“Dad?” I ask, still unsure if it’s him.
“Stelly, have you been drinking?”
My spine immediately stiffens, and I’m about to answer when Cora tumbles into me. “Oh yes. The Mai Tais are fantastic and we plan on procuring a long-lasting relationship with them while here, but don’t worry, Mr. Stella’s Dad, we stayed away from Fireball.” She taps her nose and then points at my dad. “We’re keeping it classy.”
Yup . . . really classy.
My dad has never seen me drunk.
And the fear coursing through me of acting like a fool in front of him is real.
But to my shock, he says, “The Mai Tais just about took me down last night.”
Umm . . .
What?
Dad reaches his hand out and says, “I’m Donny.”
I nearly choke on my own saliva. Donny?
**EYES POP OUT**
DONNY?
Uh . . . never in my ENTIRE twenty-nine years has my dad EVER referred to himself as Donny. He’s always been Donald, and nothing else.
Donald Garcia with the pressed pants.
Donald Garcia with the sensible Volkswagen, which wasn’t allowed to be eaten in.
Donald Garcia who would polish his shoes at night as a relaxation technique.
Never once was he ever called Donny. My mom never called him Donny. She wouldn’t dare. Maybe that’s why they fell out of love—the inability to call each other nicknames.
No. I know why they divorced.
They never really loved each other. Thrown together by their parents, they married, had kids, raised them, and when we were all out of the house, they called it quits. They’re friendly with each other, but not friendly enough to call each other nicknames like Donny.
“Coraline, but everyone calls me Cora.” She shakes my dad’s hand. “Wow, what a surprise, finding your daughter in Hawaii, at the same resort. What are the odds?”
Yeah, what are the odds?
I’ll tell you. They’re slim, but that seems to be the kind of luck I have.
Perplexed and still trying to figure out if this is a side effect of the Mai Tais, I ask, “Dad, what, uh . . . what are you doing here?”
He rocks on his heels. “Oh, you know, just living the good life.”
Okay. This is definitely the Mai Tais. There’s no way in hell my dad would ever say something like living the good life. And here I thought I’d have a long-lasting relationship with the rum concoction.
Oh hell no. Not if it’s making me have strange conversations with my dad where he says things like living the good life.
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Sorry, I thought you said ‘living the good life.’ These Mai Tais must be hitting me really hard.”
“No, that’s what he said,” Cora says. “And I couldn’t agree more. Life is too short. We have to enjoy it when we can. By the way, love the board shorts. Men are so scared to wear the short ones, but, dare I say, great legs, Mr. Donny.”
“Why, thank you. Your friend is smart.” Dad looks at me and smiles before opening up his arms. “Where’s my hug, Stelly?”
Before I can even consider what it would be like to be pressed against my dad’s naked chest, he envelops me against him, and I’m caught up in the smell of sunscreen and beer as he snuggles me against his furry chest.
Curly hairs rub against my nose.
His pecs encase my cheek.
And I can honestly say, I’ve never been this intimate with my father.
“It’s good to see you. You’re always so busy, I never get to see you anymore.” When he pulls away, I try not to flinch as I feel the imprint of my dad’s gray chest hair against my cheek. Not sure I’ve ever seen him shirtless, let alone hugged the man when he’s running around topless.
This shop must be another dimension. Alternate reality. A threshold for what-the-fuck situations. I hate to say it, but I don’t think the Pop-Tarts are worth the trouble. And that’s saying a lot, coming from drunk me.
“Why aren’t you visiting with your dad?” Cora chastises me.
“What?” I blink, still trying to comprehend what’s going on. “Uh, I teach a lot.”
“Not during the summer.”
“I teach workout classes during the summer,” I say, dazed.
“What kind of workout classes?” a female voice asks to my right.
Now who the hell is that?
I turn to see who spoke up when my jaw nearly hits the ground.
No.
Fucking.
Way.
“Stella Garcia, as I live and breathe.” Turning to my dad, she asks, “Donny, did you plan this?”