Chapter 4
Four
First Meat
Brie
The Crooked Reindeer—“the Deer” to the locals, is bustling tonight.
But it always is when it’s meat raffle night.
The town could be under a blizzard warning, and no one would stay home for fear of missing a chance to win ten pounds of bratwurst. The chatter from the crowd overpowers the music playing on the jukebox.
Luckily, everyone in town has been too preoccupied with tonight’s festivities to gossip about the news of Logan’s return.
Unfortunately, it’s still engrained in my brain.
Sloane snagged us a table before Willa and I got off work, which is the only reason we’re not next to the bathrooms. I’ve known Willa since we were in diapers and eating dirt.
Sloane’s the adopted local. She didn’t grow up in Mount Holly, but she moved here eight years ago and opened up her coffee shop.
Instantly, we vibed well together, and she has joined our tight-knit group of friends.
Plus, her coffee shop/bakery sells muffins to Willa’s diner along with her freshly roasted coffee beans.
And I pimp them both equally on the Mount Holly tourism board.
With an elbow on the table, I lean in and offer Sloane and Willa a brief recap of my run-in with Logan earlier today. I reiterated there was no kiss between us before I ramble on about his carnival.
“He has a prime location. Right next to Reindeer Ridge. All he needs to do is flash his dimpled smile and everyone in town will flock across the street. Granted, it’s an empty field right now, but there were so many trucks.
” I tap my chin. “I wonder what he has planned. But being the week of Thanksgiving, he has a lot of work ahead of him to create something out of nothing.”
“It’s Logan,” Willa says. “He’ll get it done.”
I glare at her. “Whose side are you on?”
“Yours, obviously. But remember senior year? He rallied our entire class in two days to stick googly eyes on everything for the senior prank. The school is probably still being watched by a thousand tiny plastic pupils.”
I try not to smile and fail. “The googly eyes on the T-Rex poster in Mr. Schmitt’s science class were pretty funny.”
Willa giggles. “It was. Which proves when Logan gets an idea, he puts it into action.”
Sadly, it wasn’t the only time. During the state hockey tournament, he got the entire Mount Holly fan section to hold up a designated sign that spelled out Go Warriors. I hate how he makes all of it seem so effortless.
Sloane sips her drink. “My school banned pranks after someone set off industrial fart spray. We evacuated. Twice.”
“I’ll take googly eyes over chemical warfare,” Willa says.
“Pranks aside, with how much gossip spreads around here, why didn’t anyone tell me Logan was moving back to Mount Holly? Surely someone knew.” I glance around the full bar. The Gigis know everything, but they’ve been tight-lipped about his return.
“I believe I mentioned it.” Willa raises a finger.
My gaze shoots to her. “I would remember if you told me Logan Crawford was coming back to town. That’s not something one forgets.”
“I mentioned Logan Crawford bought a house in town, and you glossed right over it. I assumed you didn’t care.” Willa shrugs. A second later, her eyes light up. “Oh! There’s a good chance it was during margarita night.”
“What the hell?” I scrub my hands down my face. The conversation is a blur, but the name Crawford is the only thing I can recall. “I just assumed it was his parents who were moving, not their son. This is why we can’t share important information during margarita night.”
“I assumed since you didn’t dwell on it, you were over it,” Willa says.
“You don’t get over something like Logan fucking Crawford. What is he doing here, anyway? He could host a carnival anywhere. Why here? Mount Holly’s been a much happier place since he’s been gone.” I point to the window. “See, it’s cloudy and gloomy outside all because he’s here.”
“Um. No, that’s weather,” Willa says.
“And it’s dark outside,” Sloane adds. “Why are you so worked up about this?”
My molars grind together as a scream creeps up the back of my throat. “Because Logan fucking Crawford is back in my little bubble, and he’s ruining my happy place.”
Sloane’s brows pinch together. “Why do you hate this guy so much? Didn’t all this happen years ago?”
“Hate is mild. I despise him. He makes me all stabby.”
