The Friend Game (Games for Two #1)

Chapter 8

“A TOAST TO HANNAH and her new job.” Brooke raises her glass and Jill immediately follows suit. It’s the Sunday following the Harvest Fest and the three of us are at Brooke’s piano bar slash dance studio, Twist and Shout.

“Yes,” Jill tilts her glass my way, “to Hannah, who I know is going to be the best art teacher Grace Canyon has ever seen.”

“Even if she is technically underqualified,” Brooke leans in to add with a wicked grin.

“Hey!“ I reach over the table to swat her on the shoulder but she dodges me. Some of her drink sloshes out over the top though, I note with satisfaction, staring a bit morosely at my own glass. Tomorrow is my first official day at Grace Canyon, so I’m drinking plain old water. I almost ordered a Shirley Temple, but then I remembered I’m 25 not 10 .

Plus, I had a Shirley Temple last time I was here. If I’m not careful I’ll get a reputation as a Shirley Temple drinker.

I don’t know why exactly that’s a bad thing, but it is.

“Ignore her, Hannah,” Jill instructs. “Being technically underqualified is far better than actually being underqualified. And you are definitely qualified for your job. You know more about art than, than…” she searches for a comparison. “Leonardo da Vinci, ” she finally finishes.

Brooke snorts, and I shake my head.

“Fine,” Jill amends. “Maybe you don’t know more about art than da Vinci, but you definitely know more about it than anybody I know.”

Another lie. Jill met my ex, Marshall Donovan, a handful of times, and Marshall truly does know more about art than possibly even da Vinci.

“Thanks, Jill.” I choose to ignore her hyperbole. “I appreciate your support.”

“You’re welcome.” Jill takes a sip of her post-sickness orange juice. “I’m proud of you lil' sis. Even if I am a bit disappointed I didn’t get to run the campaign we’d planned out for you.”

This is not the first time she’s said this. When she got home from work on Wednesday she instantly bombarded me with questions about my interview. When I told her everything that happened, I swear her shoulders slumped for a full ten seconds before she managed to put on a smile and congratulate me.

“I guess I’ll have to cancel that button order I put in,” she’d said as l helped her make a salad for dinner. “They were going to say Hannah Garza, finding her way into your heart through art .”

“One of my jazz students is running for president of her fifth grade student council,” Brooke offers. “You could help her run her campaign.”

“Nah, that’s too easy. Promise her fellow students she’ll push for longer recesses and Hostess products in the cafeteria and she’ll win by a landslide.” Jill sighs, blowing her bangs up with her bottom lip. “I want a challenge.”

“Working for Max isn’t a challenge?” Brooke asks.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love working with my husband, but now that he’s in office the challenge is gone. He’s so straitlaced and likable he barely needs me. I want a scandal, you know?”

“A scandal?” I laugh. “You want your husband involved in a political scandal?”

“Not a major one or anything,” Jill amends quickly, her face pinkening. “Obviously I don’t want him to get a DUI or have an affair or something.”

“Obviously,” Brooke says dryly .

Jill tosses her hair and lifts her chin haughtily. “I just meant, would it kill the man to get a speeding ticket or, I don’t know, grossly under tip a waitress?” She gestures to the bar around us, where two waitresses are circling tables and filling orders. Brooke’s eyes narrow. “Not your waitresses, of course,” Jill hurries to add. “Anyway, let’s talk more about Hannah. I heard a rumor that you spent Friday night chatting up Pastor Abbott.”

“A rumor? You heard a rumor about me?“ I ask in a slight panic. Based on the last year of my life it would be totally on brand for me to start a new job with rumors already circulating about me. But given the fact that I’m trying to rise from the ashes of my former life, I’d greatly prefer not to play a starring role in Grace Canyon’s version of Rumor Has It.

“Sorry,” Jill laughs, “rumor was a poor word choice. Max just mentioned the two of you were hanging out at the Harvest Fest.”

“Ooo-oo,” Brooke sing-songs. “Are you crushing on a pastor at the school, Hannah! Now there’s your scandal, Jill. Does he know your little certification secret? Because I’m pretty sure pastors frown on lying.”

“Hannah said Principal Novak told her not to tell anyone else,” Jill supplies unhelpfully .

“We would never work anyway,” I say dejectedly. “If we got married then I’d be Hannah Abbott. Hufflepuff.”

“What?” Brooke says at the same time Jill says, “Who said anything about marriage?”

