Chapter 15
NORA
Astrid: Negative twelve season tickets at six-thirty a.m.
I frown. What? Twelve more people cancelled their season tickets this morning? What happened?
Astrid: But plus eight at eight twenty a.m.
What the hell is going on?
Beckett: This kind of green?
Nora: No, lime green.
Beckett: This is lime green.
I send him a photo of a lime green square.
He sends me a photo of a lime.
I laugh. Okay, fair enough. I need balloons the color I just sent you.
Astrid: Negative two at eight forty a.m.
I sigh. For fuck’s sake.
Beckett: So neon green.
Nora: Okay, neon green. Yes.
He sends me a photo of a balloon he’s holding that is the correct color.
Nora: Yes. That one. I need one hundred. And a helium canister. Maybe two.
Yes, two would be good. My helium canister is nearly out and I can never have too much back-up helium.
Astrid: Positive eight at nine a.m.
Nora: So we’re plus two today?
Astrid: Yes. *eye roll emoji*
Beckett: How about this for the ‘aqua’ balloons?
He sends another photo.
Nora: Perfect.
He already got the purple ones I need.
Beckett: Heading to the candy store next.
Nora: Thank you!
I love Beckett’s delivery service. The whole town does.
He not only does specialized shopping like this, he also does grocery shopping, will pick up catering orders from restaurants, will pick up and deliver furniture, hardware, appliances, lumber, even people.
He takes many of our seniors to and from medical appointments, or even just to shop.
There’s very little he can’t or won’t pick up or drop off between Rebel and any of the cities within about a ninety-miles radius, including New Orleans.
We, of course, have the usual services like Fed Ex and UPS, along with the postal service.
We also have ride-share services within the town, and many of our restaurants, including Perks and Rec, provide delivery services, but Beckett’s services fill a gap.
He’ll pick up the specialized drill someone has to have today to finish a repair job, but that would cost them time away from their work site to get themselves, and that would take at least a couple of days to get through one of the other services.
He’ll take Miss Susan to her neurology appointment in New Orleans and take detailed notes of what the doctor says for her daughter, Lori, so that Lori doesn’t have to take time off from her teaching job.
Miss Susan likes going with Beckett better anyway, because he doesn’t need to get back to get the kids from daycare and will take her through the drive-through daiquiri place and then for a walk along the riverfront before heading home.
I also love that Beckett’s services are income-based. Some people don’t pay anything to have him pick up special items for them. Those who are able pay him a very reasonable fee. I know all of this is possible because my cousin Dane, everybody’s favorite billionaire, subsidizes the service.
No matter how much Dane complains about his father leaving him with all of these businesses he can’t get rid of and the dependency of this little town that he never asked for, Dane constantly uses his father’s riches to help the town, even when he’s doing it in secret.
“Emergency movie night committee reporting for duty!” I hear Everly call as the outer door to the Parks and Rec office opens.
“Get in here. I’ve been dying for you guys to get here,” Sutton says.
“Do you know more about The Date?” Everly asks.
“I know more about Alex Olsen,” Sutton says.
“Oh, yes,” Andi says.
I’m up and out of my desk chair immediately.
I walk to the outer office as Andi, Everly, and Sutton start setting up our usual lunch potluck.
Everly is in her standard shorts and tank that she wears when she’s doing lawn care. I know this morning she was up at the park making sure everything is trimmed and neat for movie night.
She takes the lid off the bowl of the salad she brought. She always contributes a salad of some kind. Sometimes it’s a lettuce salad with tons of ingredients, sometimes it’s a fruit salad, sometimes pasta, but it’s always amazing.
“This is a rosemary and sundried tomato bread,” Andi says as she unwraps a round, crusty loaf of bread.
“I’m not sure of it.” She’s wearing loose flowy silk pants in a light blue that matches the sleeveless silky top.
I can’t tell where she’s been—could have been yoga or coffee or shopping.
All I do know is that she isn’t covered in paint or clay, so she didn’t come straight from either of her art studios.
“I’m sure it’s delicious as always,” Sutton tells her.
Sutton has been here in the office with me. Besides being the dance teacher for several classes, and now the hockey team’s choreographer, she’s also the Parks and Rec department’s receptionist and my assistant. She’s wearing her typical sundress with sandals, her hair in a French braid.
