Page 31 of The Summer We Kept Secrets (The Destin Diaries #4)

T he palm trees were lit from below like runway models, casting long, glamorous shadows across Ocean Drive as Maggie rolled down the truck window and let the humid, sea-soaked air warm her face.

They hadn’t planned to arrive in Miami Beach at this time, but stopping in the little hotel in Fort Lauderdale like their itinerary said seemed like a waste.

Maggie had stuck to her decision not to tell anyone in Destin where they were or what they were doing.

No one had asked too many questions in her brief texts and one call, but she sensed that couldn’t last too much longer.

She hoped they could get to Miami Beach, pick up the car early, then zip back to Fort Lauderdale by seven or so.

Whoa, had she calculated that wrong. Who knew so many cars could be on the roads, jamming South Florida like it was Mardi Gras in New Orleans? The traffic had been ghastly, giving Maggie a headache and a handache from a constant death grip on the wheel.

They’d stayed on the beach road to avoid I-95, of course—some fears couldn’t be conquered—and that was an absolute nightmare where clearly everyone made up their own driving rules and speed limits were casual suggestions.

Now it was too late to turn back, and way too late to get the car they’d come to pick up.

Jo Ellen had used the Great and Powerful Oscar to get a hotel recommendation in Miami Beach, and made a reservation for that night.

If they got there in one piece. That was looking like a longshot as they crawled along Ocean Drive, which was more of a street party than a road.

“Oh, my word,” Maggie muttered, watching a shirtless man on rollerblades weave between slow-moving convertibles while holding a neon cocktail in each hand. “We’ve landed in a spring break documentary.”

Jo Ellen leaned forward in the passenger seat of Frank’s beater truck, clutching the itinerary printed in a font so large, Maggie could read it from the driver’s seat.

“This is exactly what I thought Miami Beach would be like,” Jo cooed. “I half expect to see Don Johnson in a white suit with his gun drawn any minute!”

A man walked by wearing nothing but a bathing suit that made him look like a professional grape smuggler.

“Careful, Jo. Having your ‘gun drawn’ might mean something completely different down here.”

Jo Ellen snorted. “Look around, Maggie. It’s so alive!”

“Oh, it’s alive. It’s practically vibrating with…” She searched for the right description, seeing nothing but lithe bodies, long hair, and tiny threads pretending to be clothing. “Youth,” she finished on a sigh.

“Well, then we’ll stand out like that man’s bright pink drinks,” Jo said. “By the way, is everything made of blindingly colored lights down here?”

She wasn’t wrong—the neon was relentless. Pink and turquoise signs blinked like they were in competition. Music thumped from somewhere, and every building looked like the set of a movie made in the 1920s.

The sidewalks teemed with the beautiful people, from scantily clad girls to a statuesque woman walking a poodle in a rhinestone vest.

“That dog’s better dressed than me.”

“You did buy a leopard caftan in Winter Park,” Jo Ellen reminded her.

“A moment of absolute madness.” Maggie clucked. “Why did you let me shop after day drinking?”

“Because we accidentally got on the highway that afternoon and you’d earned an espresso martini.”

“Which was nothing like coffee,” Maggie tsked. “That waitress lied to us.”

“Turn here—this is our hotel.”

“Oh, good heavens.” Maggie eased the truck under the overhang of The Selina South Beach, which looked like Travel + Leisure magazine had collided with a rock concert and taken a detour in the Caribbean.

The valet entrance pulsed with pink light and a sunburst chandelier. A man in linen pants and no shirt danced next to a pile of suitcases.

Maggie pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine but didn’t move. “Why do I feel like they’re not expecting two widows in sensible sandals with a travel cooler full of pimento cheese?”

Jo Ellen patted her hand. “We’re women of the world.”

“We’re women of a different world.”

Two valets immediately opened their doors and greeted them, promising to watch the truck while they checked in.

Stepping onto the asphalt, Maggie was immediately hit by a wall of humid air and cloying perfume. She tugged down the hem of her shirt and squared her shoulders, heading inside like she was bracing for battle.

The lobby was all white couches, tropical plants, and glowing artwork.

A wall mural read SUMMER NEVER ENDS in swirly letters above a pair of lime green angel wings.

In front of it, two young women posed for pictures, wearing matching dresses that seemed to be missing waists, backs, and half of their skirts.

Maggie wrinkled her nose. “I feel like Miss Pittypat when Scarlett scandalized Atlanta at the Confederacy fundraiser.” She pretended to fan herself, making Jo Ellen laugh.

“We’re not in Atlanta anymore?” Jo Ellen joked.

Maggie shot her a look. “You mean Kansas, and that’s Wizard of Oz , which, coincidentally, was made the same year, 1939.”