“But why?” Sloane crosses her arms, forearms resting on the table.
“I spent my entire life growing up with Logan fucking Crawford—”
“Do we need to refer to him as Logan fucking Crawford every single time?” Willa interrupts.
I shoot my stabby daggers at Willa.
Her hands raise in defense. “Just throwing it out there.”
“Since we were kids, he thought his shit didn’t stink, and it stunk.
A lot. He always had to be the best at everything.
Always had to be number one. On the playground, he always had to have the right swing because the left one squeaked, and no one wanted that one.
Then, in middle school, he always got the lead part in the Christmas play.
Even though everyone tried out, it didn’t matter. It would automatically go to him.”
“Maybe he was just good.” Sloane shrugs.
“Or because he’s Logan fucking Crawford, and he gets whatever he wants.
” I hold up my hand, lifting a finger with each point I make.
“Spelling bee champion. Homecoming king. Valedictorian. Which cost me a full-ride college scholarship. Not to forget captain of the hockey team. Guys wanted to be him. All the girls flocked to him. And bile creeps up my throat at the sound of his name.”
“That was eighteen years ago. Some people change,” Willa says.
“Some people yes. Logan no,” I deadpan.
Cara from the Mount Holly Community Club stops at our table with a stack of tickets in her hand. “Hey ladies! A dollar a ticket. Are you in?”
A collective “yes” comes from all three of us. We exchange our dollars for a numbered white ticket before she moves on to the next table.
Sloane turns her attention back to me. “Maybe you’re stuck in the past. He could have changed since then.”
“You can’t snap your fingers and magically turn into a good guy.”
Sloane taps her chin. “I think you’re just harboring a lot of deep feelings. Maybe you need to sit down and talk it out with him.”
Willa brightens like a Christmas tree. “Oh yes! Lock them in a room together!”
I roll my eyes. “This is how true crime podcasts start.”
“Fine,” Willa concedes. “We’ll lock you in a nice room. With snacks.”
“Absolutely not.” I cross my arms over my chest. I spent my entire life settling for second place. A collection of second-place trophies and silver medals doesn’t feel the same. When it comes to the festival, it’s first place or bust, and I can’t afford a bust.
Willa’s phone buzzes on the table. She glances at the screen but ignores the message. “I told him it was raffle night. He’ll just have to wait.”
“Who’s him?” I ask.
“Clearly, it’s not Mason. Otherwise, she would have answered.” Sloane wiggles her brows, and I nod in agreement.
Willa side-eyes us. “If you must know, it was Ryan.”
“The foot doctor? You’re still dating him?” My nose crinkles.
“Podiatrist. And dating is a… stretch,” Willa answers. “More like seeing each other when we each have a spare minute. It’s a mutually convenient agreement.”
“Or in more simple terms, fuck buddy,” I add.
“I certainly wouldn’t see him if all he gave me was a minute, either,” Sloane quips. I raise my hand, and from next to me, she slaps my palm with hers.
Willa rolls her eyes at us. “The ‘doctor’ in front of his name keeps my parents’ scrutiny at bay.
Social events with my family are slightly more bearable with him on my arm.
” She takes a sip of her drink. “I get fewer questions like when are you getting married? Your little sister has a lot going for her. Why didn’t you finish medical school?
You can’t make a living running a diner. ”
Willa’s parents own the local family medicine clinic. She was destined to follow in the family’s medical field footsteps, but her passion to run a diner was greater than the eleven years of schooling and training that was in her future.
Willa takes a sip. “Suffering through the occasional toe fungus and bunion talk over dinner is better than having to answer all the questions from my family. Plus, both of us are way too busy to settle down. So the casual hookup works.”
I grin. “Are you convincing us… or you?”
She points at me. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
The music dies down as Cara rings a cowbell to get everyone’s attention. In unison, the entire bar turns toward her as she stands behind a table in the bar’s corner. “Who’s ready for the first drawing?” she says into the microphone.
