Page 28 of That Thing You Brew
He didn’t answer.
“Take it or leave it,” I pushed.
He rolled his eyes again. If Bumper from the moviePitch Perfectwas a professional cheerleader, he’d be Monty.
“Fiiiine,” he said, dragging out the word with a dramatic sigh.
“This guy giving you trouble, Pen?”
I jumped as Tasha reappeared beside me. “Nah. Just doing business.”
“You’re holding up the line, Montgomery.” Tashanevercalled him Monty. “Move along.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. Monty’s lips twitched like he was going to laugh or like he wanted to say something but hadn’t decided yet.
“One more thing.” He fixed his gaze on Tasha. His voice dripped honey and charm. “You’re looking at the newest Ridgie the Bear.”
Tasha’s jaw fell open. She recovered, narrowed her eyes to slits, and shook her head. She was back in the kitchen seconds later.
“That hurt.” Monty pressed a hand over his heart. “Truly, she wounds me. Not even a congratulations for her oldest friend.”
Friend? More likefrenemy.I sighed. “You really do love to rub salt in her wounds, don’t you?”
Monty set his shoulders back, and the furrowed forehead and frown almost looked genuine. “Me?” he asked innocently. “What didIdo?”
“You’ve known for years that Tasha has always wanted to be part of a pro team’s Spirit Squad or dance team. Now you’re the mascot of one of the best teams in pro sports?”
“Well, I’m too talented to justdance.”He shrugged and leaned in. “And besides, tryouts aren’t until July. This was a special audition. Invite-only. They’re adding a third bear since the team is probably going to make the playoffs this year. I’ll start out doing birthday parties, social media reels, and PR events, and then who knows? The current game day Ridgie is overthirty.He can’t even tumble anymore.”
“Tragedy.” I glanced behind him. The line had grown even longer while he’d been bragging. Luckily, Marie, who was at the register next to mine, was fast and kept the queue moving.
Tasha reappeared with a bag of “Lofty-size” to-go coffee cups and shot Monty a blinding glare on her way down the counter to restock them. To my right, Jannell, Marcus, and Gabby filled orders. The rest of the staff was in the kitchen, baking and prepping food items.
“She should try out if she wants to be one of the ice girls. She’d make it,” Monty said kindly, his gaze shifting to my sister. “She’s, uh, engaging to watch.”
Was he still talking? “Listen, Monty, you know she can’t. Pro team dance squads pay less than she makes at this place, and there’s no health insurance like her coaching job at the high school. Every one of those women has a full-time job or is in school.” He should know this.
“Oh. Right. I forgot some people actually have to work to make money. Sad. Truly.” His face fell, and I knew him well enough to know his empathy was genuine. Monty wasn’t as stuck up as he sounded. He just liked to rile up my sister, and sometimes he forgot about his privilege as the grandson of an oil tycoon. He loved being the center of attention, yes, but he also loved kids. In addition to coaching three teams at the Plex, Monty spent a lot of his free time at the hospital reading to and playing games with sick children. The mascot job would be perfect for him.
“It’s called adulting.” I met his gaze. “Someday, you might grow up and learn the basics.”
He shuddered. “I intend to live life to the fullest as long as I’m physically able.” A shadow of a frown crossed his expression, but he recovered quickly. “Thanks for the water.”
I paused, watching his retreating form as the next person in line stepped up. Monty’s older sister had died when he was only eight. The loss had affected all of us, but it had really changed him. From the outside looking in, it seemed as if he was on a mission to remind us she was still here by trying to be just like her. In the process, he’d lost himself. The fun-loving rambunctious little boy had disappeared into the shell of a competitive Type-A do-gooder who shut everyone out of his personal life.
The rest of the morning flew by, and before I knew it, my shift was over. Xavier wanted to pick me up at work, but I suggested meeting at the barn instead. No sense in the crowd starting to speculate about us. Not yet, anyway.
Tasha and I shared an apartment in the complex located behind the Bevvie Bar—Coffee Loft,I corrected myself for the umpteenth time—so it was a quick walk home through a gate and across a parking lot to change out of my work clothes and into something more wedding-planning appropriate. I hadn’t been to many weddings, but I’d seen them on television and surfed the Internet to absorb what I could about how to act as a bride-to-be.
I chose an ivory sweater dress and sage leggings and pulled a tendril loose from each of my two French braids. I wound the braids into a low bun and pinned them into place with bobby pins, then pulled gently at the strands to fluff them out. I finished the ’do off with a jeweled comb at the top of the knot and slipped my feet into my favorite fuzzy-lined boots.
Bride-to-be.
Maybe it would feel more real after this meeting.
* * *
I wasa few minutes late to the appointment. On my way out of the store, Jason and Lauren’s niece, preschooler Quimby de la Tour, was melting down over toast. Apparently, she’d overheard her parents talking about toasting at their upcoming New Year’s Eve party, after she went to bed. Her pregnant mother was trying to explain that the “New Year’s toast” wasn’t actual toast, but Quimby wasn’t having it. I’d popped a slice into the toaster, added butter, slid it into a doughnut sleeve and handed it to Tasha, telling her to ask Lola before she served it to her daughter just in case of allergies. “And her decaf Frodoughchino is on me,” I added.
I loved kids. They were literal and simple energy-suckers and so much fun.
