Page 36 of Tinder Embrace
At barely four in the afternoon, Campfire's sole bar was nearly empty; only a few old-timers lingered, sipping on beers. The stage was bare, astark contrast to the steady stream of karaoke singers who strutted their stuff on Friday and Saturday nights.
I nodded a greeting to the owner, Trina, and we claimed a table.
"How were your kids today?" Sahar asked after we'd ordered our drinks.
"So cute," I offered. "We made leprechaun traps."
"I don't see how kidnapping is a good precedent to set," Tom grumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"It's a harmless engineering project," Juanita said, flapping a hand at Tom.
He shrugged. "Just so long as it doesn't become a thing. My wife did Elf on the Shelf one year, and it's become the scourge of our existence."
"You don't think kids deserve a little magic?" I asked.
From the outside, Elf on the Shelf seemed like harmless fun. Then again, I didn't have to come up with days and days of silly scenarios to entertain my kids.
"Childhood is magic already," Tom claimed. "I don't see why giving parents more work is the answer. Raising kids is hard enough."
"Preach," Sahar said, lifting her beer.
"Personally, I wish we could give St. Patrick's Day a miss," Juanita said. "I sent not one, but two kids to the office in tears after a pinching incident."
Her story brought back memories of grabbing a handful of Davis in his kitchen. I only felt a tiny bit guilty for copping a feel. Was that only this morning? It already felt like a lifetime ago.
I glanced at my phone. Jo would be home by now. Had she and Davis had the talk?
I grinned, trying to imagine how that'd go down. Jo was pretty quiet, and Davis only spoke when he had to.
"What's that smile for?" Juanita asked.
"Nothing," I claimed.
"Are you thinking about your next balloon flight?" Sahar asked.
I shuddered. "Not even close."
"You're usually excited to tell us about your next balloon rally. Does your reaction have something to do with your limp?" Tom asked.
"Maybe" I ran a finger down the condensation on my glass. "I crashed at the Pruitt Farm on Saturday," I mumbled.
Juanita's dark brows drew up. "Youwhat?"
"Crashed," Tom repeated. "Is your hearing aid battery starting to go?"
Juanita waved his concern away. "No, silly. I'm just surprised. You're okay?" she asked, turning to me with concern etched on her features.
"I got a little banged up. So did Davis. He tried to help me with my landing. I hurt my ankle, and Davis bruised his wrist."
Juanita rested her chin in her hands, smiling dreamily. "That man can catch me any day." She shivered delicately. "Good thing Roberto keeps me a happily married woman, or I'd give you a run for your money with that one."
At close to sixty-five, Juanita was old enough to be Davis's mother, but she was still a fit and attractive woman. Her husband, Roberto, ran the local auto shop, and I doubted he needed to worry about Davis stealing her heart. Roberto had gained notoriety by groveling in public to get back in Juanita's good graces. He'd once apologized using his auto shop sign. I suspected that was how Gwen and Zander had gotten the inspiration for their own sign war.
"I don't know if I could fly again after crashing," Tom said.
Sahar wrinkled her nose. "It'd take a lot for me too."
I shrugged, trying to downplay the fear I didn't want to acknowledge. "It was more a hard landing than acrash."
