The Friend Game (Games for Two #1)

Chapter 7

“LOOK AT YOU!” Jill snorts into her mug of tea, which is quite rude if you ask me. “Those buns!”

“This is how she wears her hair, Jill,” I say grouchily, tugging on the white fabric of my dress and wishing it weren’t so clingy.

“No, I know. You look great, I just can’t believe my little sister, the same one who once asked what all the May the fourth be with you memes meant, is now standing in front of me dressed as Princess Leia.”

“You know it was this or that clearanced ninja costume at Halloween USA, and seeing as the school doesn’t allow costumes to have weapons or masks, a ninja costume would’ve been pretty lame.”

“True,” Jill agrees, pulling her blanket more tightly around herself. She woke up this morning with a sore throat and a low-grade fever. As such she will be staying home for the night, which means I get to wear the Princess Leia costume she purchased for herself. Max will be going with the kids still, but since his Princess Leia will be staying home, he’s leaving the Han Solo costume Jill purchased for him at home and donning his costume from last year instead, P.T. Barnum from The Greatest Showman.

Star Wars costumes must be in this year though, because Liam told me he and his three best friends are all going as Luke Skywalker, undeterred by the fact that they’ll have to leave their lightsabers at home during the school party. Plus, there’s that kid Oliver from my first class who said he was going as a Wookiee. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Oliver’s pet rabbit who’s going to be Han Solo. So cute.

“Hannah, you ready to go?” Max walks in, his red coattails billowing out behind him. Jill wolf whistles from her spot on the couch and Max bends down to kiss her on the cheek. Thank God she’s sick or they’d probably start making out. Jill has a real blind spot when it comes to PDA. A problem that’s made worse by the fact that I haven’t had a boyfriend since The Disaster.

“I’m ready,” I tell Max. “Are you ready?” I add as Liam and Ellie come galloping into the room. “Because you’re the ringmaster of that circus.” I gesture to the kids, then laugh at my own joke. Nobody else does .

“You’ve been waiting all afternoon to say that haven’t you?” Jill rolls her eyes.

“Maybe.” I shrug. “That’s neither here nor there.” I take each kid by the hand. “Let’s Harvest Fest!”

***

“The winner is fourteen!” I announce, and a girl dressed as Elsa steps forward to claim her prize off the cake table. When I was a kid the prizes at cakewalks were things like boxes of Twinkies or Zebra Cakes, maybe the occasional boxed mix cake. Not at Grace Canyon. Nope, these cakes are legit. I saw one earlier that was from a bakery downtown. The price tag on the bottom read $47. Someone spent $47 on a prize for a cake walk. Forty . Seven . That’s about what I have left in my bank account after buying groceries earlier this week.

The kids who were just playing disperse around the gym, moving on to other games. There’s no one lined up to play next so I take a moment to adjust the bobby pins holding my buns in place.

“Hi, Miss Garza!” A familiar voice pulls my attention south, and I smile at Oliver the Wookiee.

“Hey, Oliver!” I bend down and give him a quick hug. “I love your costume!”

“Thanks!” He’s bouncing again, clearly excited to be alive .

“You’ll have to show me a picture of your pet rabbit in his costume,” I tell him.

“My pet rabbit?” His brow furrows in confusion. “I don’t have a pet rabbit. I have a dog…but my mom says I’m not allowed to dress him up. She got mad when I put my Chewbacca socks on him and he chewed them all up.”

“You don’t have a pet rabbit?” Now I’m confused. “But you told me your pet rabbit was going as Han Solo.”

“No, I didn’t.” Oliver giggles. “That would be funny. I wish I had a pet bunny.”

“Then who did you say was going as Han…” The question dies on my lips as my eyes land on the answer to my question. My mouth goes dry as I take in the living, breathing embodiment of every Stars Wars fantasy I’ve ever had. Which, okay, fine, I’ve never actually had a Star Wars fantasy, but after tonight I just might.

“Miss Garza,” Han Solo greets me with a smile, “or should I say Princess Leia?”

“Han Solo,” I squeak, patting the buns on the side of my head nervously as my eyes trail over the brown vest he’s wearing atop his off-white shirt then down to the cavalry style navy blue pants tucked into tall black boots.

“Look, Aunt Hannah!” Ellie is suddenly beside me. “Your costume goes with Pastor Abbott’s costume! Just like Mommy was going to match Daddy! Do you love Pastor Abbott like Mommy loves Daddy?”

Okay, this child is off my Christmas list.

“Oh, Oliver,” I say quickly, like I didn’t hear anything Ellie just said, “you said Pastor Abbott was dressing up as Han Solo, not your pet rabbit!” I touch my palm to my forehead in the universal sign for duh, I’m so stupid. “I didn’t know your name was Pastor Abbott,” I explain to Mr. French Roast, who I should really no longer call Mr. French Roast, since I finally know his name. Pastor Abbott. He’s a pastor. I’ve been secretly crushing on a man of the cloth!