I choose to address Brooke’s question first. “You know, from Harry Potter. Hannah Abbott. She was in Hufflepuff. The first one to get sorted in Harry's year.”

Brooke snorts. “Ah, right. I do remember that now.”

“Has he even asked you out?” Jill interjects again.

“Well, no,” I admit. “Not in so many words. But we’ve flirted some.”

“Right.” She looks at me like I’m one step away from needing to be sent to the psych ward. “That makes sense then, why you’d be worried about the two of you getting married and you then having the same name as a Harry Potter character.”

“Don’t judge me,” I protest. “In high school you refused to go to a dance with a boy named Phil, because you said if you became a couple you’d be Phil and Jill, and that was completely unacceptable. Remember that?”

“I do remember that,” Jill nods, “but you seem to have missed the key difference between the two scenarios.”

“Which is what?”

“Phil actually asked me out.”

Brooke snorts again, and I shoot her a glare. “I’m going up to sing,” I tell them both loftily, standing up off my chair and stepping towards the stage. “A solo,” I add. “No duets or trios tonight. You two don’t deserve it.”

“Love you, Hannah!” Jill calls after me, and Brooke whoops.

“Barry,” I say to Brooke’s piano guy as I reach the stage and step in line behind an extremely handsy couple, “play me some Carly, please. ‘You’re So Vain.’”

“You got it, Hannah.” Barry grins at me, and I start mouthing the words as I wait my turn. Not to be completely stereotypical, but this song was something of an anthem for me after my breakup with Marshall. Even now just muttering the words gets me a little fired up. I need to put aside thoughts of starting a new relationship, with Luke or anyone else for that matter. My heart can’t afford to get hurt again so soon.

So tonight, I’m singing this one for Luke. Even if he doesn’t seem vain to me at all. And I also can’t really picture him in an apricot scarf. Or gavotting. Does he have a horse? Or a jet?

I shake away these thoughts. None of that’s important, because tonight I am so independent, Thomas Jefferson would be impressed .

When I take the stage a few minutes later it’s to the raucous cheers and catcalls of Brooke and Jill, but I tune them out, ready for my moment.

Barry starts the opening notes and the words pop up on the screen across the bar. “Son of—” I begin Carly’s opening line, only to have my voice falter as the door to the bar opens and Luke, the man I’m supposed to be singing about, walks in and I forget my lines. He’s with a woman. A woman that’s not me.

Obviously.

He hasn’t noticed me up here on stage not singing. He’s too busy following the woman to the back of the bar; a large box in his hands blocking me from getting a good look at this other woman.

“Apricot,” I finally squeak, tearing my gaze away from Luke and whoever the woman is, and forcing my eyes back to the lyric screen. I pick up the next line, singing even though I can barely hear my voice over the pounding of my heart in my ears.

Why is Luke here? Per the lyrics he’s supposed to be in Nova Scotia looking at an eclipse. Though the being with another woman is on point with the song. She didn’t look like a spy though. Then again, I only saw the back of her.

I start the last refrain just as Luke reappears without the woman and the box. His eyes travel to the stage, and he does a double take. His feet slow to a stop, and, as I hit the last note, a smile spreads across his face. He waves, and darn it if I don’t smile and wave back. There goes my anthem. And my Thomas Jefferson endorsement.

Whatever, he’s long dead anyway.

I spot Jill and Brooke swiveling in their seats to see who I waved to. Jill leans over and whispers something to Brooke. As I hurry to dismount from the stage I can practically see the glee emanating from the pair of them. Before I’ve even made it halfway down the stage stairs, Jill bounces out of her seat and makes a beeline for Luke, gesturing animatedly for him to come over and join us. And he does! He and Jill reach our table before I do. I watch as introductions are performed, but as soon as Luke has finished greeting Brooke his eyes travel to me, holding my gaze. My legs respond like they’ve just hit a mushroom in Mario Kart, accelerating of their own accord.

“Luke, hi,” I say a little breathlessly as I reach the table.

“Hey, Hannah.” Gosh, I forgot how deep his voice is and how broad his shoulders are. Actually, no I didn’t forget any of that, it just needed to be restated and appreciated.

“Pastor Abbott,” Jill informs me, “gave Sydney a ride.”

Sydney? Luke is dating Sydney? Sydney is a waitress here at Twist and Shout and Brooke’s best friend. She’s also a young, single mother of a precocious 8-year-old girl. I have always really liked Sydney despite her ability to have a flatter stomach than me even after giving birth to a human. But now she’s dating Luke!