I cross to the refrigerator and pull out the peach and mango iced tea I made last night. This is not a brand-new addition to our potlucks, but I added honey to it so we’ll see if it’s sweet enough for Sutton, our sweet-tea aficionado.
We don’t plan who’s bringing what. Everly is in charge of salads, Andi always makes us bread, Sutton brings the sandwich fillings, and I’m in charge of drinks.
We fell into these assignments a long time ago.
Everly loves her fruits and veggies, Sutton is used to cooking and always has a fridge full of meat and sandwich fixings because of Beckett, and Andi has been trying out this cottage-core lifestyle since her husband left.
She mostly hates it, but, for some reason, has fallen in love with baking bread.
We all just know what we’re supposed to bring to our lunch potlucks and somehow it always magically works together.
“I’ve got crab salad today,” Sutton says, also going to the fridge for her container. She’s made this before, and it’s always delicious.
I carry the glass pitcher to the table where we spread out our lunch offerings.
We start making our sandwiches and dishing up salad as I say, “What is this about Alex?”
Sutton grins across the table at me. “I was at the Rec this morning for breakfast.”
I stop with my spoonful of quinoa, cucumber, tomato, and feta salad, positioned above my plate. “Oh?”
“I thought maybe Alex could use a friendly face. Beckett, too.” She slides a glance at Andi. “He’s sweet like that.”
Andi doesn’t respond. She completely ignores the comment about Beckett entirely.
“Did he?” I ask. “Need a friendly face?”
I texted Sutton, Everly, Andi, and Quinn that our date last night was great. I told them where we went, that we had a wonderful time, and that I was home safely. I’d also informed my grandpas about where we were going as soon as I knew, and then when I got home. Nothing more or less.
“He did,” Sutton confirmed. “The straw poll was about if the date was good or bad.”
“What? How could they vote on that?” I demand, dumping salad onto my plate with a frown.
“They knew you went out to a fancy dinner in New Orleans,” Sutton said. “There were several people who thought that was a poor choice on his part.”
“The date was amazing,” I insist, choosing a piece of bread from the basket Andi also supplied.
Along with her new aesthetic, she’s collecting things like baskets, and quirky mugs, plates, and bowls to replace the perfectly matched and incredibly expensive sets of silver and china she shared with her ex.
“How could that be a poor choice?” Everly asks. “I mean, it’s pretty safe, actually.”
Sutton nods. “I think that’s the problem. Several people think it’s boring and that it didn’t take much thought or planning on his part.”
I tip my head back and groan at the ceiling. “This was discussed at Perks and Rec this morning?”
“Yep,” Sutton confirms.
“That explains the texts from Astrid about the ticket sales going up and down,” I say.
“Season ticket sales are fluctuating based on your date with Alex last night?” Andi asks.
“I guess so.” I love this town. I really do. But they’re a lot. “Clearly Alex was wrong.”
“About what?” Sutton asks.
“He thought the town would love us dating and that would bring butts to the seats. We’ve only increased by four season tickets with last night’s date.” I take a deep breath and turn toward my friends. “So now it’s time for the town to learn more about the hockey team.”
We take our plates to the table near the window, and I pull my phone out. I text Astrid.
Nora: I think we need to open practice up to the public. Show them what we’re doing live. They can even start giving us ideas for rules and penalties and fun stuff.
Astrid: You think the team is ready?
I lift my head. “Sutton, what do you think about having a scrimmage with the team tomorrow night and inviting the public in to watch? We could explain what we want from fan involvement and maybe have them even give suggestions in real-time?”
She thinks about it, then shrugs. “They’ll have to get used to changing things up without a lot of warning. We’re only three weeks away from the first game.”
“Exactly,” I say. “So we should do it, right? We can tell everyone that now that Alex is here, we want them to come in and see what we’ve got planned.”
“Sure. I mean, they’ve still got some work to do on the choreography, but maybe this would be a good incentive. A dress rehearsal always makes things feel more real.”
I reply to Astrid: Maybe not 100% but they could use the push.
Astrid: Let’s do it. I’ll tell the team tomorrow is a scrimmage so to dress appropriately.
“So there was a thumbs up jar and a thumbs down jar,” Sutton was telling Andi and Everly. “The thumbs down jar had more money in it for sure.”
“Shouldn’t I be the one saying if the date was good or not?” I ask my friends.