Chapter 26 Ten percent off Bikini Night at the Beaver Dam
Ten percent off Bikini Night at the Beaver Dam
Zoey
Sometimes I look at my life and wonder how the hell I got here,” I said.
“It’s great, right?” Harry said.
I wasn’t sure if the enthusiasm was for the spectacle unfolding before us or the jumbo-sized bag of popcorn he was plowing through. He’d been giving me a rundown of his top ADHD tips for the last twenty minutes.
It was Tuesday afternoon at the lake, and the weather had gone from a balmy seventy degrees this morning to the mid-forties after a lunchtime rainstorm blew through, leaving behind icy winds. Classic Pennsylvania delivering all four seasons in one day.
Neighbors were huddled together on the bleachers and in lawn chairs facing the sports courts, all layered up to survive the chilly wind coming off the lake.
I was bundled up in two sweatshirts, a winter coat, and mittens while suffering serious regrets that I’d sold my super cute Helly Hansen ski jacket online.
Skiing had been one of my spontaneously adopted and quickly discarded hobbies.
I’d made a total of two runs down a bunny slope four years ago before giving it up in favor of French lessons.
Now instead of snowplowing downhill or flirting with Pierre in French, I was manning the informational table for upcoming town events during Story Lake’s ultimate bingo draft.
“But why is the pig here?” I asked. Emilie and Amos Rump’s usually free-range pig was parading around the sports court with a floral garland that doubled as a leash.
“Rump Roast chooses the team captains. It’s tradition.
We tried it with Boris Banneroff’s sheep one year, but Erleen Dabner’s border collie herded them into the dining room at Angelo’s.
They had to rip out every inch of carpet.
Anyway, that’s why we use Rump Roast, even if his owner is currently everyone’s least favorite Story Laker,” Harry explained.
“I still don’t understand what farm animals have to do with bingo or why there’s a draft at all.”
The town had taken the untaxing game of bingo and turned it into an aggressively enthusiastic sport. As a casual spectator, I had only managed to pick up on about 20 percent of the insanely specific rules, but I had to admit it was a hell of a lot of fun to watch.
“We like to do things differently around here,” he said with pride. “Hey, Mrs. Jang! How’s your social media game?” He waggled the social media class sign-up clipboard in the coffee shop owner’s direction with a charming smile that reminded me an awful lot of his uncle.
Jennifer approached. She was wearing a backpack with an actual cat in it. “I’m pretty good at the ol’ Instagram. But what else you got? Wow. This is a lot of events,” she observed, taking in the half dozen clipboards we had arranged on the table.
“There’s something for everyone,” I said.
“Since you’re already in the bookstore’s book club, can I interest you in Lakercise in the Park?
Or how about the Expert Accessibility for Your Business panel?
” I awkwardly tried to pick up one of the clipboards with my good hand and managed to shove it off the table into Jennifer’s shins.
This broken wrist thing was making me even more clumsy than usual.
“Ouch, and you had me at accessibility. Who are your experts?” she asked, rescuing the sign-up sheet from the ground.
“This guy’s mom on the topic of wheelchair and mobility access,” I said, pointing to Harry, who cheesed it up in a pose like I’d singled him out for an award.
“Then we’ve got an adorable couple from the Haven who will be teaching some basic sign language.
And Quaid will be presenting on how to better serve individuals and families with autism. ”
“Quaid? Bodybuilder who also looks like a surfer? That Quaid?” she clarified, eyebrows winging up.
“That’s the one. His little brother is on the spectrum, and Quaid volunteers with an organization that takes his brother’s peer group on field trips,” I explained.
“Well, isn’t that awesome? Count me in. I’ll drag the hubs along. Is Hazel here? I don’t want to interrogate her about her new release or anything. I’m lying. I absolutely want to interrogate her,” Jennifer said, scrawling her name on the sign-up form.
“I think she’s somewhere over there by the pig,” I said, flapping my unbraced hand toward the sports court.
Jennifer shook her head. “God, I love this town.”
“See?” Harry said pointedly when Jennifer left.
“See what?”
“Story Lake is a great place to live. You should stay here and date me when I turn eighteen.”
“First of all, there hasn’t been a man invented yet who can handle all this,” I said, waving my brace to encompass most of myself. “Second, you sound like Hazel, trying to emotionally blackmail me into staying with you weirdos.”
“But we’re entertaining weirdos. Look how we all come together.” He gestured around the park. The kid had a point. It looked as if half the town had turned out for whatever this bizarre ritual was.
