Chapter 19
The next evening, I’m barely recognizable, which is exactly what I wanted.
I want to feel like someone else for a minute, or at least like the best version of me.
I’ve blow-dried my hair, so it flows long and sleek almost to my elbows.
I’ve applied every type of makeup I brought with me.
And I’m wearing a new outfit purchased from Bettina’s Beach Boutique: strappy nude sandals and a short, black wrap dress.
Gramps and I barely spoke to each other all day. I’ve been nursing an emotional hangover from everything that happened with him and with my job. I’m one hundred percent ready to enjoy the party tonight and to not think about any of these things for a few hours at least.
“Enjoy your evening,” Gramps says as I hover in the entryway, watching him watch TV.
“Thanks.” I fidget with my keys, unsure what to say but feeling like I have to say something. “By the way, Gramps, I’m really—”
He looks over at me, his blue eyes intent on mine. “There’s no need.”
“But I’m sorry about the—”
“There is no need,” he says again, “to apologize for a kind gesture. That’s what it was.”
He turns back to the TV. After a moment, when I’m still standing there unsure of what to say, he waves a hand at me without taking his eyes off the news anchor.
“Go on, go see some people your own age.”
“Okay. Night, Gramps.”
“G’night.”
Outside, the sweet, warm air sinks into my skin.
I’ll never get over how warm it is at night here.
I cross the grassy lawn toward the entrance and find Daniel already waiting for me.
He leans against a little white Hyundai, wearing a black polo shirt and khaki shorts.
In the golden-hour light, his hair looks particularly fiery.
I can’t help the smile that springs to my face when I see him.
“Wow, you look beautiful.”
I hear the words, but I snag on the look on his face. He looks… startled? I’d like to be flattered, to think that he’s caught off guard by how gorgeous I look, but I’m pretty sure he’s startled for a different reason.
“Uh.” I pull at my dress nervously as he opens the passenger-side door. “You never said where the party is, so I…”
“You look perfect.” He ushers me into the car and then hops in on the driver’s side. “I mean it.”
I stare at him. “I way overdressed, didn’t I?”
His face twitches in an effort to hold back a grin.
“Oh my God.” I hide my face in my hands.
“No! Mallory, no. I mean.” He turns the key in the ignition. “We’re going to play shuffleboard. I should have told you.”
“What’s shuffleboard?”
This only makes him laugh.
“I’ll go change. Just tell me what shuffleboard is so I know what to wear.”
He laughs for another eternity. Finally, he shakes his head and places a firm hand on my knee. “You’re perfect. Like I said. Don’t worry, all right? You’ll fit right in.”
I shrug, willing the heat to leave my face as we drive. Daniel leaves his hand on my knee longer than is strictly necessary. I grin to myself, watching the palm trees flash by.
We pull up to a squat, brightly painted building with a large sign outside that reads, simply, SHUFFLE . The sound of live music wafts toward us from the back of the building, some kind of indie rock with a Latin vibe.
Daniel leads me through the inside, a cute bar full of kitschy signs, to the outdoor area in the back. It’s a small garden with string lights overhead and a stage where the musicians are illuminated by a purple glow, the whole scene dominated by a huge shuffleboard court.
A group of people hails Daniel and waves us over.
“Happy birthday, buddy,” Daniel says to one of them, giving the man a one-armed hug. “Your gift is in your inbox.”
Jones, the birthday boy, gives Daniel a quizzical look. I recognize him as the guy from the first night I met Daniel, the one who was terrible at buying gifts for his girlfriend.
“It’s an Amazon gift card,” Daniel says. Jones and the other guys roar with laughter. Jones shakes his head in a morose way that makes me think the girlfriend might now be an ex.
Daniel introduces me. “This is Mallory.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Jones shakes my hand while giving Daniel a raised eyebrow.
“Mallory is in town for a while so I invited her along,” Daniel says. You can practically hear the as friends that he didn’t tack onto the end of that sentence.
“Ah,” Jones says.
“Happy birthday,” I say. “I can’t wait to find out what shuffleboard is.”
Everyone roars with laughter a second time. I decide to pretend that I was, indeed, joking. They’ll find out soon enough when they see me play.
The group disperses, some to order drinks, some to start a game. Daniel asks for my drink order, and I request a gin and tonic and start to awkwardly follow him toward the bar when I see Amanda, the owner of the mermaid bar. She’s at a patio table with a couple of people I haven’t met yet.
“Hey!” I stop by her chair. Even though we met only a few days ago, I’m convinced that she won’t remember who I am. Why am I like this? “Amanda, right? I’m—”
“Hi, Mallory.” Amanda’s answering smile is so genuine and friendly, I feel a rush of relief.
