Page 16 of Alice & Meg, Girls Trip

“Isn’t that what Bob Barker used to say?” Wendy laughed, clearly amused by Greta’s impromptu public service announcement.

Greta stared off dreamily for a moment. “Good ol’ Bob is the reason why I became a vet. The man inspired me.”

“Yeah,” I laughed, the nausea slowly fading as the adrenaline from our wild ride ebbed. “Watching a man have people guess how much a can of green beans costs is very inspiring.”

Greta rolled her eyes and pocketed the golf cart key, clearly not in the mood for my sarcasm.

Just then, another golf cart rolled up next to us, dust kicking up from its wheels. Paige was behind the wheel, and I could see Raven, Cyn, Karmen, and Lennox piled in with her. Paige didn’t look too happy.

“What in the hell are you guys doing?” Paige grumbled, her voice laced with irritation. “You kicked up a huge cloud of dust when you hit the ditch. I had to pull over until it dissipated.”

“Squirrel,” the four of us called in unison, those of us who had endured Greta’s ride of terror.

Paige raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “You drove off the road for a squirrel?”

Greta shrugged, utterly unapologetic. “Better the ditch than flattening a squirrel. I stand by my decision.”

“You would,” Raven laughed, shaking her head as she hopped out of the cart. “You’ve got the weirdest priorities, Greta.”

“Priorities?” Greta scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Saving lives, no matter how small, isn’t weird. It’s my job.”

“Thank goodness your job doesn’t require your driving skills,” Nikki quipped, rubbing her shoulder like she was still shaking off the effects of our bumpy detour.

“Not everyone appreciates greatness in the moment,” Greta said with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath, grateful to be on solid ground again. “Next time, I’m driving. Or at least someone who’s not trying to turn our trip into an off-road adventure.”

“Let’s get some lunch at the bar,” Meg called out, her voice carrying over the buzz of the campground. “Then we can wander around and see what we can all do.”

We all eagerly agreed and made our way to the bar opposite the front office and store. It was a rustic, wilderness-themed place, with a charm that was both rugged and inviting. The walls were adorned with aged wood panels, and mounted antlers framed a few landscape paintings that depicted serene lakes and towering pine trees. The smell of grilled food mingled with the earthy scent of the wood, making the whole place feel cozy yet lively.

“This place is nice,” Reva observed, her eyes sweeping over the long bar on one wall, which was lined with sturdy wooden stools. On the opposite wall, a row of booths provided a more private setting, and scattered throughout the room were ten round tables, each surrounded by four chairs. All of the booths were filled, but the bar was empty.

We all took a seat at the bar, our large group filling almost every available spot. After we settled in, there were only eight empty barstools left.

I picked up the menu and started scanning the drink options, noting that some of the selections were as rustic as the décor.

“Oh my lord,” Meg exclaimed as she browsed the menu, her eyes lighting up. “I am definitely getting a Smoky Campfire Moscow Mule.” She tipped her head thoughtfully. “And probably an Old Fashioned in case the mule sucks.”

Raven grinned and raised her fist in the air. “Let the double-fisting begin at twelve-seventeen in the afternoon,” she cheered. “I’m getting two Dirty Shirley’s.”

I looked up from my menu and raised an eyebrow at her. “You don’t want to try something new? What about the Tequila Spiked Blackberry Lemonade?” Dirty Shirley’s were Raven’s go-to, but you would think she might try something new.

Raven shook her head firmly. “I know what I like, and that is Dirty Shirley’s.”

Paige, sitting next to Raven, glanced over with curiosity. “What’s in a Dirty Shirley?” she asked.

Raven, ever the entertainer, held up one hand. “Shirley Temple.” Then she held up her other hand. “Vodka.” With a dramatic flourish, she clapped her hands together. “Dirty Shirley, baby.”

Paige tipped her head to the side, looking slightly underwhelmed. “I thought it would be more clever than that.”

Reva let out a gasp. “Holy shit,” she said, her eyes wide with excitement. “Do you think they’ll deliver drinks to our campsite? I want a Campfire Hot Chocolate with Peanut Butter Whiskey, but not until I sit around the campfire in my new sweatshirt.”

Before we could discuss the logistics of campsite drink delivery, the bartender appeared. He walked through the door behind the bar, wiping his hands on a white towel slung over his shoulder. He was a tall man with a friendly smile, his hair tied back in a loose bun.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted us with a grin. “What can I get you?”

Raven’s enthusiastic description of the Dirty Shirley must have made an impression because Paige, Karmen, Nikki, Wendy, and Cyn all decided to order one. The rest of us went for the Smoky Campfire Moscow Mule, with Meg sticking to her plan and getting a backup Old Fashioned just in case the muledidn’t live up to her expectations. Lennox just had a double Shirley Temple.

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