Page 46 of A Line in the Sand
But when Max’s gaze snagged on a trio of walkers parked in front of one of the wooden benches facing the ocean, he remembered what he was doing there and why he was disguised as a tourist. His reasons weren’t remotely homey or nostalgic.
He stomped across the sand—dodging dogs, sand castles, and children hopped up on maple syrup and adrenaline as he went—until he stood in front of the Charlie’s Angels’ park bench with his arms crossed over his now-infamous chest.
“Ladies.” He narrowed his gaze at the three women.
They were all wearing Sand Fan shirts, matching gauzy yellow skirts, and floppy wide-brimmed straw hats. Mavis’s sun hat had the words TALK TO THE SAND stitched around its brim in swirly calligraphy. Opal’s hat said RESTING BEACH FACE. The letters on Ethel’s spelled out CHEERS BEACHES. Mavis’s Chihuahua was perched in the basket of her walker, wearing a tiny yellow and pink tutu. On an ordinary day, Max would have laughed. Alas, a day on which thousands of people stood by the water gawking at his sandy, shirtless lookalike was anything but ordinary.
“Hello, Max,” they all said in unison, blinding him with smiles so big that his cheap plastic sunglasses didn’t stand a chance.
Ethel inspected him over the top of her signature purple bifocals, gaze lingering on his sunglasses and baseball cap. “I see you’ve finally given up on your formal attire and embraced the island look…from the neck up, at least.”
“It looks like you stopped mid-makeover,” Opal said as she passed a thermos to Ethel.
If it contained any form of alcohol, Max wanted in. Now.
“This isn’t a makeover. It’s adisguise.” He gritted his teeth. “Thanks to you three, I’m getting mobbed everywhere I go.”
Mavis flashed him a satisfied smirk. “I told you my grandson and his friends knew what they were doing.”
She glanced at Ethel and Opal on either side of her and then the three women exchanged high fives.
“That sculpture isnotwhat we agreed on,” Max said, directing the full power of his irritation at Opal.
“I told you the design wasn’t final. I very specifically said that I was working on something that would take it to the next level.” She shrugged. “Then you came waltzing into the senior center without your shirt the other night and bam, inspiration struck.”
Mavis nodded. “Just like lightning.”
“We gave the team your picture from theTurtle Dailyalong with a shirtless photograph of Chris Evans and told them to combine the two images into a turtle-saving ocean god. Genius, don’t you think?” Ethel poured whatever was in the thermos into a small paper cup. It smelled like airplane fuel.
Max pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few of the calming breaths Violet was always talking about in yoga class so he wouldn’t do something he’d regret—like fire his entire team of volunteers. “That sand sculpture is inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?” Mavis barked out a laugh. “I think the word you’re looking for ishot.”
Opal nodded. “En fuego.”
“That’s it. I’m cutting you three off.” He grabbed the thermos and tucked it under his arm. Nibbles the Chihuahua let out a tiny growl.
Ethel’s face fell. “That’s not nice, Max. We’re celebrating.”
“The celebration’s over,” he said. A nearby corgi lifted its leg perilously close to Max’s foot. Even the dogs were on the Charlie’s Angels’ side. “The three of you deliberately went behind my back on this. Do you have anything at all to say for yourselves?”
Opal, Mavis, and Ethel all looked at each other. Opal was the first to speak up.
“You’re welcome,” she said with a grin.
“That’s it?You’re welcome?” Max sighed. “I was thinking more in terms of an apology.”
“But we’re not sorry,” Mavis said.
“At all,” added Ethel.
“If we hadn’t changed the design, we might never have gotten this.” Opal reached into the pocket of her gauzy yellow skirt and pulled out a shiny blue ribbon. It fluttered in the wind.
Max went still. “Is that—”
“Grand prize, baby!” Mavis did a fist pump.
Ethel pointed at the thermos, still tucked under Max’s arm. “Can we have our whiskey back now?”
