Page 6 of Tinsel & Tools
“Not when it comes to my granddaughter. She needs a good-looking man to chat with over coffee.”
My father looked over at me. “You can spare twenty minutes, Cole.”
I exhaled. “I can spare twenty minutes.”
Bonnie gave a satisfied nod. “She’s bright and kind, and she puts up with my stories. My daughter, Hannah, worries because Paige moved to the city and works too much. Talk about that if you run out of topics.”
“Duly noted.”
Dad cleared his throat. “All right. We’re all done here.”
“I’ll write the check,” Bonnie said and headed inside. She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with her checkbook and the plate of cookies. She handed me the plate while she scribbled fast, tore the check free, and pressed it into my father’s hand.
My dad and I both snagged a cookie and then I handed the plate back.
“We’ll see you after the holiday,” Dad stated around a mouthful of snickerdoodle.
“You will,” she replied, following us down the steps. She gave the rail a shake and looked pleased.
“Oh,” I remembered, swallowing my bite. “Mrs. Katz says she’ll drop off your pumpkin pie in the morning.”
Bonnie’s face brightened. “Good. Now I can stop calling her.”
We loaded the tools, said our friendly goodbyes, and Dad cranked the engine of his van while I climbed into my truck. He waved before pulling away, and I watched his taillights disappear around the corner.
Instead of heading home, I grabbed a bite at Cornerstone Diner and then headed to Brookhaven Tap, or what we all called The Tap. The place had been around forever. Neon beer signs glowed through the front windows, spilling light onto the sidewalk. Inside, the pool tables were uneven, the floorboards creaked, and every Tuesday was karaoke night.
Walking in, I spotted a few regulars hunched over the counter, and a group of women crowded around the karaoke binder to pick songs.
“Cole,” Ryan Dalton called from a corner booth. He was a year behind me in school, and we had grown up side by side: same bus, summers at the lake, pickup games in the park, shop class, then football in the fall. Somewhere in there he became my closest friend, and when I moved back to town, we picked up right where we left off. He worked with his dad at Dalton Auto Body, and most nights he was at The Tap.
I shrugged out of my coat and then slid into the booth across from him, giving him a fist bump in greeting. “You buying?”
“I bought last week,” he shot back, grinning. “Your turn.”
I raised up two fingers to Maggie behind the bar and she gave me a head nod, telling me she knew what I wanted.
Ryan leaned back and nudged his head toward the stage in the corner where a guy was dragging a country song through the mud. “You’re up next.”
“Not happening.”
“Why not? You just got off work. Have a beer, relax, then sing one.”
“I’ve got no interest in singing tonight.”
“Loosen up. It’s Thanksgiving week. Everyone’s in a good mood.”
I shook my head. “Pass.”
The beers landed on the table, and we clinked bottles. Ryan kept running his mouth, judging every song like he was on a panel.
“You really won’t get up there?” he pushed again.
“Nope.”
“Not even a Christmas song?”
“Especially not a Christmas song.”
