I point to the turtledoves display that is backward, mind you, and fold my arms. “That has nothing to do with it.”
Tilly’s not buying what I’m feebly selling. “So the fact that this aid station is literally beside the place you got ghosted last year has nothing to do with you picking apart a yearly tradition you haven’t objected to before now?”
“I feel that the name can give children the wrong ideas about turkeys. I’m passionate about education.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Ugh. Why does she have to nitpick my psyche? “All right. Fine. I’m not happy about staring at the spot that was such an ugly memory.” For so many reasons.
She links her arm through mine in sisterly solidarity. “Think you’ll see him again?”
I shrug. “Probably not. I’m not even sure he exists.” Silver Creek has about 6500 residents, which is a decent number for being considered a small town. I’ve never once run into him over this past year. Though I don’t go very many places, so that could be on me. The major point in my argument is that no one has heard of him. I asked around if anyone knew a Leo who worked for the town, and the resounding answer was no. “I wish I never went that night.” I start pulling the bottled water from the packaging and lining them up on the table.
“Maybe he had a good reason.” This isn’t the first time she has offered this counter.
“Yeah. But it’s more than that.”
She nods in understanding, then flicks a glance at the turtledoves. “Twenty bucks says you’ll fix it by the time the race is over.”
I blow out a breath. “Mom did that. She didn’t know which way to face it apparently.” She offered to arrange everything regarding Light-Up Night and Gran’s display. This was one area where I held zero resistance. “I’m gonna leave it.”
Her brows spike. “Really?” But then her face morphs into shock. “Fletcher.TheFletcher is approaching. Don’t look,” she panic-whispers. “Code Fourth Runner-Up.”
“Ugh, no.”
She puts her hands together in a begging pose. “Come on, please?” Code Fourth Runner-Up is her signal for me to reference her pageant era. Tilly was titled fourth runner-up in the Miss Ohio contest three years ago. I’m her designated hype girl.
Silver Creek Secret Santa, aka Fletcher Thomas, approaches. He’s wearing weather-appropriate running gear and looks like he could be on some kind of protein supplement ad. He smiles at me. “Hey, Greta. Got any waffle fries for me?” He says this like we have our own inside joke.
“Sadly, I do not. But it’s cute that you think I would share such a treasure with you.”
He laughs. Tilly nearly chokes. As I said, zero chance with this man. So he gets my full snark. “But as promised.” I pick up a chocolate chip granola bar and wrinkle my nose at it. “There’s probably one morsel of chocolate per gazillion granola flakes, but it’s all I got.”
He nods in approval. “Just keep it back for me, if you don’t mind. I’ll swing by after the race.”
Tilly nudges me but hits a rib, and I almost squeak. “You remember, Matilda Davies, from Brewtiful Grounds?”
He shifts his focus to my pretty bestie, and she is in full pageant mode—perfect posture, wide grin. If she spouts off something about world peace, I’m out. He extends his hand. “I met you the other day, right?”
She dips her chin in this demure expression. She really is brilliant. “I made your peppermint macchiato.”
I pat her shoulder. “She has a knack for remembering people’s coffee orders and for placing fourth runner-up in the Miss Ohio pageant.” Not my most brilliant of transitions, evidenced by Fletcher’s rapid blinking.
He quickly recovers and offers a friendly smile. “I see, uh, congratulations.”
Tilly’s grin widens. “Oh, it’s nothing. Greta just likes to brag on me.”
“Yep!” I’m gonna throttle her.
“Sounds like Greta is a great person to have as a friend.” His warm tone is sweet. “Well, I better sprint.” Then he realizes what he says. “That wasn’t supposed to be a pun about the race, but?—”
I laugh. “Justrunwith it.”
“Nice follow-up.” He winks at me. “See you later.”
Tilly turns to me after he leaves. “Uh, I think the rich Santa is into you.”
“No.” I nod at one of the Mavericks who is heading up the Silver Striders age division. “I’m not Fletcher’s type.”
