Page 176 of Story of My Life
Me:Guess we need to meet up.
Hazel:Why would we do that?
Me:We’re co-chairs. Gotta make sure this Summer Fest thing happens.
Hazel:That’s going to be difficult since I’m not speaking to you.
Me:Get over it. We have a town to save from a literal shitstorm. Meet me at the store tonight at 8.
Hazel:I’m not in the mood for some elaborate ruse for a date when I didn’t want to date you in the first place.
Me:I stocked up on Wild Cherry Pepsi and fresh notebooks. I even got one that says Be Curious and there’s a dumb cartoon cat on it.
I had just finishedthe drawer count when I heard the tap on the glass. Familiar brown eyes glared at me over theclosedsign.
I’d known Hazel would show. If for no other reason than to yell at me for publicly broadcasting our private business. And for the notebooks.
I unlocked the door and held it open for her. “Evenin’, co-chair.”
“Don’t start with me,” she said, sweeping inside.
“Still pissed I see.”
She’d spent the entire morning literally locked—I’d checked. Twice—in her office. When I returned from the lunch run for subs, she was gone. My network of blabbermouth spies informed me that she’d met up with Zoey and a few other Lakers at the lodge to discuss the impending Labor Day disaster…I mean, festival.
She stormed right on up to the endcap display of solar lanterns and bug spray. “I don’t even know where to start. You know, Old Hazel would just sweep it all under the rug. Go along to get along and all that bullshit.”
“Old Hazel sounds great,” I quipped, leaning against the door and taking her in.
She spun around and leveled me with a cool glare. All that long hair was gathered up in a high ponytail that seemed to be enjoying the late-summer humidity. She wore a long skirt that flowed around her ankles and a form-fitting tank top that highlighted some of my favorite places to touch and taste.
While I was admiring her, she was looking at me like I was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.
Damn. Hazel Hart was beautiful when she was mad. Lucky for me, I seemed to have an uncanny knack for getting her there.
“Okay. That’s it! What game are you playing here, you infuriating man-child?” she demanded, interrupting my perusal of her.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet here tonight,” I said conversationally. “Had to close up shop tonight. We can head up to my place. You eat dinner yet?”
“Your place?Dinner?”
I was glad Melvin wasn’t here because he would have been howling as Hazel’s voice went up seven octaves. My plan to keep her off-balance appeared to be working. “I live upstairs. I made food.” I pointed up.
“I didn’t come here to get lured into your bedroom or eat whatever week-old hot wings you call dinner while the entire town thinks we’re a real couple.”
“It was gonna be pulled pork, but I had to make a last-minute change to turkey burgers, salad, and tots.”
Hazel pretended to look disinterested, but her stomach growled loud and long. Victory was mine.
The door at my back tried to open.
“We’re closed,” I yelled. I had a tight window of time to move Hazel along with the whole getting over “me being an ass and embarrassing her in front of the entire town” thing, and I was not about to let a customer eat into those precious minutes.
“Come on, Cam! It’s me, Junior!” my uninvited guest called mournfully from the other side of the door.
“Go away, Junior,” I said, flipping the lock. Junior Wallpeter was a born talker. One of those people who ignored every pointed “welp, it’s getting late,” and instead of taking the hintand leaving, he’d just open up his phone and start a narrated slide show of fifty of the most recent pictures of his twin girls.
“Aww, come on, man. I just need baby formula and a pack of M&M’s. The big one. Tessa’ll kill me if I come home empty-handed.”
