Page 78 of The Lost Book of First Loves

Everybody changed, she reminded herself. Maybe the years had matured the jocks, helped them see they no longer ruled their particular corner of the world.

“Hey, Maclean.” Tank Clark—real name Trevor—gave Clint a complicated handshake.

While the two of them were engaged in that, Smitty was looking at Alison with a look of appreciation.

“Who’s your friend, Mac?”

“You guys remember Alison Wells.”

They looked at her with little if any sign of recognition, as if they had taken one too many hits on the football field. Or as if she had been completely forgettable.

Which was likely the truth.

“Aren’t you the kid of that big-shot author?” Smitty asked.

“Yes. That’s me.”

To her surprise, he gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry to hear about your dad. I never read his stuff, but my folks always said he was the real deal.”

Before she could answer, a server came over wearing a black half apron with the brewery’s logo on it. Ali recognized Deb Sargent, who had also gone to school with them.

It was hard to escape high school when you lived in a small town.

Deb beamed at their table. “Clint, darlin’. I was wondering if we’d see you tonight. When these two morons came in without you, I figured maybe you found something better to do this weekend.”

“Or someone,” Tank muttered under his breath with a smirk. Yeah. He actually said that. Wow. She reallydidfeel like she was back in the cafeteria at school.

Either Clint didn’t hear the comment or he chose to ignore it. “I would hate to miss the band. You know how much I enjoy live music, especially the Canyon Drifters.”

“I do indeed. You want your regular? The Frontier IPA?”

“Sure. That sounds good.”

“And what about you?” the woman asked with a polite smile to Ali that quickly shifted into one of recognition when Ali greeted her by name.

“Ali! Hi. Sorry! I didn’t recognize you. It’s so dark in here.”

She knew that wasn’t the only reason. They had run with very different crowds, yes. But Ali wanted to think she had changed from her years in high school when she had been eminently forgettable.

“It’s totally fine. It’s good to see you, Deb. This seems like a great place. Have you worked here long?”

“Since the beginning. It’s my brother Paul’s brewery. Did you ever know him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He’s five years older than we are so I guess you wouldn’t. He went off to Colorado for school and learned how to homebrew then decided to try things out on a bigger scale. So far, so good.”

“It has a great vibe.”

She grinned. “Thanks. What are you drinking?”

She wasn’t really fond of beer. “I’m not sure. What do you recommend?”

“You would like their Prairie Pale Ale,” Clint said, then turned to Deb. “Why don’t you bring her that?”

She had been thinking a Diet Coke with a splash of rum but she didn’t want to argue with him five minutes into her date. “Sure. That would be okay.”

After Deb left, the three men started talking about the upcoming NFL season, still several months away, and about another of their friends from the high school football team who had been in a car accident and had a broken leg.

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