On the Run (Whispering Key #2) - May Archer Page 0,59

was kinda funny ’cause I hadn’t fully articulated my motivations to myself yet, and I was trying hard not to.

“But now there’s nowhere for you to sit, Trey,” Dale said, all concerned.

“Sure there is,” I insisted… then I plopped myself down on Beale’s lap.

I could feel Beale’s laughter against my back, and it was nearly as delightful as Silvio’s narrowed eyes.

“And you are?” Child of the Crows demanded.

I smiled a smile that said I would cheerfully mop the floor with his entrails which, okay, credit to Dale, actually maybe worked as a metaphor. “Trey, precious. Remember we were introduced a minute ago?”

“He’s Beale’s soul mate,” Littlejohn supplied.

“They met at a summer camp twelve years ago,” Lorenna added. “And fell in love.”

“Beale wrote letters to him afterward, every day for a year,” Maddie proclaimed, clasping her hands under her chin. “But Trey’s heartless mother intercepted them, because Beale is from Florida and Trey’s family hates Floridians.”

I blinked. This story got better and better with each retelling. Pretty sure this was a rip-off of The Notebook, but I was here for it.

“We stayed true to one another in our hearts,” I told Silvio solemnly. Then I deliberately misquoted the movie. “If he’s a plover, I’m a plover.”

Littlejohn frowned. “What’s that mean? Ain’t plovers endangered?”

“Shush, LJ. Don’t you know that shit don’t have to mean nothin’ if it sounds romantical?” Dale gave me a fond look. “And I think Trey and Beale are a great couple—”

“Oh.” I brushed some nonexistent lint off my shirt. “Well, thank you, Da—”

“—even if they are kind of a May-December pairing.”

“Uh, excuse you?” I scowled. “Jesus Christ, Dale. May-June! July at most.”

Beale tickled my waist, and I jolted. “Settle down, soul mate.”

“Payback will be swift and merciless,” I informed him with narrowed eyes.

And just like every time we’d been in public, everyone around us stopped what they were doing to heave a collective sigh at our cuteness or some shit.

Now this was actually off-putting. Me claiming Beale by planting myself like a flag on his lap was one thing, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about the whole island watching us share fake soul mate moments… moments that felt so real, even I had to remind myself they were fake.

When Silvio offered to pull over another chair beside Beale’s so I could concentrate during trivia, I accepted.

About five minutes before the trivia started, Jonquil Pepper rushed in, all apologies, and we had to squeeze in another chair.

“Sorry I’m late, y’all, but look what I’ve got.” She pulled out a stack of bright-pink fliers printed in Comic Sans with a clip-art picture of the Golden Gate Bridge below it.

“Whispering Key Bridge Committee,” I read. I looked around the table and found Jonquil already sucking back her first margarita. “What’s this? What bridge?”

“The main bridge that connects Whispering Key to the mainland,” Marius said, as though this should be self-explanatory.

“See, maybe three years ago now—” Dale began.

“Six,” Maddie corrected.

“More like eight, I think.” Beale’s voice was soft and a little sad.

“Has it been that long?” Dale whistled low, like the passage of time was a new idea for him. “Maybe so.”

“Three to eight years ago… what?” I prompted.

“The bridge washed out in a storm,” Beale explained. “It’s not safe anymore. So now we have to come over here to Cooter Key, and take the Cooter Key Bridge to the mainland, which takes way longer—”

“Hours, sometimes,” Jonquil interjected. “If the drawbridge between here and Whispering Key is up.”

Beale leaned back in his seat, and his bicep rubbed against mine which was annoyingly thrilling. “It’s restricted tourism and made deliveries tricky. Made it real hard for people to live on the island and commute to the mainland for work, too. You probably noticed that when you came in from the airport that it was kinda roundabout.”

I shook my head. “It’s the first time I’ve been here, so I never dreamed there’d be a different, faster way. I bet most tourists just figure this is the way it’s always been, too. Why hasn’t it been fixed? Isn’t that up to the state?”

“Should be, but there’s so few of us out here, and so many bigger fish to fry, it’s been a nightmare getting the government to approve the funding.” Dale shook his head. “Big Rafe’s tried a billion times, but no dice.”

“So now a few of us private citizens are taking the situation in hand. The Bridge Committee meets every second Thursday morning at the Bean to talk fundraising strategy.” Jonquil set