The entire bar erupts in hoots and cheers. All the noise dissipates as Cara spins a numbered wheel on the table. A low rumble fills the room as the needle connects with the pegs, slowing with each passing second until it comes to a stop.
“And the winner is… number eighteen!” Cara shouts.
I glance down at my ticket. Nineteen. Of course, just my luck. It’s only one number away.
“I won!” Sloane’s chair legs screech across the wood floor as she shoves away from the table and jumps to her feet, waving her ticket above her head. “I won!”
“Woohoo!” With a resounding clap, I celebrate my friend.
The bar booms in unison, “FIRST MEAT!”
It’s a tradition that started years ago when George, and his pocket jerky, won his first meat raffle. He rose to his feet and pumped his fist in the air and declared, “first meat.” It stuck, and now the entire bar joins in at the first raffle draw.
Sloane weaves through the crowd until she reaches the raffle table. With her meat prize in hand, she returns to her seat. “I got meat sticks!” She waves the package in the air before sitting down.
Cara does another round of tickets before starting the next raffle.
With each passing round, my number doesn’t get called, but Willa snags two pounds of bacon.
Round after round, people win pork chops, jerky, steaks, ground beef, and even a whole chicken.
Cara spins the wheel for the next prize as a hush falls over the crowd.
“If it isn’t the hockey legend himself,” Simon bellows from behind the bar.
My stomach drops like a bad amusement park ride.
Before I turn around, a collection of “Hi, Logans” confirm my worst fears.
Too bad there isn’t another hockey legend in town.
Meat raffle night ruined. The cacophony of the bar fades to muffled chatter as if I’m submerged five feet underwater.
My gaze tracks Logan as he struts across the room to the bar.
Cara’s voice sounds over the microphone.
Someone a couple tables away jumps to their feet.
“Holy shit!” Sloane backhands my bicep. “Do you know who that is?”
I turn my glare on her. “I know exactly who that is. We’ve only been talking about him for the past hour.”
Her eyes widen. “Wait? Hockey legend Logan Crawford, the hat-trick king of Chicago, is the same Logan Crawford you’ve been talking about?” She points to Logan across the bar. “Can you introduce me? He’s always been my favorite Chicago player.”
I frown. “Um. How about not? When did you become such a hockey fan?”
“I had an ex-boyfriend who made me watch all the games with him. At first, I only did it to spend time with him, but I quickly found the appeal.”
Cara stops at our table. “Are you in for the next round?”
Sloane and Willa both say yes.
I shake my head. “I think I’m going to head out. The bar suddenly got too crowded.”
Willa rests a hand on my forearm. “You can’t leave. There are still at least five more rounds.”
“I’m getting tired.” I cover my mouth with my hand and fake a yawn.
Willa slaps my hand away. “That’s a lie.
You’ve never left a meat raffle early, even when you had that terrible chest cold and were on the verge of dying.
You want to leave because of Logan. Newsflash.
It’s Mount Holly. You’re going to see a lot more of him.
What are you going to do? Leave every time you see him? ”
I hate that she’s right. This town is too small to avoid each other.
He hasn’t been here for twenty-four hours, and I’ve already seen him twice.
Granted, the first time was my doing. But either way, he doesn’t get to strut into my favorite hangout and send me running.
I’ve been here longer than he has. He should be the one to leave.
Across the room, as if summoned, his head tips up.
Our eyes lock. One beat. Two. Three. I don’t blink.
He doesn’t either. My nostrils flare. The corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile.
Of course, he would find this amusing. He always found joy in my misery.
“What are you staring at?” Sloane says to me. Without answering her, she follows my line of sight. “Oh.”
“What’s happening?” Willa twists, just as Logan rises from his seat. “Yes. Yes. Brie vs. Logan: Showdown, Part Two.” She’s practically vibrating with excitement.
Fantastic. Exactly how I wanted to end my night: beef, bacon, and a side of public confrontation.