Page 10 of Passing Ships

When we finish filling the garbage bags, I tie them off and hoist them down to the outdoor bins while Sebastian and Wade move the furniture, which was moved to make room for dancing last night, back into place.

The girls rejoin us so I can pass out hugs before Wade and Eden take me to Wilmington to catch my flight.

“Here, don’t forget this.”

Sebastian hands me my phone, and I shove it into my pocket.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as we set dates so you can make plans,” Avie says.

“Yeah, I can’t do anything without my best man,” Seb states.

“I’ll be here, brother. Promise.”

With one last slap on the back, we say our goodbyes, and I head to the airport.

Amiya

Nine Months Later

My best friend is getting married!

I load my car with four weeks’ worth of luggage and my entire home office and head to Sandcastle Cove—a small island off the southern coast of North Carolina—so that I can be there to fulfill the responsibilities as the best friend, maid of honor, and head coordinating bitch of Avie and Sebastian’s extravaganza.

Lucky for me, my position as senior financial analyst with the Greater Atlanta Planning Corporation is ninety-nine percent remote work, and I can spin my magic for clients from anywhere. I love numbers. I’m good with them. So, managing the investment portfolios of the wealthy, although challenging at times, is something I excel at. I usually work three to four days a week from my tiny Buckhead apartment and go into the downtown Atlanta office a couple of days to either ruffle the feathers of my stuffed-shirt boss—who acts annoyed but secretly adores me—socialize with other human beings, or attend team meetings, but for the entire month of June, I’ll be curled up with my laptop on the sandy shores of Avie’s island home.

Avie and Sebastian’s love story is one full of twists and turns. They met when we were on vacation in Hawaii during summer break from college. They shared a steamy night on a yacht, unknowingly creating a life, and then parted ways without even exchanging contact information.

When her wishy-washy ex, Conrad, called, begging her to come back, she moved to New York to support his ass. They had a sad courthouse excuse of a wedding when they found out she was pregnant and started a life together while I was still finishing up school at the University of Georgia. That was, until he found out the baby wasn’t his. The marriage fell apart, and Avie and her little Leia came home to me in Atlanta.

It was fantastic until fate and a temporary job at a sea turtle sanctuary took them to Sandcastle Cove, where she came face-to-face with her super-sexy, secret baby daddy.

What are the odds?

As my grandmother would say, “Divine intervention likes to parade around as coincidence.”

Or, in this case, a series of coincidences.

I don’t know if I buy the whole divine intervention thing, but even my cynical ass has to admit, the road leading to this wedding has been one hell of a crazy ride.

Therefore, the whole greater power interceding bears consideration.

I like to give Sebastian shit for swooping in and stealing my bestie away, but the truth is, I’m so damn happy to see my girls get their happily ever after.

I might have even helped the divine one with the intervention, nudging them toward one another.

Sure, it would have been nice if it had been brought to fruition in the Atlanta area, but I guess I’ll have to settle for being grateful that it all went down within a six-hour drive. It’s much better than the nearly nine hundred miles between Atlanta and Manhattan with the added benefit of there being no Conrad Sullivan in sight.

I throw my sunglasses on my face and turn the radio on full blast as I guide my Mercedes onto I-95 north.

Ready or not? Here I come.

“Auntie Miya!”

As I open the door and step out onto the gravel drive, I’m greeted by Leia’s excited cry as she barrels down the walkway.

Bending at the knee, I catch the five-year-old mid-stride.

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