7. Maggie
MAGGIE
Maggie sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Michael on her left and Linda on her right, the rustic wooden bench of the decorated barn beneath her jeans.
They had already walked up to the stage to collect a highly impressive stack of trophies so far, and now the crowd was waiting in breathless anticipation for the final, most prestigious announcement of the night.
The overall winner of the Summer Lake Games.
It was an incredibly close race this year between Hearts Hotel and Eagle's Nest.
Michael reached over and captured her hand, his strong fingers sliding securely between hers. Her heartbeat picked up speed, a rush of heat spreading beneath her collar as she instinctively shifted closer to the solid comfort of his broad shoulder.
"We've got this," Michael whispered to her, leaning down to press a reassuring kiss against the top of her head. His touch made her pulse go wild, a reaction that had nothing at all to do with the athletic competition.
"I know," Maggie said, trying to project as much confidence as she could muster, though her fingers squeezed his back with a nervous tightness.
Up on the elevated stage, Pete adjusted his grip on the microphone, his weathered face bright with mischief as he reached into a heavy paper envelope.
He went to pull the winner's card from the sleeve, and then, executing the exact same dramatic stall he performed every single year, he let the paper slip from his fingers.
The white envelope fluttered clumsily onto the wooden floorboards.
The crowd predictably groaned in a loud, unified roar of exasperation.
Pete offered a playful, innocent grin, bending his knees slowly to pick the card back up. "What?" he asked, his voice carrying over the speakers with a defensive, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth cadence. "Hey, I'm old and shaky. I drop things."
"Every year?" Martin called out from the third row, shaking his head with a dry laugh. "Come on, you seriously need some new material, Pete."
The crowd burst into another round of laughter, the sound echoing off the high cedar rafters.
"Seriously," Pete's daughter said, rolling her eyes as she stepped up from the side of the stage and snatched the envelope right out of her father's hand before he could execute his second trick of claiming he’d picked up the wrong category.
"Your dad jokes are just, well, let's just say they really are typical dad jokes. "
Everyone laughed, and Pete clasped his hands over his chest, feigning deeply wounded pride.
"Oh, come on," Penny hissed, her fierce competitive nature instantly rising to the surface as she leaned forward in her seat to look at the row of family members around her. "Does he honestly do this every single year?"
"Yup!" five adults and five kids chorused in perfect, happy synchronization.
Karla held the thick, state-stamped card in her hands, her fingers tapping a slow, teasing rhythm against the plastic casing of the microphone.
The wobbly hum of the speakers echoed through the high cedar rafters of the barn, competing with the restless shifting of the crowd on the wooden benches.
She looked out over the sea of eager faces, her lips curving into a bright, mischievous grin as she deliberately paused, letting the silence stretch out until the tension in the room felt almost physical.
"The winner of this year's Summer Lake Games is," she began, in a dramatic, theatrical drawl that echoed off the timber walls. "And I have to say, it was a very close championship..."
"Get on with it!" someone called out from the back row, prompting a wave of agreement. "This isn't a television game show!" The audience groaned in a loud, unified chorus of mock frustration, several people shaking their heads as they leaned forward in their seats.
Karla chuckled, turning her head to look at her father, who was standing beside her on the riser. "I see exactly why you do this every summer, Dad," she said, her voice carrying clearly through the microphone. She let out a small, playful laugh. "You're right. This is incredibly fun."
Pete laughed, his weathered face crinkling with delight as he offered a supportive nod. He stood with his hands folded over his clean white apron, thoroughly enjoying the crowd's impatient groaning.
Maggie leaned forward, her shoulder pressing tightly against Michael's as her fingers squeezed his hand.
The suspense was making her heart race, a flutter of nervous energy buzzing beneath her skin.
She cupped her free hand around her mouth, calling out toward the stage.
"If you don't tell us right now, I swear I'm going to throw something at you! "
"Okay, okay," Karla said, rolling her eyes at their collective impatience as she adjusted her grip on the microphone. She let out a dramatic sigh, though the twinkle in her eyes gave away her excitement. "The winner is... Hearts Hotel!"