Sadly, I don’t think I’m holy enough to date a pastor. I mean, last year I fell asleep during the Christmas Eve service. Though in my defense, it ran really late.

Pastor Abbott grins at me. “Some call me Pastor Abbott, but Luke is fine too.”

“Luke?” Oh gosh. One facepalm was not enough. “You’re Luke? Like, Principal Novak’s son, Luke?”

“That’s me.”

“But you don’t have the same last name,” I say stupidly.

“Well, technically I’m his stepson,” he explains. “Both he and my mom lost their spouses at a young age. They met in a grief support group and fell in love. George has been the only father I’ve known since the age of seven, but I kept my last name in honor of my late father.”

“Oh.” I’m still reeling from all of these developments. “I’m so sorry about your dad,” I say completely inadequately.

“Thanks.” Luke offers me a half smile.

“Aunt Hannah,” Ellie tugs my hand, “can we do the cakewalk now? There’s a long line.”

I start to attention, peering behind her to see that she’s right; while I’ve been standing here ogling a pastor a line of children ready to do the cakewalk has formed.

“Of course, let’s do the cakewalk.” I address the line. “Sorry for the delay. Go ahead and find your numbers.”

The costumed kids all rush to find their favorite numbers, and a few minutes pass with me negotiating with a 6-year-old to get her to start on the seven square instead of the already occupied six square then trying to explain to two other girls why they can’t start on the same number. When everyone finally has a spot, I head back over to the sound system to press play on the music. Luke is still standing there. A happy glow fills me. He’s waiting for me! Oh wait, no, he’s talking to Max.

Dang it.

Just because he’s single doesn’t automatically mean he’s interested in you , I remind myself. Simmer down .

I switch the music on and the kids start moving around the circle to the opening notes of “Monster Mash.” I’m debating the merits of using the word ghoul as my first word in Wordle later, when someone speaks from next to me, making me jump in surprise.

Luke chuckles. “That’s three times now I’ve startled you. I really need to work on my approach.”

“No, no. It’s not your fault. I was just really engrossed in this cakewalk.” I reach over and hit pause on the music to illustrate my point, then grab a number from the bowl. “The winner is seventeen,” I announce.

An older boy dressed in a costume I can’t identify whoops loudly and heads to the cake table to claim his prize.

“Rueben, love the costume, man.” Luke pats the kid on the back as he passes us, and Rueben’s grin broadens.

“Really, Pastor Abbott? Because so far tonight nobody has known who I am.”

“What?” Luke looks appalled. “With that mustache and the khaki hunting suit, anyone can see you’re Teddy Roosevelt.”

Rueben grins. “I am Teddy Roosevelt!” Luke offers him a fist bump.

“Bully for you!” Luke exclaims as their fists meet and Rueben giggles .

“Sorry.” Luke looks almost embarrassed as Rueben saunters on to the cake table. “I’m a bit of a history nerd.”

“Cool,” I say lamely. “Me too,” I add because I have a weird compulsion to agree with people.

“Really?” His face lifts, and I feel a spurt of guilt.

“Well, I mean, I like art history. Or at least I like looking at old art. You know, from time to time.” I am such an idiot.

Luke’s lips twitch in amusement. “So what you’re saying is you like art?”

“I guess so,” I admit with a blush.

“Cool. I like art too.” Luke’s lips have stopped twitching and he’s actually looking quite serious. Honestly, I’m starting to feel a bit bad for fibbing. “Well,” he goes on, “I guess I should say, I like historical art. Or at least I like reading about the lives of artists throughout history.” He grins, and I realize he’s messing with me. “You know, from time to time.” He’s laughing now, and I reach over and swat him.

“Haha, very funny.” I shake my head at him, but he just keeps laughing. His baritone chuckle reverberates in my chest, fanning the warm glow I’ve felt there since his arrival tonight. I like him. The thought both thrills and terrifies me. My last relationship ended badly. Like really badly. Give up your artistic passions and flee home to live in your sister’s guest house badly.

“In all seriousness,” Luke’s voice cuts into my thoughts, “I’ve actually been wanting to apologize for the other day. I didn’t mean to abandon you in the parking lot like that. Lexie wanted me to come review some books they’re buying for the library. She can be fairly insistent.”

“No apology needed,” I assure him.

“Well,” he rakes a hand through his hair, “still, I apologize.” His eyes meet mine and despite the heat of this overpacked gym, a shiver runs through me. “For that and for the part I played in losing you your job at the museum. I hope my dad conveyed how much that day, that experience specifically, meant to my nephew. But we are deeply sorry for what it cost you.”

“Oh.” My lips pause around the word as sudden tears fill my eyes. Desperate to not be caught crying in the middle of a school carnival I blurt out the first thing to come to mind: “I know you’re not married!”