“You remember!” I’m shocked. Does she remember the name of every customer she talks to? A bartender—or bar owner—in Seattle would never remember your name, or if they did, they wouldn’t admit to it.
“Yeah.” She gives me a slightly puzzled look but glosses over the moment by asking, “You’re still in town?”
I nod. “For a few more days.”
“You came here with Daniel?” At my flustered splutter in response, a huge grin overtakes Amanda’s face. “Just teasing you. It’s nice to see him with a date. It’s been long enough.”
I’m dying to ask for more details, but Amanda gestures to the couple sitting with her and makes introductions.
Daniel returns with my drink and asks Amanda how business is going.
I’m half listening and half soaking up the cozy party atmosphere: laughter and voices and music mingling in the sultry evening air, punctuated by the occasional thwack of the shuffleboard… ball? Puck?
Daniel sees me glancing at the court over my shoulder. He plucks the plastic cup from my hand, sets it on the table, and says, “All right, let’s go. Time to teach you a thing or two.”
Amanda waves. “Have fun!”
“Want to join us?” My voice has a plaintive tone. I would rather make a fool out of myself in front of a friend than strangers.
“I’m more of a sit-on-the-sidelines gal.”
“But wait, me too!” I’m not joking, but Daniel’s grip on my hand is firm, pulling me onward.
“Unfortunately that’s not an option for you tonight. You’re with me.”
We stop at the far end of one of the courts. All I see are a bunch of triangles on the ground, and some very long sticks.
Daniel’s grabbing two of the sticks and shouting something across the court at two guys who are, apparently, playing with us. They exchange some ribbing about a previous match. Match? Game?
“Am I sensing a competitive streak?” I ask Daniel.
“Competitive? Me? Nah.” The way he rolls his shoulders and then stretches his neck belies the casual tone.
“Okay, well, just so you know, I’m not the best partner to help you win. I still don’t know what shuffle ball is.”
“Shuffle board ,” about five voices yell at me from every direction.
Daniel gives me a devilish look. “Oh, we’re not playing together.
You’re on his team.” He points across the court to the guy standing opposite me.
The guy is giving me a doubtful once-over, probably taking in my ridiculously misguided mini dress.
“Billy, this is Mallory. She’s a world-class player. ”
I stare between the two men, sweat prickling the nape of my neck. Jones stands next to Billy. “So you’re on Jones’s team? I’m playing against you?”
Daniel hoists his stick up, holding it like a pool cue. “I’ll help you along. A bit.”
What follows is a series of embarrassing attempts to push the puck into certain triangles while making sure I don’t bend over too far and moon everyone.
It’s easy enough to make contact with the puck, but impossible to aim.
For me, at least. The other guys rack up the points like it’s nothing. Especially Daniel.
“Seven!” Jones calls as Daniel scores them yet more points.
“How is that seven points, but mine was zero?” I ask, pointing to one of my pucks that landed in the same area.
“Yours is touching the line,” Daniel says somewhat smugly as he leans on his stick.
“Sounds made up,” I mutter, lining up my next shot. Across from me, Billy looks despondent, like he can’t wait for this game to end. Right there with you, Billy.
I hit the puck, disk, whatever, as hard as I can. It gives a satisfying thwack as it careens off one of Daniel’s disks. His flies off into no-man’s-land—they explained it to me, but I forget what it’s called—and mine glides smoothly into an area marked with an eight.
“Yes!” Billy punches the air.
Daniel turns a genuinely shocked face to me.
“What does that mean?” I widen my eyes innocently.
“It means you get, uh—” He reaches up and scratches his head, leaving his hair ruffled in the back. “You get eight and I, well, we lose seven.”
“Aw.” I pout, tucking my stick under one arm. “Sorry!”
He stares me down, and then his mouth quirks with a slight smile. “Oh, it’s like that? Okay then.”
I turn to watch Billy and Jones take their turns, but I’m not paying attention.
I get a shiver of secret delight every time Daniel glances at me from the corner of his eye.
I never would have guessed he had such a competitive side.
The desire to keep pushing his buttons fuels the rest of the game, and I manage to rack up another dozen points.
At the very end, it’s not even close—they’re kicking our butts—but Daniel knocks one of my disks out of the way, losing half my hard-won points.
“Hey!” I whip toward him, my stick flailing dangerously close to him.
“Whoa, whoa!” He grabs the stick firmly. “We don’t wave these around. You could bonk someone.”