Page 48 of Prime Time Romance

“Batteries?” His brows knit together in confusion.

Brynn looks down at the package in her hands. “Yes. I was changing out all of the batteries in my flashlights. You never know when a storm is going to blow in.”

Spencer nods as if he agrees. “You really don’t.”

He starts to take the batteries from her hands but pauses. “Did you do something different with your hair? Whatever it is, I like it.”

Brynn twists a loose lock around her finger. “Yeah, I went and saw Lois at the salon. I was in the mood for a change.”

He smiles at her. “It suits you.”

He shoots a glance in my direction before returning his attention to her. “Hey, do you remember the old observatory up on the hill?”

Brynn’s breath catches. “Yes, of course.”

“Well, I was thinking of heading up there to check it out. Would you maybe want to come with me? Just the two of us.”

I can’t see Brynn’s face, but I notice her voice shifts up an octave as she says, “Um, yeah. I would love that.”

Again, he looks in my direction. “How about tonight? I can pick you up at seven.”

I watch the back of Brynn’s head as she nods. “Seven is great.”

He holds the front door open for her. “Great. It’s a date.”

She walks through, abandoning both me and her batteries. “It’s a date.”

I stand for a moment, alone in the aisle, until the guy behind the counter clears his throat. “Fletcher. Don’t usually see you in here. Is there anything you need help with?”

My eyes scan the shelves. For a moment, I consider picking up Brynn’s batteries, but there’s a box of industrial string lights beside them that are marked down on clearance.

They give me an idea.

What did Brynn call it? A glow-up? A radical transformation to highlight what was there all along. I don’t know if I can manage radical, but then again, I have nothing but time right now.

I hold up the box. “Just these.”

—

When I get back to the Bronze, I head straight to the storeroom, where I find the cleaning supplies.

By one o’clock, I have the floors swept and washed. By three, all the windows are clean. By five, my arms are killing me and I definitely do not smell like Cedar Lumberjack, but I have managed to clear out almost all of the stage, leaving enough space for a band.

It’s far from a miracle makeover, but the place looks exponentially better. I get to work next on the string lights I picked up from the general store, stringing them back and forth from the rafters until there’s a full canopy of tiny lights.

It looks like a blanket of stars, casting a soft orange glow over the bar that makes the whole place look warm and inviting. I’m so engrossed in my project that I don’t hear Sherry come back until she’s standing right behind me.

“What the heck happened in here?”

I jump, yet again, at the sound of her voice.

“Do you sneak up like that on everyone? Or is it just me?”

She ignores my question and instead does a slow 360-degree survey of the bar.

“I had nothing I needed to do today,” I attempt to explain. “So I started to clean the bar, and then I just kept on going, I guess.”

She draws a long, deep breath in through her nose. I’ve yet to determine if she’s angry or pleased.