Page 23 of Slap Shot Surprise
“About a year ago, I just got the yearning to move back home. My brothers were all getting married and having kids, and I felt like I was missing out on a lot. I’m close to my family.” Thunder rumbled over the lake, and both of us glanced out toward the water. “Then my dad heard about this potential new position being created at our local museum and told me I should apply.”
“That’s the Cherry Tree Harbor Historical Society?”
I looked at him in surprise. “How did you know?”
“Oops.” He grinned sheepishly. “Guess I gave myself away. I was curious about you after I got back to my hotel room last night. I sort of Googled you.”
I laughed. “Well, I’ve got no room to be offended, since Ari and I did the same thing earlier.” Actually, not only was I not offended, I wasflattered. “Anyway, yes, the Cherry Tree Harbor Historical Society. Previously, it was run solely by volunteers, but the board wanted to expand the society’s reach with bigger, better exhibits and events. So I applied for the job, and they offered it to me. So I moved back home, bought a house?—”
“And a cat,” he added. “I remember there was a cat.”
“I already had Cleopatra—Cleo for short—but yes, she made the move too.”
He sipped his whiskey. “Do you like the new job?”
“Yes. It doesn’t pay a lot, but we’re always trying to raise more funds.”
“How do you do that?”
“We appeal to the community, try to target donors. I’m planning a 1920s-themed fundraiser right now called The Bootleggers Ball.”
“Oh yeah? Like gangsters?” Thunder boomed again, louder this time.
“Many of them were,” I said, finishing off my bubbly, “but some were just average guys who made good money funneling whiskey from across the water. Did you know that Michigan actually played a big role during Prohibition? Lots of action because of our proximity to Canada.”
“My parents have always said there was someone in our family tree who did that.” He cocked his head. “On my dad’s side, I think.”
“Really? That’s so cool!”
“I never paid much attention to the story, but it was something like that. I remember it involved bootleg whiskey.” He lifted his glass, as if to toast me. “I like the idea.”
“Of bootleg whiskey or my fundraiser?”
“Both,” he said, moving closer to me.
And of course, because I was nervous and tipsy, I hiccuped.
He chuckled and looked around. “Where’s that slice of lemon?”
“It’s here.” I set my empty glass aside, tucked the napkin in it, and sucked on the lemon. My mouth immediately puckered. “Ew.”
“Count to ten,” he said, as thunder growled directly above us. “That’s the only way it works.”
I counted fast and then stuck the lemon into my glass. “Yeesh. That was awful.”
“But it worked, right?”
I gave it a few seconds. “I think it did. Your mom’s a genius.”
He tossed back the rest of his whiskey and set the glass aside. “I’ll tell her you said so.”
A few drops of rain splattered the railing and the top of my head. I looked up and felt them fall onto my face. “Shoot,” I said, “it’s starting to rain.”
He moved even closer, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Do you want to go inside?”
“No. Do you?”
“No.” His hand slipped behind my neck. “I want to kiss you.”
