Page 48 of Passing Ships

The head chef—a silver fox—makes his rounds and speaks to each patron.

“Hello, ladies. I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Chef Paul. How was your dinner?” he asks when he makes it to us.

“My God, that halibut and saffron risotto was perfection. I’ve never had a better beurre blanc sauce. Seriously top-tier,” I reply.

The girls agree and offer their own compliments.

“I’m happy you enjoyed it, and I hope you’ll join us again so I get another chance to impress you,” he says before excusing himself.

“Handsome, and he cooks. I wonder if Chef McHottie is single,” Savannah coos.

“You’re not single,” Lisa points out.

Savannah sighs. “I know, but Amiya is, and we can live vicariously through her,” she says.

“Speaking of, when are your husbands arriving?” Avie asks.

“Next week. Bobby’s picking the girls up from the in-laws’ house on Sunday, and they’ll drive up on Monday morning,” Savannah says.

“Sam’s in Chicago, and he’s flying in on Sunday morning,” Lisa adds.

“That’s great. They’ll be here in time to enjoy the island,” Avie says.

“Yeah, I told Sebby to include them when the guys do their big deep-sea-fishing excursion. Bobby’s really looking forward to it.”

We finish dessert, and Savannah and Lisa insist on taking care of the bill.

“Are we ready to move this party outside?” Lisa asks as she tucks her credit card back into her purse.

“Lead the way,” Avie says.

We make a quick stop in the ladies’ room before we’re led to the sprawling raised wooden deck that extends into the water. Patrons are protected from the crashing waves by plexiglass walls that extend high above the railing but still allow for unobstructed views of the Atlantic. Elegant high-top cocktail tables and plush seating are scattered across the deck, framed by potted palm trees and soft ambient lighting. Every detail exudes sophistication—from the sleek, minimalist furniture made of teak and natural stone to the carefully curated tropical plants that border the small, raised stage and give the space a lush yet polished feel. The bar itself is a showpiece, made of polished marble with an aquatic-themed mosaic and a backlit display of premium spirits.

Low-lit lanterns dot the tabletops and create a warm, inviting glow as dusk turns to night.

Savannah leads us to our table in the far corner to the left of the bar as a young girl with an amazing voice and her accompanying guitarist take the stage.

“Wow, so posh,” Avie says as we settle in.

“Right? This place belongs on Miami’s South Beach,” I say.

“I’m excited to have something like this on our tiny island. No one lives in a small town because it has high-rise condos and big, fancy malls. It’s because of its charm. Mom-and-pop stores. Locally owned restaurants, where your high school friend’s aunt cooks her family’s special recipes. We aren’t Miami or Daytona or even Myrtle Beach. We like it that way, and I love the laid-back atmosphere, but a girl likes to get dressed up and enjoy a night of decadence every now and again,” Avie muses.

It’s true. Sandcastle Cove is an oasis, a hidden gem, and I’m so happy it has embraced Avie and Leia as its own. I love spending every second I can here with them, and I ain’t mad at this new nightlife option either.

We walk out of the front of the restaurant at ten and find Sebastian standing beside his Bronco.

“Ladies, your chariot awaits,” he says as he opens the front and rear passenger doors for us to file inside, placing a kiss on Avie’s lips as she slides into the front seat.

“Did you have a good night?” he asks.

“The best,” she murmurs.

Before closing her door, he beams at her. Literally beams. It’s the sweetest thing, the way he looks at her with so much love.

We drop Lisa and Savannah off first and then make our way to the cabana, where Leia is waiting with her uncle Lennon.

Avie stays in the car while Sebastian walks me inside. He scoops a sleeping Leia off the couch and carries her to the door.

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