Page 6 of The Girl He Loves

Chapter 3

Friday

Bike Week officially starts today.Close to half a million people, a large majority on motorcycles, pour into Daytona Beach and surrounding towns and clog up the roads. This isn’t their fault. To manage the congestion, the city is forced to rope off several roads, turning them into one-way streets as one of Daytona's biggest tourist events explodes onto the scene.

The sun is bright and warm, and women clad in bikinis ride behind men dressed in head to toe leather. Mufflers pop around me as people gun their bikes.

Between this and race week, the locals have become desensitized. Now the rev of a motorcycle is like white noise.

The Fox and Hound restaurant, known for its traditional English fare and pub atmosphere, was started by my friend Jayne’s parents, and is kicking off the fundraising event. Each night for the next week, a different local restaurant is slotted to “pop up” in the empty parking lot across from the beach and one block north of the most popular bar on the strip, The Boothill Saloon, which is known for its famous saying, “You’re better off here than across the street.” Which is a cemetery.

The “pop-ups” consist of an RV converted to a kitchen, twelve folding tables, several sets of chairs, and whatever ambiance the restaurant can create. Each restaurant supports a different charity. Based on our location, traffic for our pop-up should be good, and fifty percent of all proceeds will go to the Epilepsy Fund for Families at Orlando Children’s Hospital. It was this foundation that covered a lot of my son’s medical bills when my ex-husband’s insurance didn't.

Along with my friends, Josie, Paisley, and Jayne, I signed up to work a four-hour shift. Our plan is to hang out afterward and maybe go dancing. Soon, Paisley will get married and move across the world to Japan, since that’s where her fiancé Hank’s next duty station is.

Good news. I totally need a night out with my friends.

Bad news. They’ll instantly see right through me and know something’s wrong.

I pull into the designated parking lot for our pop-up, a block east from The Fox and Hound pop up, and check my reflection in my rearview mirror. My eyes are red and puffy from unshed tears, and my throat is splotchy from holding back my angst. Trouble with being a pale-skinned blonde is that all emotion shows on me one way or another. Usually in this blotchy, unflattering way.

I freshen up my mascara, add more blush, and pink my lips with a shiny gloss.

Once my face is back on, I tighten my ponytail, let the few loose strands stay, and force my mouth into a smile. Standing outside my car, I tuck my white T-shirt into the front of my jeans. I’ve worn my Sketchers because, for me, comfort wins over sexy every time.

The walk is quick, and I come up behind the converted RV that’s the kitchen. Jayne is outside the door to the RV, gesturing to staff, likely instructing them on what t their role is. Josie and Paisley flank her side. The restaurant seating takes up most of the parking lot. Several retractable rope-style barricades separate the restaurant patrons from the hundreds of people milling up and down the sidewalk, some drunk as skunks.

Jayne’s the first to notice me. She gives me a wink and a smile which I return. Josie and Paisley each give me a wave.

Jayne’s my boss at her shop The Daily Mirror. I’ve often heard that people shouldn’t go into business with or work for their friends, but Jayne’s been a godsend. Her shop hours have given me the flexibility to prioritize Tyler and college.

Jayne gestures for me to hurry to her, and when I’m beside her, she wraps her arm around my shoulder and gives me a side hug.

She says excitedly, “Here she is, our soon to be teacher.”

Anything she says always sounds wonderful because of her lovely British accent. Jayne has always, always, always been the cheerleader in my life.

Her support makes me want to whine. I shove those emotions away, something I’m good at.

I say, “Okay! What's the plan? I'm ready. Let's do this. Let's earn some money for epilepsy.” I clasp my hands together in forced eagerness, ready to throw myself into the work and forget my troubles for a while.

“Right.” Jayne side-eyes me but moves into hostess mode. “The restaurant is divided into four parts. Back left, back right, front left, front right.”

Four a-frame signs with our restaurant name and the charity we support are spaced out by the barriers for the passersby.

Jayne continues, “Each section has three tables. Josie is covering the front right. Heather, you'll cover the front left. Paisley and I will cover the backs, and I’ll also rotate through, helping where I can. The more people we move through here, the more money we make.”

I say, “I love the sound of that.”

Josie smiles. “Me too, because Brinn and I have decided to match however much is made here tonight.”

Tears spring to my eyes. “Josie, that’s so generous.” I dab at the corners of my eyes to keep from messing up my makeup.

She shrugs nonchalantly. “We saw how helpful the foundation was to you and Tyler. It’s the least we can do.” She hands me a napkin. “No crying. We’ve got money to make.”

Paisley, a pretty redhead with a bright smile, pumps her fist. “Let's do this.”

I wrap her in a hug. She’s in the throes of planning a wedding and getting ready to move overseas, but put all that on hold to do this today.

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