Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Today was the day.
Maddy had been up since five, which was when she’d slid out of Aspen’s bed and snuck back to Bunny’s before anyone with a working set of opinions could wake up and clock her coming through the door at dawn.
She’d tried to fall back asleep in her own bed for a couple of hours, but was too anxious.
It was the good kind of anxious though, mostly. Excited, with a bit of nerves running underneath it.
She was going to play in the Cup for the first time in fifteen years. She was going to see Noa and the rest of the Reyes’ and the Howells.
Jake had assured her that his family couldn’t wait to see her, so that part she wasn’t too concerned about. It was the Reyes’ of it all that had her wound a bit tight.
The Reyes’ had always loved her, but they were also the type to speak their minds and share their feelings out loud, and they were very protective of their own.
Which meant that if anyone still had something to say about the way Maddy had left, they were going to say it to her face, today, on the beach, in front of the whole community.
Probably Carmen—Noa’s mom. Possibly one of Noa’s sisters. Possibly all three in shifts.
Maddy was prepared for that. She’d been prepared for weeks. She’d been especially prepared for the past two days, since Noa had finally texted her back.
She’d been at the kitchen island, finalizing HR paperwork for her new role, when Noa’s name lit up her phone, and her stomach dropped straight through the floor.
It had been three weeks since she’d texted Noa when she was at the aquarium and had gotten nothing in return. After a few days, she’d stopped checking for the reply and told herself it was fair. Deserved.
It turned out Noa had been on a research boat off Baja with no signal for the past three weeks, and had texted Maddy back the second she was back on dry land and saw her message. The text ended with can’t wait to see you at the Cup.
So that seemed promising. And if the price of getting Noa back was standing on the beach and taking a dressing-down from all four Reyes women one by one, then Maddy would stand there and take it. She had thick skin. You did not survive eleven years in unscripted television without it.
It was one hour until the guests were due to arrive at the beach, and Maddy was working a coat of SPF 70 into a face that was going to burn regardless.
Her phone buzzed against the dresser.
Aspen: Throne fully assembled. Coming to you to help with the coolers.
Aspen had been down at the beach finishing the setup that the two of them had abandoned the night before in favor of more interesting activities.
Maddy smiled at the phone like Aspen had said something charming, which she had not. There was absolutely no reason for her to be smiling at that text. And yet, she couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.
Her eyes drifted to the flowers on the dresser, sitting next to the unopened bottle of champagne.
The flowers were on day five now, holding up admirably in a water glass, because the water glass was the only thing in the house tall enough to hold them.
The actual vases were all filled with the Pomeranians’ spare bows.
The flowers and the champagne were from the night they’d gotten back from Pine Valley.
Aspen had dropped her off at Bunny’s that afternoon and driven the fireworks to the pyrotechnics office to lock them up until Saturday. Maddy had offered to help, but Aspen had insisted she get some well-deserved rest.
So Maddy had showered. Napped. Helped Bunny with dinner, which meant Maddy made dinner while Bunny stood three feet away pointing and explaining the difference between whisking and beating, a difference Maddy still did not believe in.
Then she’d parked herself on the living room sofa with her laptop and gone through the contract Margaret sent over, line by line, actually able to focus this time.
And then there was a light knock on the front door.
The last time someone knocked on that door after dark, it had been Aspen, so Maddy sprang up and got to the door so fast that she forced herself to count to five before opening it.
On the other side was a giant Mylar Congrats! balloon, a bottle of champagne, and a bouquet of lilies, all held out at arm’s length. Aspen’s face appeared around the side of the balloon, grinning.
“What’s all this?” Maddy had asked.
And Aspen had said it was the reaction she should’ve given that morning, when Maddy first told her about the promotion—and that she wanted to make sure Maddy felt celebrated the way she deserved to.
Maddy had been about two seconds from inviting her in when Aspen shoved the whole haul into her arms, said Congratulations, Maddy, kissed her on the cheek, and left. Again. The woman suddenly had a real gift for the exit now that Maddy didn’t want her to leave.
Maddy had considered opening the champagne that night and decided against it, because it felt like something she wanted to open with Aspen.