Clearly, I’m a bad judge of character.

“Her car broke down,” Luke explains.

“And this nice guy driving by offered to give me a ride. And since I was late for work already, and because he passed my Google test, I accepted.” Sydney appears over Luke’s shoulder, her black waitress apron now tied in place around her aforementioned slim hips.

“Your Google test?” Brooke queries.

“Yes.” Sydney pulls out her phone and tilts it back and forth. “I can’t just get in the car with some random dude who offers me a ride when my car battery dies. So I held him at pepper spray point, demanded he tell me his name, then I googled him.” She shrugs like all of this is totally normal. Jill shakes her head and Brooke chuckles.

“Geez, Syd, way to bite the hand that feeds you,” she comments with an elbow to Sydney’s side.

“I mean, it makes sense to me,” I pipe up.

“Definitely more sense than throwing peanuts at someone,” Luke comments with a wink at me. Brooke and Jill both look at me in confusion.

“Peanuts? Did you throw peanuts at someone, Hannah?” Jill demands. “Why would you do that? ”

“What? No. I didn’t.” I blush, and Luke laughs. “What’d you find when you googled him?” I ask Sydney quickly, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. Secretly I’m a little thrilled to have a private joke with Luke, but I want our joke to stay that way. Private, I mean.

“Oh my golly!” Sydney exclaims. “Well, obviously you all know he’s a pastor, which is really why I got in the car with him. I recognized the name of your school, Jill. But did you know he played football at the University of Arizona? And that he’s a philanthropist of the highest order. Last year he organized not one, not two, but three charity 5ks. One for breast cancer research,” she ticks off on her fingers, “one for the local homeless shelter, and one to help raise scholarships for low income kids to participate in various after school activities and clubs.”

“Wow, you found out all of that in a ten second Google search?” Luke looks embarrassed. Meanwhile I’m itching to take my own phone out and do some googling of my own. Luke played football in college? I bet he looked amazing in those pants.

Plus, there’s the philanthropy stuff, of course. I’d like to know more about that too. Even if it is just more proof that he’s too good for me. The only philanthropic thing I’ve done in recent months is round up to the nearest dollar in the checkout line at the grocery store when they were collecting money for the Diamond Children’s Hospital.

I'm sure my thirteen cents went pretty far.

“Well, I may have clicked on a few of the links that came up in my initial search while we were driving here.” Sydney shrugs. “I got curious. Anyway, thank you again for the ride.” She taps Brooke on the shoulder. “He was also kind enough to carry in the box with the dance team's sweatshirts.”

“They’re finished!” Brooke hops up in excitement. “I want to see!”

Sydney laughs. “They’re in your office upstairs; let’s go. Chelsea and Betsy have the tables covered for a few minutes.”

“Can I see too?” Jill hops up. “Ellie’s been asking when hers is going to arrive.”

“Yeah, c’mon.” Brooke nods.

Jill looks down at me. “Hannah, you better stay here and keep Pastor Abbott company.”

My sneaky sister. If I weren’t grateful for the time alone with Luke, I’d be really annoyed with her for being so obvious about arranging it.

“So,” I venture once we’re alone, “you’re a football guy.”

“So,” he replies, taking the seat next to me, “you’re a karaoke singer.”

I wince. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Luke laughs. “I’m not. You’re quite a performer.” He leans forward, and I tell my hands to stand down. Just because his forearms are now in touching distance, doesn’t mean I’m allowed to touch them. Luke is basically the living version of the dinosaur at the museum. I can look all I want, but I can’t ignore the ‘No touching’ signs posted around the exhibit or I’ll get kicked out.

“Side effect of having two sisters,” I tell him. “We grew up competing to see who could be the most dramatic. Taking to the stage comes naturally to all of us.”

Luke chuckles. “Pretty sure I could never go up there and sing.”

“What?” I blink at him in surprise. “But you’re a pastor. Seventy-one percent of your job is standing at a pulpit and preaching to a crowd of people.”

“I wouldn’t say seventy-one percent,” Luke says with mock thoughtfulness, “more like sixty-eight and a half percent.”

“Ha. Ha.” I swat him on the forearm, and whoops, there I go, breaking the museum’s no touching policy.

Best rule I’ve ever broken.

