Page 41 of Bar Down, Baby

“I’ll need to take it slow,” she says. I nod, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Slow is good.”

She smiles, but it’s reserved, and I wonder if perhaps she can see the doubt carved into my heart. If she knows it’s my anxiety that’s calling all the shots. But I swear, in this moment, I’m going to do my best to not screw this up.

CHAPTER16

MEGAN

“Iceman isnumber one on my get out of jail free card.” Lule curls her lip around her large, white teeth. “So, so, hot.”

I stifle a giggle as I stir tequila into a pitcher of grapefruit soda and ice. I had never heard of palomas until I moved into this house, but when Faye left, she gifted ‘the house’ a ‘lifetime supply’ of grapefruit soda and tequila. Her lifetime supply lasted about two weeks, but by then, I was hooked. And since all the girls—including Faye, Aly, and Caro—are in town and free, palomas are definitely in order.

Fortunately, it’s simple enough to make a virgin Paloma, and I add a little lime leaf to my glass for a festive touch.

“Have you seen Val Kilmer? Recently?” Ainsley asks. She winces slightly as Aly squeezes her arm and shakes her head.

“What? Do you lose your interest because someone grows flaccid?” Lule asks, her tone sharp.

Tansy says “Yes” at the same time Ainsley says, “No.”

Ainsley frowns and says, “But that’s not quite—”

“Val Kilmer is a national treasure and he’s all yours, Lule,” Faye says, settling the matter.

If you’d told me a year ago that I’d be having a girls’ night with Faye Benington, I would have laughed. Hard. And then I would’ve been so flattered, because Faye is not like anyone I’ve ever been friends with. She’s brilliant and kind and comes from money. But beyond that she’s really just a great human.

She’s part of the reason for the girls’ night tonight. A sort of send-off for her as she gets ready for a month-long visit to the Faroe Islands for something bird-related. But also, Lule says she has news. Of course, I do too, but I’m not sure I’m ready to spill that can of beans yet.

I did already spill the news to Bee. She’s my best friend. I couldn’t not. She’s already requested I bequeath my child with her name for a middle name.

“But what if it’s a boy?” I had asked. I haven’t been able to stop thinking of the baby as aheever since Midge suggested it.

“Then he’ll have a very elegant and mysterious middle initial. People will ask him what his middle name is, and he’ll just sayB. I’m sure there are many dignified gentlemen with single letters for middle names. Herman B. Wells. Michael B. Jordan.”

“Homer J. Simpson.”

“My name doesn’t start with J.”

Her logic has rendered me speechless since we were six years old. Why should I expect that to change?

“You need a hand?” Faye says, interrupting my thoughts. Her hazel eyes are bright and kind, and I can tell by the glow in her peachy complexion just how happy she is.

“Oh, uh,” I say, blinking. “Maybe we could use a tray?”

She smiles kindly, and goes to the pantry to fish one out. I break a tray of half-evaporated ice cubes and drop them in the prepared glasses.

“How do you like living here?” she asks as she rummages through a shelf. I quarter limes and squeeze them over the scant ice cubes.

“It’s so great,” I say, trying to sound cool and grateful. “Is there more ice?” I ask, and Faye nods.

“Oh yeah. Use this.” She passes a silver bucket full of ice from the counter along the opposite wall that was sitting next to the cocktail fixings. “That freezer eats ice cubes, I swear.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“So, you’re liking it?”

“Yeah, it’s been great.”

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