“And looking around?” Jo Ellen elbowed her as they approached the front desk, manned by a…person. “This place makes me feel like I was made that year, too.”

“You practically were,” Maggie sniffed. “Let me handle the young’uns.” She strode up to the desk and stared at a…well, she just wasn’t sure. The receptionist wore bright green eyeshadow, had yellow hair about a centimeter long, and each earlobe featured a hole large enough to drive through.

“Welcome to The Selina!” A deep voice, so she was going with ‘he’ and hoped that didn’t get her kicked out. “Are we checking in, ladies?”

“Yes,” Maggie said. “Magnolia Lawson and Jo Ellen Wylie. One room, two queens, ocean view, one night.” One long, miserable, noisy night.

“You got it, my two queens.” Grinning, he tapped the keyboard, a frown formed, and then grew deeper. “Can you spell those names?”

She did, shifting from one foot to the other.

“I am sorry. I’m just not seeing a reservation for tonight. Do you have a confirmation number?”

“I’m sure we do.” She turned to Jo Ellen, who had walked across the lobby and was gawking at the place like a true tourist. “Jo! I need you!” She frantically waved her over then turned back to the desk.

“It was booked directly through your website. Pre-paid in full.” She fished into her bag. “Do you want the credit card we used?”

He shook his head, then tapped more keys. “Huh. Looks like the reservation was made but never confirmed on the system. Unfortunately, we are fully committed tonight.”

Maggie blinked. “Committed?”

Jo Ellen stepped up beside her. “That’s hotel-speak for full.”

“I know what it means,” Maggie snapped. “I was just giving him a chance to rephrase before I set this entire lobby on fire.”

Ear Holes smiled nervously. “We’d be happy to arrange for you to stay at our sister property about ten minutes west, Selina Marsh Landing. It’s not on the beach but?—”

“It sounds like the Everglades.” Maggie narrowed her eyes. “We wanted oceanfront.”

“I’m sure it’s a lovely hotel,” Jo Ellen said sweetly. “But we chose this one very specifically because we’re celebrating a milestone.”

“We are?” Maggie asked under her breath.

Jo Ellen leaned in and stage-whispered, “It’s our sixtieth anniversary of…being together.”

Maggie blinked at her, startled.

“No!” Ear Holes gasped. “You two?”

“It’s true,” Jo Ellen said brightly. “We met in college, and it was love at first sight. We’ve laughed, cried, survived heartbreak and hot flashes together.

Side by side, till death do us part.” She wrapped an arm around Maggie and pointed to her.

“And when this beautiful woman doesn’t get what she wants, death can’t be far away.

For you. Don’t make my darling Maggie upset on this trip. ”

He just stared from one to the other, jaw loose.

“This is the anniversary trip we’ve planned our whole lives,” Jo Ellen said.

“Wow. That’s…incredible. Congrats, ladies. You don’t see that much with women your age—not that you look old. You’re gorgeous! Good for you!”

“Oh, it’s been a celebration!” Jo was clearly high on her own fiction. “We were just in Vero Beach and had the best sea bass of our lives. And before that? Watched a real rocket launch in Titusville. Have you ever seen one of those?”

Ear Holes shook his head so hard the wide-open windows of his lobes actually quivered.

“And before that ,” Jo Ellen said, her voice growing excited, “we went shopping in Winter Park and, oh, we met a biker named Brick who took quite a shine to my Maggie.”

Maggie coughed into her hand to keep from laughing.

Jo Ellen beamed. “So, you see, this hotel is the final cherry on top. And we’d hate to end such a beautiful trip in a parking-lot motel across the causeway.”

There was a pause.

Then—miraculously—Ear Holes tapped his keyboard again. “Let me…see something. We may have had a cancellation this afternoon.”

Jo Ellen squeezed Maggie’s hand under the counter. Maggie just turned her head so he didn’t see how badly she was trying not to laugh.

She stared at the words “Summer Never Ends” with only one thought: she couldn’t love Jo Ellen more.

Two minutes later, they had keycards in hand and matching lavender welcome drinks with dried orchids on top.

As they walked away, Ear Holes congratulated them again and Maggie punctuated the whole thing by draping an arm around Jo Ellen.

“Too much?” Jo murmured. “I know you hate it when I make up things to get what we want.”

“Are you kidding?” Maggie squeezed her. “Don’t make me kiss you on the lips…sweetheart.”

They giggled their way to a room that was a fever dream of Miami Beach chic with whitewashed walls, terrazzo floors, sleek wood paneling, and an enormous window with a balcony. There was a record player on the dresser and a minibar that was calling Maggie’s name.