Page 40 of Love Felt Like This

“I bet it’s something average,” Dad throws in. “Paul? George? John?”

I laugh. “Are you just naming the Beatles?”

“Gotta start somewhere.”

But the question settles in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t even consider that “Griffin Harvey” would be a fake name. Now that I think about it, that name definitely sounds super made-up. Why wouldn’t he have a stage name? He does have a fake girlfriend, after all.

“As far as I know, his name is Griffin,” I say.

“As far as you know?” Dad asks.

“Well, we’re not actually dating.”

“Don’t tell that to Maria,” he says, blowing out a breath. “She was excited you’d finally moved on. Might break her old heart to hear that’s not true.”

My head jerks back. “God, is she still alive?” Maria runs the general store. Those jars of jam and peppers will live on long after she does. Except now I’m not so sure.

Rob stretches out in the back seat. “Alive now. Head is still in 2019.”

“Lucky,” Nana murmurs.

“Be kind to her,” Dad says to me. “She only wants the best for you and whoever your future husband is.”

Nana scoffs. “Oh, who cares about her feelings? She stole my buggy the other day.”

Dad laughs. “Nana.”

Nana leans back with crossed arms and tosses me another secret wink.

“Speaking of—Maria’s planning a town hall soon,” Nana says. “She has plans for some winter farmers’ market thing.” She waves it off. “I don’t know.”

Elk Grove and their town halls…

Rob leans in. “Do you think they need a band to play at the farmers’ market?”

“Wait, since when are you in a band?” I ask.

He shrugs with a sheepish smile. “This year. Me and a couple guys started up one.”

“I’m sure they can get Polished Shoes on deck,” Dad says, smiling in the rearview.

“Polished Shoes?” I ask.

Rob clears his throat. “Yeah, it’s really nothing big.”

Nana nods. “I’ll see what we can do. So, are you up for it, Bevvy?”

I blink back to Nana. “For what? I don’t play an instrument.”

“For the town hall. Maybe even with Polished Shoes.”

Rob holds out his hands. “Wait, no, we’d wanna perform at the farmers’ market! Not the town hall.”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” I say. “I can do a town hall whenever.”

It feels weird settling back into a town routine. It’s like Elk Grove is frozen in time, up on a mountain, all on its own.

Nana pats my knee, and I jump. She smiles. “Don’t worry. I won’t put you through that yet. Maybe the next town hall.”