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“Oh.” The sound comes out of my mouth before I can take it back. I wasn’t expecting him to say that. Or for my body to react to his words. “Thank you.”
“How did you get into bowling?” he asks me.
“My dad,” I say. “He was a big bowler, in three leagues a week. So on my weekends with him, I was always at the lanes. Turns out I was pretty good. It was something we could do together. Actually, the first tournament I bowled in was a father-daughter tournament. We won.”
I smile at the memory of seven-year-old me proudly holding my trophy and looking up to my dad with such awe.
“Do you two still bowl?” Max asks.
I shake my head. “Not really. He still lives in Ohio. I only see him a few times a year, and usually the visits are too rushed for a trip to the lanes.”
“I didn’t realize you were another Nashville transplant,” he says with a smile.
I hold up my beer in deference to our shared journey. “I’m the walking cliché of the transplanted millennial Nashville resident.”
“No you aren’t. I’ve never seen you at club meetings.”
“There’s a club?”
“Of course there is. We meet on Mondays. BYOB.”
“Bring your own beer?”
“No. Biscuits. We get hungry.”
“Of course,” I say with a laugh. “At least you moved here for the reason you’re supposed to.”
“And what’s that?”
“To live the country music dream.”
This makes Max let out a full belly laugh. “Something like that.”
“That’s where I recognize you!”
Both of us jump a little at the woman behind the bar’s exclamation. “Huh?”
“You sang here one weekend. Brought in quite a crowd.”
Max smiles that magnetic smile and leans a little closer. “Thank you for remembering, darlin.’ But now you have to tell me your favorite song.”
I just sit back and watch as Max interacts with the woman, who is at least twice our age. Her gray hair and the lines on her face clearly shows she’s seen a lot. Probably been through a lot too. But the way Max is talking with her? How he’s connecting with her? You’d think they are old pals or kindred spirits. She’s smiling at him, which is making him smile. And as I watch this interaction, I realize that this smile is different from the one he wears at the bar. It’s different from the one he gave those two women the other night. That one was fake. But this one? The real deal.
The woman walks back to the kitchen, leaving Max and I alone at the bar.
“How do you do it?” I ask.
He finishes the sip of his beer. “Do what?”
“Make everyone fall in love with you.”
A blush comes over his cheeks, which is something I did not know I wanted to see. But now that I have, I must say, blushes can be very sexy.
“I don’t make everyone fall in love with me.”
“But you do,” I say. “Her. Women at the bar. Women in your crowds.”
“Maybe it’s the dimple. I heard women go crazy for dimples.”
