Page 132 of Every Beautiful Mile

I snort at the Abby reference. “She sounds great, Finn. You should invite her over for dinner or something. Or now that the Avion is gone, we can do something with the shed so you can have friends over to hang out.”

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay.”

I don’t cry or hug him or do a dancing scream as my heart swells until it’s too big for my body when he simply smiles at me. I just nod, twirl my spaghetti, and act like that conversation didn’t just make every single hard one worth it.

***

The day the magazine comes out in the last week of November, I’m drunk on disbelief.

My dad closes The Crow’s Nest to the public, and we have a big dinner with family and close friends to celebrate. When he holds up the page as he stands at the head of the table, everyone cheers.

“Penelope Crawford takes her unique cocktail-creating skills and award-winning flair for creating a fun atmosphere of her family’s business to the next level, offering her skills to bar owners everywhere who want to run their business with more efficiency, fun, and creativity with her consulting services at Twist of Lime Consulting.”

Despite how hard the transition has been for my dad, his voice drips with pride as he reads the words out loud.

I look at the picture in his hands and can barely believe it’s me. There I am, standing in the green dress I bought in Maine, leaning against the bar with a huge grin on my face and a cocktail shaker in my hand.

“Speech!” Gabe calls through cupped hands.

The cry echoes around as fists pound against the table, making plates and silverware rattle loudly.

I stand up with a glass of wine in my hand. “Okay, okay.” I face a palm toward them. “I’d like to take this moment to thank my parents for irresponsibly raising me behind a bar and helping me learn every inappropriate thing I didn’t know I needed to know.”

They laugh, hug each other with a kiss, and smile like I’ve just given them the biggest compliment of their lives.

“And to Gabe, for letting me make bad cocktails for him when he was way too young to be drinking them.”

He cheeses a grin and holds up his beer like it’s a trophy, earning a laugh from everyone and a playful slap to his chest from Jenny.

“To all those spring breakers who sat on barstools and ordered ridiculous shots I had to fumble my way through every single year.”

My dad nods at that one, raising his glass, no doubt recalling how much of a headache that time of year can be.

“To Marin and Finn.” My voice cracks in two the second I say their names. “For believing in me and loving me no matter how much I mess up. For waiting for me to get my head out of the sand. For helping me find my way. I would never have done this if I didn’t know they weren’t beside me.”

Tears carve rivers down my face I don’t bother wiping. Across the length of the table, my mom dabs her eyes. Finn gives me a small smile as Marin interlaces her fingers with mine.

“And to…”

Ethan.

His name fills my mouth with every unsaid confession.

“…to everyone that drank a cocktail I created. Thank you for believing in me enough to get me here.”

I raise my glass and smile.

Then, all the glasses were in the air, clanking together in my honor, and my heart bursts at the beautiful sound of it.

***

“Penelope. I’m proud of you.”

My mom leans next to the commercial sink in the restaurant’s empty kitchen as I rinse the plates from dinner.

“Thanks, Mom. Really. For everything.”

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