“Are you forgetting how the last time you all came together, it was to try to run me and Hazel out of Story Lake?”
Harry waved away my reminder. “That was, like, a lifetime ago.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been trying to get everyone on board with Reader Weekend, and all I’m getting from the businesses in town is ‘I’ll think about it. Send me some info,’” I complained.
“You just have to give them a reason to care,” Harry insisted.
“Zoey!” Sunita jogged up. The British boutique owner was looking stylish as always in flared jeans and a faux leather motorcycle jacket that I coveted almost as much as her posh accent.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I was thinking about offering up coupons for the store during Reader Weekend. ”
“Love the idea and that jacket.”
“Of course you do. They’re both brilliant. Anyway, I’ve got some book-themed inventory on order and was sourcing a printer for the coupons when I thought who wants to deal with printed coupons?”
“No one?” I guessed.
“Exactly. So I think you should gather all the special Reader Weekend deals and promotions and put them on the event website.”
The panic was rising. How did I end up in charge of all this? “That’s a…great idea. Thanks, Sunita,” I said.
“You look extra beautiful today,” Harry told Sunita.
She pinned him with an imperious gaze. “Call me when you’re thirty, have a six-figure brokerage account, and send your mother flowers at least twice a year.”
Harry swallowed hard. “I’ll do that,” he promised fervently.
“Wonderful. Zoey, do you want me to just tell you the discount details, or should I email you?”
“Email is good,” I said with what I hoped was a believable amount of enthusiasm.
“Perfect. I’m going to go get a good spot for the draft,” she said and headed off in the direction of the bleachers.
“I thought I was your unrequited crush,” I said.
“You don’t have a website, do you?” Harry guessed.
“Shut up.”
He patted me awkwardly on the back. “Don’t be so hard on yourself for how your brain works.”
“Or doesn’t work,” I said into my palms. Well, one palm and one brace.
“Just because we suck at organization and details doesn’t mean we’re useless. We’re big-picture people,” Harry insisted.
“Well, this big picture is about to shatter into a thousand sucky pieces,” I groaned.
“Didn’t I tell you to stop making women cry, Harry?”
I peeked up over my hands to find Gage standing there looking unfairly handsome and annoyingly wholesome. He was wearing a plaid flannel under a fleece vest like a sexy cross between a lumberjack and a finance guy. New fantasy unlocked.
“Harry is just comforting me for forgetting about a gigantic essential piece of Reader Weekend,” I told him.
“She needs a website…and probably someone to organize the details,” Harry said.
“Talk to Felicity,” Gage suggested.
I frowned. “Hazel’s neighbor?” More specifically, Hazel’s blue-haired, tattooed, video game–designing neighbor who rarely left her house but somehow always had her fingers on the pulse of town gossip.
Gage nodded. “Yeah. She used to design websites before she got into the gaming thing. Plus she’s detail-oriented and she knows everything there is to know about this place.”
There was something so responsible about him. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I found it so attractive.
I grasped the metaphorical lifeline with both hands. “Do you think she’d do it?”
The crowd around the sports court let out a raucous cheer, and we turned to watch the action.
I wasn’t sure what was happening, but Emilie Rump’s husband, Amos, was parading Rump Roast around the court on a leash in some ceremonial sort of fashion.
Someone should have been recording this for social media.
“Only one way to find out. Ask her,” Gage said.
“Do you have her contact info?”
He produced his phone from his vest pocket.
I’d send her a text tonight, I decided. Or maybe I should get her email so I could explain the situation fully.
It would give me more time to figure out how to entice her to say yes.
I’d probably have to pay her. Which meant sharing my sliver of salary from the town, which was already earmarked for rent and other expenses.
How much did a website cost? Ugh. I’d probably have to sell the McQueen asymmetrical midi dress I’d been holding on to for the aspirational fantasy of wearing it in New York after Hazel hit the bestseller list and sold the movie rights to her book.
Investing in my future sure was a pain in the ass to my present.
“Hey, Felicity. I’m at the bingo draft, and Zoey Moody has a question for you,” Gage said.
He handed me his phone, and I blinked at it. Usually there was a standard amount of preparation I needed before making an actual phone call. I couldn’t just jump into a conversation with no warning.
Gage nudged me. “Go on. She won’t bite.”
I put the phone to my ear and got to my feet. “Hi, Felicity. This is Zoey.”
“What’s up, girl?” came the chipper reply. “How’s the draft going?”