a little foggy. Maybe we should go to the office so you can remind me how it’s done.”

Ana lets out a burst of laughter, and with a playful twinkle in her eye, she pats my chest while pulling away. “You’ll have to wait until the kids are asleep tonight.”

“Daddy,” Lila says, coming toward us with her book. “What’s this word?”

I place my hand on her head and lean down so I can see. “Forever.”

Again, she repeats the word while going back to the table.

“I’m done!” Tyler shouts, slamming his book shut before taking off like a bat out of hell.

“Don’t go far!” Ana calls out. “We’re leaving in an hour!”

“Okay.”

Something slaps the counter hard behind me, and when I turn around, I see a big red snapper that Julio has brought.

Every Friday, he brings a fish in exchange for two beers.

If there’s one thing the old man is good at, it’s fishing. He started the tradition the day we opened Last Light, our tiki bar.

“Damn, Julio,” Ana gasps. “That’s a big one.” She looks at him with fond eyes. “Please tell me you’re joining us for dinner tonight.”

He shakes his head. “Maybe next week.”

He says the same thing every time.

I pour his beer and slide the glass in front of him. “How was it out on the water this week?”

Julio lets out a sigh, making it sound like it was bad, but then answers, “Very good. The boat was so heavy it dragged all the way back to shore.”

I give him a grin. “Glad to hear it went well.”

One by one, the locals arrive. Over the years, our bar has become everyone’s favorite hangout place on weekends.

A few come for the food, and others to have a drink, but they all support us in some way.

When we first arrived, Ana and I took a year to enjoy our new life together. We decorated our house, learned the language, and slowly integrated ourselves into the community.

With the millions I have in a Swiss bank account, we don’t have to work, but having no obvious means of income would’ve drawn attention, so we brainstormed and decided to open the tiki bar.