Luke’s eyes crinkle with either amusement or horror. I can’t be sure as I’m distracted by my jaw, which is aching from opening wide enough to fit my whole foot inside my mouth.

“Um, okay,” he says slowly and thank God there’s a lull in cakewalk participants, because obviously I can’t just leave it at that !

“What I mean is,” I interrupt, “I thought that maybe you were rushing to the hospital to be with Wendy because she was your wife, so then when I accidentally,” I lower my voice so only he can hear, “felt up your arm, I was absolutely horrified and completely mortified.”

I lose my train of thought for a second as I think back over that horrible moment, but then quickly shake it away and dive back into this extremely awkward moment happening in real time. “And I’d hate for you to think that I thought that was okay. Hitting on a married man, I mean. Not that I was hitting on you,” I add quickly, wishing I’d gone with the ninja costume after all. If I had, then I’d be wearing a mask that would cover my level ten blush. Princess Leia’s white outfit only highlights the red.

“The point is,” I try to recover and also to remember what my original point was…oh right— “I’m not the type of person who would ever intentionally come between a husband and wife.” A familiar pang of regret makes my heart stutter in my chest. “So, yeah. That’s all I wanted to say.” I go to nervously play with my hair, then remember at the last minute that it’s pinned to the side of my head in two giant buns and end up patting one like an old lady who just got her hair coiffed.

Luke is studying me with an intensity that should be unnerving, but instead makes me feel like I’m really being seen for the first time in months. Maybe even years.

“Thank you for your candor, Hannah.” He tilts his head, and I can tell he’s debating whether or not to say the thought on the tip of his tongue. I wonder if I’ve completely destroyed any possibility of him ever asking me out. “Although if I’m being equally candid then I should tell you...” he pauses, clearly still not sure if he should say what’s on his mind.

“Tell me what?” I prompt.

Luke rubs his hand over his face. “Uh, just that I like your costume.”

Immediately I know that this was not what he was going to say, but before I can press him further a group of boys comes charging up, waving their hands and hollering. “Cakewalk!” they chant like it’s a war cry.

Luke hops into action, taking over for me as cakewalk facilitator. I stand there dumbly, a kaleidoscope of emotions vying for my attention.

There’s the impracticality of liking Luke. Thus far he and I have very little in common. As we just went over, he likes history, I like art. Judging by his costume, he also likes Star Wars, whereas I would only ever choose to watch Star Wars if I were suffering from insomnia and my melatonin supplement wasn’t kicking in .

There’s also the fact that Luke is out of my league religiously. He’s a pastor! I love Jesus, and having a life partner who wants to seek God with me is of the utmost importance. Even more so after my last relationship. But let’s be real. My life probably can’t withstand the scrutiny of dating, let alone marrying, a pastor. Case in point, I am currently lying to the pastor in question (and the rest of the Grace Canyon community) about my teaching qualifications.

Not to mention, after Hugo fired me last week, I accidentally drank one too many glasses of sangria and passed out on my couch. Pastor’s wives don’t drink one too many glasses of sangria.

And they definitely don’t listen to rap music to pump them up for an interview. Even edited rap music.

I won’t even mention the last thing, the BIGGEST thing that really makes me a bad dating choice for Pastor Abbott. No way, Jose, am I even going to think about that thing I’ve shoved all the way to the back of the closet in my brain—the place where I send memories in the hopes that they’ll gather cobwebs then die.

Besides, there’s also the very real possibility that Luke isn’t even interested in dating me. It’s not like I’ve made a strong showing. Basically all I’ve done in front of him is jump, lie, and struggle to form coherent sentences. Not exactly pheromone producing stuff.

But then there’s the fact that despite all of these other things, I can’t seem to squelch my growing attraction to him.

Luke bends down to help a little girl tie her shoe, affording me quite a nice view of his navy blue clad derrière. As he stands back up he looks my way and grins, a dimple appearing on his chin.

Heat swirls in my stomach as I smile back.

He heads back over to me as the kids who just did the cakewalk take off to do other things.

“What time do you have to work this thing till?” he asks.

I glance at my watch. “I’ve got another thirty minutes.”

“Mind if I tag team it with you?” Luke says. “You’d be doing me a favor,” he adds. “If I go back to wandering around, I’m in danger of a student dragging me over to the pie throwing station.” He gestures to his vest and pants. “And I rented this costume so I really can’t get lemon meringue on it.”

“Yeah, okay,” I try to sound casual so I don’t give away the fact that my inner cheerleader just started cartwheeling. I pick up the bowl with all of the numbers in it. “You can pick the winners.”

“Great.” Luke accepts the bowl and our eyes meet again. He smiles and there’s that dimple. I smile back, a frisson of happiness tilting my kaleidoscope so that the only image I see is me with Luke over and over again.

I suppose I could always give up sangria and rap music.