His expression wavered.
“There’s a food cart at the carnival that has the best Italian sausage sandwich you’ll ever put in your mouth, and it’s my treat.” If that wouldn’t be enough to bend the situation in my favor, nothing would.
He huffed out a big breath, then one side of his mouth quirked up into a tentative smile. “Fine. You win. But be prepared to ride until you throw up. Twenty dollars is highway robbery for a ticket, so I’m getting my money’s worth.”
I grinned. “Deal.”
As we climbed into the car, I couldn’t help but feel we were moving in the right direction. Though we still had a huge mountain ahead of us, we were headed for a day of fun, food, and good friends.
Even if we only had a handful of hours, I’d take them, because in the end, those were the moments that made life worth living.
Thank You!
I know my style isn’t for everybody. Know that I appreciate your time and kind words via email and reviews. Also, if you’ve followed me through my different series, thanks for allowing me a little latitude when I take a few sentences here and there to introduce our people and explain references to happenings in other books for anybody who may be starting here instead of with The Haunted Pendant. I want everybody to enjoy each book, and that helps. If you’d please take a minute to leave a review so others can decide whether this series is for them, I would be grateful.
If you haven’t read my Enchanted Coast series, I invite you to keep reading for a free sneak peek at the Deadly Daiquiri!
The Deadly Daiquiri Sneak Peek
Chapter One
"STAN, WHAT HAVE I TOLD you about bringing the Cupid's bow into the bar? And adjust your diaper. None of us want to see what's under that."
I heaved a sigh of exasperation. I loved my job, but sometimes I felt more like a babysitter at a daycare center than a cocktail waitress at a magical beach resort.
He scowled as he reached for his margarita. "It's a loincloth. And what do you want me to do—leave my bow and arrows in my room? They won't fit in the safe."
Cyri, the faerie sitting one table over, turned to look at him. "That's easy enough to fix," she said, adjusting her lavender ponytail. She dipped her finger into a waterproof pouch hanging from the pink lanyard around her neck, then sprinkled a small pinch of sparkling dust over the bow and quiver.
Stan watched in fascinated horror as the tool of his trade shrunk to a tenth of its size. "You can't just do that," he said, indignant. "What if I get called out to a job?"
She snorted. "That's like your fourth margarita. You're in no condition to fly, anyway. And I've only been with Aiden a few months. It would be a disaster if he accidentally knicked himself with one of those arrows on his way to the bathroom. I'm not ready for the whole L-word scenario."
I smiled as I walked away. Stan was in the middle of an existential crisis. His problem was that he was a romantic at heart, and his job wasn't just a job to him—it was his passion. Between the free-love movement and easy, DIY divorces, he was having a hard time believing he hadn't outlived his purpose.
So, he was on an extended vacation to find himself and decide whether or not he should retire. But just because I felt sorry for the guy didn't mean I could give him a pass on the bow. Can you imagine how the I love you, man phase of intoxication would work if a hammered cupid wanted to make the whole bar happy at closing time? Yeah, no love-laced arrows allowed.
I delivered the last drinks on my tray to a group of sunbathing selkies that were regulars, thinking how hot their seal-skin beach blankets must be. Before you get upset about animal cruelty, selkies are seals in the water but shed their skins to become human on land. The skins they were lying on were their own.
I couldn't blame them for keeping them secure though. Julius, their leader, had left his skin unattended at the bar when he'd gone to the bathroom a while back, and we’d had to lock down the whole resort for a couple hours.
A beach attendant had mistakenly picked it up and thrown it into the laundry, and since I'd been the one to call for the lock-down and the one to find it, he'd granted me honorary membership in his pod. In short, when they came every few months, they requested me, and they always tipped generously. It was job security, but it made me feel good, too.
Angie, Julius's wife, passed the martinis down the row, taking a sip from the last one.
"Divine as always," she said, licking the vodka mustache off her upper lip. "Tell Bob he used just the right amount of anchovy juice."
I bit back a shudder at the phantom flavor and assured her I would. As I picked my way through the tables back to the shade of the tiki bar, I picked up a few more drink orders along the way.
Plunking my tray down on the server's deck at the bar, I leaned over and rested my chin in my hand while I waited for Bob, the Bigfoot bartender, to finish telling a joke to a broody werewolf. I don't know why he bothered—the guy hadn't cracked a smile the whole week he'd been there. He'd eaten his weight in steak and was a fat tipper, though, so I guess Bob felt obligated.
The big lug tended to be a people-pleaser anyway, so the more somebody rejected his efforts, the harder he tried. That alone
