Page 36 of Grinch Girl

I didn’t know. “In our post-date confessionals, we should say that as punishment for being so obnoxious, they should be paired with other people for the next date.”

Nate tapped his cup against mine. “Deal.”

The rest of the contestants settled at highboy tables behind lanes one and two. Sean and the rest of the camera crew had positioned themselves at evenly spaced intervals around the two lanes. I spotted two open stools at the back of the crowd, but to my surprise, Nate jerked his head toward the bar. “Want to go over there and talk? Or are you invested in this showdown?”

I paused. Bit my lip. I didn’t care much about the bowling, but I wasn’t sure it’d be smart to go off alone with Nate either. We’d had fun bowling, of course, but what if the lighthearted laughs transitioned back into that zinging, sparking, dangerous lust?

“No pressure,” he said, yawning. “I was just thinking it’d be nice to not have to worry about a camera in my face for a few minutes.” Oooh, that did sound good.

“Lead the way,” I said.

We bellied up to the bar. Nate ordered an old-fashioned, and I switched to club soda. Had to keep my wits about me. The bartender slid Nate’s drink across the bar, and I watched as he took his first swallow. Laughed aloud, hard, when his eyes watered and his facial expression turned bewildered.

He made a motion to call back the bartender, who was pulling drafts for other customers. “He made me the wrong drink.” He eyed his glass suspiciously. “This is not whiskey.”

A snort escaped. “It isn’t whiskey, but he didn’t make you the wrong drink.”

Nate raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, Jane. Even if you are a part-time bartender, I’ll have to argue with you on this one. An old-fashioned is made with whiskey.”

I gave him a huge grin. “Not in Wisconsin. A Wisconsin Old-Fashioned is made with brandy.”

He gaped at me. “I’m sorry? The state of Wisconsin is just allowed to make one of the most classic of all cocktails differently?”

“Yup.” I tapped a few keys on my phone and showed it to him. “If you don’t believe me, believe Google.”

He scanned through a few articles and then gave the drink in front of him a considering expression. “Here I am, drinking the most authentic Wisconsin beverages of all, just like a local. Yay me.”

I wrinkled my nose. I rarely drank spirits at all and found brandy to be particularly nasty. “I doubt you’ll be saying ‘yay me’ after a few more sips.”

He took another swallow. “Ugh, you may be right.” He sniffed at the brandy and shuddered. “Just…why? Why is this?”

I had to laugh. “European immigrants to Wisconsin,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Long ago, when they emigrated, they brought their taste for brandy along with them. Mostly Germans.”

Nate stared at me for a beat too long. “Why is it so sexy that you know things like that?” he muttered into his drink. I squirmed on my stool and drained my club soda. Me knowing things had never been sexy to anyone before.

Nate shook his head slightly as if admonishing himself. “Tell me about the shop,” he said after taking another tiny sip ofhis drink and wincing. “Bella said something about it the other day while we were working. You guys co-inherited it from her grandmother or something?”

I chewed on my straw, leaving angry bite marks. “Yeah. Greta ran the shop for the last fifty years. It’s been a town institution forever. Before Walmart and the Piggly Wiggly, it was one of the only places in the area to get booze. Thirty years ago, all the area restaurants used her as a distributor too.” I sighed. “Most of that’s changed now, which is why the business isn’t doing well. Beer’s a lot cheaper at the big-box stores. Greta was wonderful at choosing good wine at good prices, but—” I gestured around “—this is more of a beer and liquor town.”

I stabbed at the ice in my cup. “I’ve helped in the shop on and off for more than ten years. In the last two, Greta really started to slow down, so I was there a lot.” I put down the glass because my throat was starting to hurt. “She got sick at the end of last winter, so I’ve been mostly running it since then.”

Nate picked up his glass and moved it in circles. We both watched the brown liquid swirl around the ice cubes and muddled fruit. “Are you angry with Greta for not leaving it to you outright? Because you contributed so much time to it?”

I had to appreciate the blunt and ballsy question. I hadn’t let myself think about it in that way before. Being angry with Greta was not an emotion I was comfortable with. “A little,” I admitted. “I’m mostly frustrated, though, about the situation. She should have just left it to me or she should have left it to Bella. This sharing thing is a nightmare.”

“Hmm.” He swirled his drink again. Then, out of left field: “You should let Bella buy you out.”

What the—? Eyes blazing, I dropped my glass on the bar with a loudthunk. “Why would you say that? Bella hasn’t been part of that shop for the last decade! Bella hasn’t stressed over the books until her eyes crossed. Bella hasn’t dusted betweenbottles of old wine until her sinuses went bonkers. Bella hasn’t spent every Easter weekend doing inventory prep for summer.” I swiped a hand across my nose. “It hasn’t been herhomelike it’s been mine.”

Nate looked at me, lips parted, like a question was lodged there that I wasn’t going to like.Good. Swallow it back down.

But he didn’t. “Is the shop still your home, though, without Greta?” he asked softly.

In my chest, my heart suddenly felt funny. As though a fist was around it, crushing it.

I should have wanted to slap him. Or slosh his own drink across his face. But maybe I was too tired for anger, because all I really felt was…hurt. Honest-to-goodnesshurt. Weight on my chest, ice shards in my throat, and a strange, unmoored sensation. Like I’d become untethered from the world.

“Why would you say such a painful thing?” I whispered. Thank Christ there were no cameras around, because my vision was blurred with tears. Why would he make my home seem so tenuous?

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