Picture Perfect Lies: a Waterford Novel, #3 by Mia Hayes

Author:Mia Hayes
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: FinnStar Publishing

14

These kids go hard. I mean, I go hard, but I don’t have a twenty-something liver anymore. Daniel is the worst of them. He’s been drinking straight whiskey since we boarded – maybe four of five glasses, not to mention the tequila shots – and somehow manages to stand upright with no signs of slowing down. He could out drink the men of Waterford, which I thought was an impossible feat.

“We’re leaving,” Katherine shouts from her spot on a smaller boat attached to the catamaran. “Everyone who is going to dinner needs to be on the tinder.”

I sit snuggly between Daniel, who reeks of booze, and Stella while we wait for Lydia and Emma. “Are they always late?”

Stella sighs. “It’s like herding cats with those two.”

Katherine frowns. “What should I do? We have a reservation.”

“Leave them,” Stella answers.

Before Katherine can untie from the catamaran, the two young women appear on deck.

“Don’t go!” Lydia whines. I’m beginning to think she’s incapable of another other tone of voice.

“Get in the boat,” Stella orders, and they climb down onto the swimming deck while clutching their shoes. Lydia mutters who knows what under her breath. How charming. Once they’re onboard, Katherine shoves off.

The short ride across the tiny bay is uneventful. Katherine lets us off near a set of stairs leading up a steep cliff, and when it’s my turn to walk up, I’m thankful I cut myself off after a second glass of wine. I have no idea how Daniel is going to make it up.

At the top, fragrant lavender fields flank each side of the walkway. I pinch off a few flowers and sniff.

“This is so gorgeous!” Emma says, turning around toward me. She, Lydia, and Stella walk slightly ahead of me, and the guys follow behind. “Are you picking flowers?”

I nod and hold out the crushed lavender. “It smells like Croatia.”

Emma shoots me a strange look and hurries to catch up with her friends. Guess I said something wrong, but I don’t really care. If she can’t appreciate what she’s experiencing, that’s on her.

We crest another small hill, and a gorgeous low-slung wood and glass building appears. Next to it, rough-hewn picnic tables sit under a thatched-roofed patio. Several other diners enjoy their dinner, and the delicious scent of roasted meat causes my mouth to water.

A spritely, older man rushes toward us. He stretches his arms wide and beams. “Welcome!”

Garrett takes the lead. “Hello, there! We have a reservation for seven people.”

The man nods and motions for us to follow him to a picnic table. As we arrange ourselves, a waiter brings out three bottles of wine. “The house specialty,” the elderly man says. “Very good red.”

Not one to complain about wine, I hold out my glass. “Thank you!”

The waiter gives me a generous pour, and I sip. The wine is earthy and full-bodied.

“You like?”

“Very much.” I look down the table at my group. “It’s delicious.”

While he pours for my shipmates, another waiter carries a huge clay pot to our table and lifts the lid.

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