Chapter 6
SIX
SAVANNA
After picking up Drew from school, we did our weekly Tuesday grocery shopping trip together.
Like clockwork, Drew kept adding one too many desserts to our cart, while I secretly put them back on the shelf before we got to the register.
At the last minute, I decided to keep the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream Drew snuck into the cart, because something tells me after being blindsided by a moody, gorgeous Marine sitting at my bar this afternoon—I'm going to need it.
Because I know for a fact, after today’s turn of events, the only man I want to keep me company while I wallow in self-pity and question all my life’s decisions is Cherry Garcia.
Which just so happens to pair nicely with the pinot noir the cart just happened to pick up on its way to the checkout stand.
I’m sure the earthy notes will blend perfectly with the bitter taste of resentment in the form of Dalton Hayes and the pint of ice cream I plan on eating tonight.
Once I’ve finished unloading the groceries, I head upstairs, exchanging my Salty Sailor’s uniform for an oversized cardinal-red, Georgia baseball sweatsuit.
I slide my feet into cozy, white socks, feeling instant relief after bartending all morning.
Twisting my ponytail into a top-knot, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and let out a sigh. I look like a wreck.
A breath escapes me when I lean over the sink and splash cool water on my face, attempting to wash away the whiplash of the day. My body has felt a thousand different emotions in the span of just a few hours.
One minute I’m speechless at seeing Dalton show up at my workplace after all these years, and then the next I’m a nervous wreck.
Because apparently, the guy still makes my insides twist just like he did when I was a teenager.
Then you add in the feeling of lust as I ogled the off-limits tattooed Marine the rest of my shift.
And now I’ve got a whole lot of repressed anger thinking of Dalton sipping his beer.
Like I never happened.
Like we never happened.
Making my way down the squeaky hardwood stairs, I find Drew sitting at the dining table, coloring a picture with her pastel crayons she got for her birthday. Her light blonde hair looks unruly from a day at school, as I notice chocolate smeared across her cheek that wasn’t there before.
I smirk to myself.
No wonder it was so quiet down here.
I don’t have to look far to know where this girl got her sneakiness from.
Stopping at the table, I peek over Drew’s shoulder to admire her masterpiece so far—the making of some type of sea life artwork stares back at me.
Tilting my head, I study the few oval shapes staring back at me.
“That’s a pretty picture you're making there, Drew baby. What animal are those?” I ask, pointing to various colored ovals.
“It’s a fish family, Mommy,” Drew exclaims, her face lighting up as she talks. “There’s the daddy, mommy, and baby fish! The baby fish is a girl, obviously,” she adds, pointing to the small, pink oval. “Like me!” She taps her chest proudly with her palm.
“Wow, little bean. I absolutely love it. You are quite a little artist. That will be the perfect picture to add to our collection on the fridge.”
In response, I’m met with a beaming smile.
“Don’t you just love it?” Drew asks, the sweetness of her voice oozing out of her. “I made the daddy fish the biggest, since he needs to protect the mommy and baby girl fish.”
I smile down at her, my chest tightening at how many times she’s said the word “Daddy” in the last few minutes. “Absolutely! And what a great idea, Drew. It’s important that the daddy fish always protects his girls.” I lay a soft kiss on the top of her blonde head.
She glances up from her drawing, with a puzzled expression on her face, like she is about to ask me a question, but quickly turns back to the green crayon in her hand. “Yeah,” she replies. “But Mommy?”
My stomach drops because my intuition tells me this is the question I was afraid of.
“If there are lots of daddy fish in the ocean that protect their babies, then how come it’s not like that on land?”
The breath rushes out of me as my brain scrambles to come up with an answer. “Well,” I hesitate, trying to tame her wild hair by pushing a few strands behind her ear. “I guess it’s different on land. Some dads don’t stay with their babies when they're born.”
“Oh,” Drew says, scrunching up her nose.
I see the perplexed look on her face and panic. “But just because we don’t have a dad here protecting us doesn’t mean we’re not protected. We still have Grandpa and Uncle Hudson. They’re big and strong, right?” I force a smile.
Drew’s eyes sparkle, letting out a giggle. “You're right, Mommy. Uncle Hudson could definitely chase the bad guys away.”
I laugh, ruffling her hair. “He sure could.”
Her attention drifts back to her drawing, satisfied for now with my pathetic answer.
Walking toward the cabinet, I grab a wine glass, find my opener, and pop the cork of the Pinot.
The fruity, earthy notes hit my palate on the first glorious sip, and my taut muscles relax entirely.
While Drew colors at the dining table, I spend the next thirty minutes whipping up Drew’s favorite dinner—pasta.
I’m about to take my seat when there’s a knock at my front door. I peek out the front window and find Hudson standing on my raised porch—the sun setting behind him.
Speak of Mr. Macho Protector himself.
“Wow, look who drops in unannounced now,” I tease, opening my front door for him. I step back, making a sweeping grand gesture with my hand.
“Sorry, Sav, for not calling before,” Hudson says as he walks through the entry. He loops his arm around my neck, pulling my head against his chest to run his knuckles through my hair as if we’re kids again. I slap his hand away, and he quickly releases me.
“Dalton and I got a little carried away at Salty’s after you left,” he chuckles.
