Page 147 of Best Kind of Trouble
“No, actually.” I hand them to him. “They’re yours. I got them for everyone as holiday bonuses. But you left early that night.”
“Seems to me I got a special bonus.” His lips quirk upward. “Maybe I should give them to Ann.”
I’m hit with a strange feeling of déjà-vu. Ann had that dream about landing a winning ticket, and it was a Big Boy Bucks, like the ones he’s holding.
“Liam,” I say, excitement catching in my voice. “What if…?”
“Oh, Briar.” His expression is full of fond disbelief. “No one ever wins with these things.”
“Please.” I take a penny from the give-a-penny, take-a-penny dish. “Maybe it’ll be…”
A karmic intervention, but I can’t bear to say the words. I named my cat Karma because I wanted to believe in it, and yet…
Standing here, with him, I can’t let the dream go.
He takes the penny from me, squeezing my hand. “There might be another way.”
I nod at the tickets, my hopeful heart lodged in my throat.
“All right.” He scratches through the first four without winning anything. There’s one left, and he turns to me. “I’m not giving up. It doesn’t matter if we don’t get the money.”
“Scratch the ticket.” I clutch his arm, anchoring myself.
He scratches the coating away and looks up sharply. “We actually won something.”
Wonder seeps into me, but then I look at the total prize. It’s a thousand bucks. It’s welcome and needed, but it’s not enough to save us.
I smile at him, but there’s a sob caught in my chest. “I knew it was a long shot. It’s nice that we won something, though.”
He kisses me as my eyes begin to well, but I hold back the tears. It feels wrong to cry when I have so much of what I wanted.
Dottie pushes through the front door, but she stays put in the entryway. “Oh dear, am I interrupting a private celebration?” Her brow furrows when she sees my face. “Shouldn’t this be a happy occasion?”
I force a smile. “I’m so grateful to you, Dottie. You and Ann have done so much for us. This place has been as much yours as ours these last few weeks, and Otis and Constance?—”
“This is not afuneral, Briar,” Dottie says. “It’s a celebration of life.”
“Thatisa nicer way of looking at it,” I agree, my throat catching as I survey the damp room.
“A celebration of life and of rebirth, because you’re making a completely new version of Silver Star.”
“We…” I will myself not to cry. “We’re not going to be able tostay open any longer, after the organic issue and now the flooding. I’m going to have to close the brewery.”
Before I finish, Dottie’s already shaking her head. She walks toward us with purpose. “Now, my dears, I know you’re anxious to do this all yourself, and I admire that. Of course I do. I’m an independent woman myself. I also know you won’t take charity.”
The door opens again, admitting Ann, who’s wearing one of the star sweaters under her fuzzy, faux-fur coat. She has on a teetering six-inch-tall silver New Year’s headband.
“But would you accept an investment?” Dottie continues. “I, for one, would very much like to invest in Silver Star, and I know I’m not alone in that.”
“Are we doing the hat thing now?” Ann asks.
“Yes,” Dottie says, still staring at us. “I think it’s time for the hat.”
Ann opens the door again and shouts, “Eugene, Dottie needs your hat!”
“Good gracious.” Eugene steps inside, takes off his newsboy cap, and holds it out to Dottie. “You don’t need to shout in my face.”
“What’s all this about?” I ask as the door opens again and my great-aunt comes in, followed by Hannah and Travis, Sophie and Rob, Otis, and Nora. Cormac enters last, alone.
