Page 1 of Our Long Days
CHAPTER ONE
florence
NEW YEAR’S EVE
Fact:parties are fun and games until you’re approached by a stranger.
The music thumps through the floorboards beneath my sneakers, flashes of white zigzag across the room from the strobe light, and a guy with questionable wardrobe choices yaps on about the yield of his crop.
I’m not one to judge, but thick wool socks paired with Birkenstocks in the height of a New England winter is a statement.
Not exactly how I intended to spend New Year’s Eve.
Subtly, I glance at my watch. I’m wearing the fancy analog one I received for my 21stbirthday. Under the dim lighting, it’s harder than usual to decipher what the position of the hands translates to, something I’ve always struggled with.
A throat clears, my subtlety flying out of the window.
“Sorry. I was checking the time.” I offer him a tight-lipped smile.
He laughs. It’s not unkind, but there’s a sprinkling of patronization there. “Took you a while.”
The thing is, I know it’s a joke, and perhaps it’s the lack of tequila in my system, but it irks me. Icantell time, just not as quick as most people.
“It’s time I stole my sister away.” At the sound of my brother’s cheerful voice, my irritation disappears. “Sorry, buddy.”
Socks and Sandals eyes the larger man behind me. Booth isn’t intimidating, especially with his cheesy grin and the flamboyant dance moves he was demonstrating minutes earlier. Plus, he’s good at reading people, and my body language screamsHelp me!
The man doesn’t relent. “Maybe we can swap numbers. I’d like to ta?—”
“Nope.” Booth spins us away, moving in the direction of the bar before I can utter a word. “Jeez, Flo. What were you doing, talking to that douche canoe?”
With a huff, I shove his heavy arm off me as we wiggle through the crowd.
“He approached me. Can’t a girl enjoy some male attention now and again?”
“Bleugh. You can do better.”
Booth’s the youngest of my three older brothers. He stands out the most, with his dark brown locks and blue eyes—the rest of us have blonde hair and green eyes. Well, my shade is more platinum thanks to my latest box dye job and sits above my shoulders in a blunt cut.
Booth waves over our oldest brother, Patrick, who mans the bar with his girlfriend, Johanna. “What are you drinking?”
“A paloma, please.”
Propping my elbows up behind me, I scan the room. The tables and chairs that usually make up the restaurant floor are pushed aside for the makeshift dance floor. It might not looklike it, but behind the streamers and flashing lights is a sanctuary of sorts, a second home.
Home away from home.
Our Place.
My father and Johanna's always dreamed of going into business together. What was once just an idea between two best friends is now a reality, and the doors have been open for almost thirty years.
A small knot forms in my chest when my hand runs along the smooth wood bar.
Dad would’ve loved this.
“You’re getting all misty eyed over there,” Booth shouts over the vocals of Aretha Franklin. “You okay?”
I nod. “Yep. Just thinking about how Dad would’ve given you a run for your money for the worst dancer.”