They still hadn’t had the chance yet. By the time they’d gotten any real stretch of time alone—last night—drinking champagne had not cracked the top ten on Maddy’s list of things she wanted to do to or with Aspen the second she had her behind a locked door.
So the bottle was still corked. Maybe Sunday, she thought. When she won the Cup. She could picture it: the two of them, the dented gold trophy, the cork popping. Maybe they’d even end up on the same team and be celebrating their mutual win, together.
She was also choosing not to think too hard about the alternative, which was Bunny putting her and Olly on the same team to force them to bury the hatchet. That one she was leaving for future Maddy to handle, if and when the time came.
That was the other thing souring her perfectly good morning.
She was still angry at her mother. That hadn’t gone anywhere.
Not only had Bunny faked a medical emergency to drag Maddy across an entire ocean, mid-production, but then it turned out Bunny had been secretly dating Olly St. Claire—her dead husband’s best friend, Aspen’s father—for three years and had intentionally hidden it from Maddy.
Every time Maddy got close to letting it go, she’d remember the part where Bunny had looked her in the eye and chosen to lie, and the whole thing would light back up.
But if she let her anger consume her every time Bunny did something that pissed her off, she’d just be a walking rage machine twenty-four seven.
Everything else in her life was going exceptionally well.
The dream job. Jake, who’d become a real friend again.
Noa possibly becoming a real friend again too, if today didn’t blow up.
And Aspen. Whatever Aspen was—Maddy didn’t have a word for it yet and wasn’t in any rush to find one. But whatever it was, it was incredible.
She was not about to set fire to all that just to stay mad at her mother. So she’d made the conscious decision not to let her feelings towards Bunny ruin the Cup weekend.
The plan was simple. Avoid Bunny as much as possible, without making it seem like she was avoiding her.
Especially avoid Bunny-and-Olly-as-a-unit, which was a sight Maddy was absolutely not ready to take in in broad daylight.
Go along with the production. Hit her marks.
Enjoy the weekend with her friends. That was it. Easy.
Downstairs, she heard the front door open.
“Hellooo?” Aspen’s voice carried up the stairwell.
Maddy capped the sunscreen. She came down the stairs and felt the smile take over her face the second she saw Aspen in the entryway, already looking up at her like she’d been waiting on exactly this.
And then Bunny surfaced from the hallway in a bright red caftan, already mid-monologue, talking to the room, to the universe, possibly to the dogs.
“—and the torch lighting is at four p.m. sharp, not four-ish, four o’clock, which means the teams need to be drawn by two-forty-five, which means—” She spotted Aspen and didn’t miss a beat.
“Oh, Aspen, darling, did you put the throne where I marked it or where you decided it looked better, because those are not always the same place—”
“Where you marked it.” Aspen kept a perfectly straight face.
“We’ll see about that.” Bunny pulled out her floral-print notebook from somewhere.
“Now, the run-of-show. At eleven-thirty we have the soft arrivals, at noon the hard arrivals, and I want my menu visible from the parking lot, that’s the first impression—” She stopped.
Patted the side of her head. “My hat! I cannot run an event under this San Diego sun without my hat.” And she swept back down the hall toward her bedroom, still narrating.
The second she was gone, Maddy crossed the entryway, put both hands flat on Aspen’s collarbones, and walked her back into the front door.
“Hi.” Aspen barely got the word out before Maddy kissed her.
She’d been doing this all week and couldn’t get enough. Aspen’s hands found her waist. Maddy kept one ear pointed down the hall for the sound of Bunny’s expensive sandals, and kissed her until the floorboards back there creaked.
They came apart fast, a respectable two feet of distance between them by the time Bunny rounded the corner, straw hat now firmly in place, still talking.
“—and you’ll need to carry the coolers, I would, but my tailbone is still sensitive, you know how it is.” Bunny pointed at the four rolling coolers stacked by the door. “Two each. Down to the station. Go, go, my darlings, the day is escaping.”
Maddy grabbed two coolers. Aspen grabbed the other two. And off they went.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, the final touches were all in place.
The acrylic menu stand was planted in the sand by the potluck table, announcing in Bunny’s looping gold calligraphy: OPENING DAY COASTAL TACO BAR. And beneath that, the tagline: Because nothing says family unity like assembling your own dinner under competitive duress.