The barn erupted.
The deafening roar of cheers and applause instantly shattered the stillness of the room.
On the benches, the Hearts Hotel supporters jumped to their feet, stomping their boots against the wooden floorboards until the entire structure seemed to vibrate with their victory.
Michael let out a triumphant shout, his arm wrapping securely around Maggie's waist as he pulled her into a brief, celebratory hug.
Beside them, Linda and Penny were clapping fiercely, their faces lit up with joy, while the five kids high-fived each other, their straw cowboy hats wobbling on their heads.
Once the initial wave of cheering subsided, a brief, hushed debate broke out among the Hearts Hotel supporters. It was unanimously decided by every single member of the team that Captain Number One, which was Maggie, was the only logical choice to go up and collect the prize.
"Go on," Michael whispered, his hand gently pressing against the small of her back as he urged her forward. "This is your moment."
Maggie felt a hot flush touch her cheeks.
She stood up, smoothing the front of her crisp shirt, and walked toward the stage.
The physical sensation of the bright spotlight hit her as she ascended the wooden steps, her boots clicking rhythmically against the risers.
She stepped up to the long folding table where the massive gold trophy sat glinting under the lights.
The trophy was beautifully constructed, featuring a polished wood base and a soaring, double-handled golden cup that looked heavy enough to tire her arms. It was a historic piece of Sweet Blossom Bay tradition, and Maggie knew exactly where it was destined to go.
It would sit in pride of place inside the large, cedar-framed display cabinet right at the main entrance of Hearts Hotel, occupying the exact central shelf where it had sat for so many summers past.
Karla handed her the heavy trophy, her smile radiant and genuine as the crowd's applause reached a fresh, deafening peak. Maggie gripped the cold metal handles, lifting the cup high above her head with a surge of triumphant energy. She looked out over the sea of happy, familiar faces, her eyes locking onto Michael’s proud, smiling gaze in the second row, and her heart felt incredibly full.
She stepped up to the microphone, her voice steady but heartfelt as she addressed the room.
"Thank you, everyone," Maggie said, her words carrying clearly over the speakers.
"I want to thank my incredible team, our wonderful volunteers, and every single person who threw their weight into the oars and ran the sand relays today.
This was a true team effort." She paused, a bright, playful glint of mischief lighting up her green eyes as she scanned the rival benches.
"And we look forward to seeing all of you back here next summer, when we fully intend to reclaim this trophy once again! "
The crowd immediately let out a loud, good-natured groan, a chorus of playful grumbles and mock jeers echoing off the rafters.
On the Sanibel side, several rival team members shook their fists in playful defiance, while others laughed and booed with a lighthearted banter.
Maggie grinned, holding the trophy securely against her chest as she walked back down the wooden steps, her heart humming with a sweet, lasting satisfaction.
As Maggie descended the wooden steps of the stage, her boots clicked rhythmically against the risers while the thunderous roar of the crowd continued to reverberate through the high cedar rafters of the barn.
Her hands were wrapped tightly around the cool, heavy metal handles of the golden trophy, her heart thumping wildly against her ribs from the sheer, exhilarating rush of the victory.
She walked back down the narrow gravel aisle toward their long picnic table, her face flushed with a triumphant glow as her friends stood up to cheer her on.
Michael stepped out from the bench, his broad shoulders squared and a proud smile lighting up his handsome features.
He pulled her chair back with an unhurried courtesy, waiting for her to settle the heavy trophy right in the center of the checkered tablecloth before he wrapped his strong arms around her shoulders.
He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss against her temple that made her pulse skip a beat.
"That was an incredibly beautiful speech," Michael whispered, his breath tickling her ear as he sat down beside her. "And we're most definitely going to be back next summer to defend our title."
"We're going to have to," Maggie replied, her voice slightly breathless as she leaned into the solid comfort of his side. "I don't think Sanibel is going to let us off the hook after that warning."