“We started bullshitting about who could out-fish whom and decided to test that theory by taking his dad’s old fishing boat out.
” He blows out a breath. “Which was probably not the best idea, five beers deep. That fucker still pulled in more fish than me, even though he’s been in the middle of the goddamn desert this last year. ”
I give his shoulder a pat of sympathy, even though I know Dalton is a better fisher than he is. I suppose it comes with the territory of owning your own fishing boat your whole life.
“Anyways...” Hudson continues. “When we got back to the docks and tied up, I remembered our conversation at the bar, and said, ‘Oh, shit. I told Savanna that I would take Drew to the beach this evening.’ So, here I am. Tada!” He holds his arms out like he’s a gift I just unwrapped.
I snort. Hudson can always make me laugh, especially when he’s a little buzzed, which is clearly right now.
“Oh.” I shrug. “You know I’m just teasing, and you can come over whenever you want, especially to hang out with Drew. But I figured you would be busy catching up with Dalton, since it’s been forever since you’ve seen each other.”
Hudson smiles. “Yeah, it was good to catch up with him. It’s been forever since we spent the day hanging out together. I tried my best to get as many Marine war stories out of him as possible.”
The continuous mention of Dalton makes my stomach flip. My wine threatens to claw its way up.
Do not vomit, Savanna.
I try to regain my cool in front of Hudson. “Right. Well, that’s great,” I practically screech, hoping he doesn’t notice the change in my tone. “Drew and I were just about to eat dinner. Are you hungry?”
“I’m starved,” Hudson says, rubbing his hands together.
He makes his way into the dining room, where he finds Drew at the table already eating her dinner.
In one swift move, he quickly whisks her out of her chair, spinning her around.
Drew’s bubbly giggle fills the room. A warmth washes over me as I watch their interaction.
“Uncle Hudson!” Drew shrieks.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite niece.”
“Uncle Hudson, you’re so silly. I’m your only niece.”
Hudson gasps in mock shock, like he doesn’t believe her, while Drew continues to giggle in his arms. Once she’s back in her chair, he pats her head. “Alright, alright. You got me, little Drew.” He winks before making his way toward the counter for a plate.
“Wow. You really are starving.” My eyes widen at his overflowing plate of pasta and salad.
“Fuck yeah, I am. That’s what fishing and drinking beer all afternoon will do to you.”
I roll my eyes at Hudson’s brashness. He knows better.
“Language!” Drew and I both yell.
“Yikes, my bad. It’s hard to get used to watching what I say when I’ve been around athletes my whole life.” He shrugs, taking his seat across from Drew.
Just as Hudson is twirling his pasta onto his fork, Drew decides to revisit our private conversation from earlier. “Uncle Hudson? If you had to, could you beat someone up with a baseball bat?”
Hudson drops the fork back onto his plate, his mouth falling open. Whipping his head in my direction, he points his index finger across the table at Drew. “The fuck did she just say?”
“Language,” Drew squeals.
Meanwhile, I spit my wine back into the glass, cackling as I shrug. “I just told Drew you would always protect her.”
Hudson grips his chest in relief, sighing.
“Oh, thank you, Jesus. I really didn’t want to have to bury a body this soon.
” He reaches across the table and bops Drew on the nose.
“Why yes—yes, I can beat someone up with a baseball bat, my little niece, but preferably not until you're a teenager and started dating.” He winks.
Drew giggles at Hudson’s nose bop. “Uncle Hudson! I thought you said I could never date!”
He finally takes a bite, mulling over his next words. “I did say that, didn’t I? I think thirty is the golden age, Drew,” he says with a mouthful of food.
Snickering, I roll my eyes, taking another sip of wine—Hudson isn’t even thirty.
When I think I’m going to have to listen to Hudson preach on dating, he points his fork at Drew. “Now, since you have an impressive memory for a six-year-old, I say we hurry up and eat and run down to the beach!”
After dinner is done, I clear the table and clean the kitchen.
Pouring myself another hefty glass of wine, I grab my main guy—Cherry Garcia—from the freezer and head out toward the front porch, waiting for Drew and Hudson to come back.
With the screen door slamming shut behind me, I take in the stunning sunset over the ocean—a fiery orange against a turquoise backdrop.
Sitting down, I prop my feet up on the white wicker coffee table as I sip my wine, savoring a few minutes of peace before Drew arrives home, covered in sand and ready for a bath.
I open the lid of my pint of ice cream and scoop up a generous helping, relishing the vanilla and cherry flavor as it hits my taste buds.
I let out a moan.
God, this is good.
I continue eating from the carton when I glance over toward my Jeep sitting in the driveway.
I notice Hudson’s black truck is missing.
How the heck did Hudson get here? And a better question is, how the heck is he getting home tonight?
As I’m mentally preparing to rip into Hudson when he comes back, an older truck pulls in front of my house.
Who the hell is this?
I take another sip of my wine, watching the driver’s side door open. Out steps the mystery man. The first thing I notice in the dusky twilight is his light brown hair, cut into a crew cut.
As he rounds the front of the truck and exposes himself, I notice his dark blue shirt hugging his biceps, the words U.S. MARINES stamped across in yellow block writing.
My head does a double-take as my heart rate goes into overdrive.
Dalton.
Dalton Hayes is at my house.