“Nah, but standing up in front of a group of people and talking is way different than singing in front of a group of people. Besides,” he glances around the room, “I’m fairly certain everyone here would boo me off the stage if I did go up there. I’ve been told I have the singing voice of a dying banshee.”

“W-what?” I sputter. “Someone actually said that to you?”

“My sixth grade choir teacher,” Luke says with a nod. “At the end of the first quarter she recommended I switch to band.” His face is casual, more amused than hurt, but I still feel deeply affronted on behalf of the 11-year-old version of him.

“Well,” I announce, “did she ever stop to consider that her method of teaching might have been part of the problem? If I learned anything from Sister Act it’s that every voice can be part of a choir if the director knows her stuff.”

Luke lets out a surprised laugh. “Hannah Garza,” he says with a shake of his head, “you have a way of saying the most random and yet completely on point things.”

I blush. “Wait, so is that a good thing or…”

Luke’s eyes meet mine. “Definitely a good thing.”

Our gazes hold and my stomach flutters. The mood in the bar shifts as Barry starts playing Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” A woman two tables over shrieks, “I love you too, Ronnie, baby!” at the man on stage serenading her. “You’re going to get so many smooches tonight! ”

Luke and I grin at each other, both fighting the sudden urge to laugh.

“See,” Luke indicates the man on stage with a slight jerk of his head, “Ronnie, or Ronnie baby as some have been known to call him, has a pretty good voice yet we’re still laughing at him.”

“That’s just because of his poor song choice,” I reply without thinking.

“You don’t like Elvis Presley?” Luke asks.

“I like Elvis Presley just fine,” I amend quickly, annoyed with myself for speaking long-held private thoughts. “It’s just…” I trail off, unsure if I’m ready to make my inner soapbox public.

“Just what?” he prompts.

“You really want to know?”

Luke nods.

“Fine.” I draw in a breath, then launch into my tirade. “He’s trying to be romantic, but this song is so overdone that we can’t take him seriously. If someone wants to profess their love to someone in song, I think they really ought to personalize it a bit more. Don’t just take any generic love song. Same goes for Valentine’s Day. Are chocolates and flowers really what your significant other wants? Or might she prefer a book or a gift card? And don’t get me started on candles. Not every woman in America finds candles romantic. Some see them as the fire hazard they are—” I break off, breathing a little hard. A flush creeps up my neck. That got out of hand quickly. “Sorry, I think I went off on a bit of a tangent.”

“No, no.” Luke shakes his head. “Pretty sure that was valuable insight into the female psyche. I’m committing it all to memory. Chocolate and flowers are not universally desired by women, candles are a no for some,” he ticks my points off on his fingers, “and never serenade a woman.”

“Hold on,” I laugh, because he’s being so sweet about my crazy. “I’m not saying that serenading someone isn’t sweet,” I inform him. “Just that song choice is important.”

“Oh really?” He sits back in his chair and crosses his forearms over his chest. “So give me an example. What would’ve been a better song choice for our friend Ronnie?”

“Well, I don’t know Ronnie, so that’s hard to say, but in my mind relationships aren’t just a series of gushy professions of love. There’s a lot of work that goes into maintaining a loving relationship. So maybe he should’ve picked a song that reflects that she’s worth all of that work because he loves her that much. Not one that just waxes poetic.”

Luke is staring at me with an odd expression, and I’m suddenly uncomfortable. Maybe all of this was too deep for the fourth conversation we’ve ever had.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “That probably sounded stupid. ”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I think once again you’ve hit the nail on the head.”

I’m robbed of my chance of responding by the return of Sydney and my sisters.

“What’s everyone drinking?” Sydney says chipperly. “First round’s on me, Pastor Abbott, as a thank you for driving me.”

Luke smiles. “Thanks, but actually,” he checks his watch, “I’m already late for a meeting at the church, so I can’t stay, but it was nice to meet you, Brooke and Sydney.” He turns to Jill. “Always good to see you, Jill.” Finally he looks to me. “Hannah,” he pauses after my name, seeming to debate what to say. Maybe he’s going to ask for my number , the errant thought flits into my brain. Which is stupid, because obviously after the conversation we just had he’s more likely to tell me not to worry, he will never serenade me. Or profess his love for me in any capacity.

“Good luck tomorrow,” Luke finally says. “The Grace Canyon students are lucky to be getting you as their new art teacher.”

See, not exactly a profession of love, but then again he did stay to talk to me even though it made him late for a meeting.

That has to mean something.