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Zoey looked up at the door and waved him in. She didn’t say anything, just turned to the cupboard and brought out a couple of red plastic cups. He pulled a barstool over to the bench, opposite where she sat.
This was the “shop night”routine. Drinks—alcoholic or otherwise—late in the evening while Zoey tinkered on repairs. Some nights they talked nonstop, solving all the problems of the world or laughing about the characters inTed Lasso. Some nights he just sat in relative silence, watching her work. He wasn’t sure what Zoey got from their shop nights, but he knewhegot a dose of peace from it. No pretense. No secrets. No games. Just his best friend and a splash of whiskey.
They’d started this routine after his wife, Becca, was killed by a drunk driver three years ago. He couldn’t stand being in his house alone, dealing with all the ghosts of dreams that would never come true. Zoey invited him to stop by one night. She was working for her dad then, tackling the smaller items like vacuum cleaners or sewing machines in the shop. And their shop nights became a habit.
Mike hadn’t been kidding when he told Mary that Zoey had gotten him through that awful first year. They’d continued to meet once or twice a week. It wasn’t anything formal—he’d just show up, and she’d pull out the plastic cups so they could enjoy a glass of the wine the Finger Lakes region was so famous for. Or something stronger. On hot summer nights, it might be an ice-cold soda from the antique vending machine she and her dad had refurbished together.
He opened the bottle of whiskey, holding it up for her approval.
“A bottle of Paddy’s, courtesy of my cousin at the Shamrock.” He grinned. “Bridget says hi.”
Bridget ran the McKinnon family pub, the Purple Shamrock. All the cousins owned a portion, but Bridget was the majority owner and manager.
Zoey snorted. “Liar. You stole that bottle without telling her, didn’t you?”
“Meh...” He shrugged. “I’ll tell her eventually.” He poured a splash in each cup, but she nudged hers.
“I think I need a double tonight.”
He obliged, pouring until she waved him off. She told him about Hazel’s adventures in school, and Zoey’s meeting with Ted Sheffield. Mike thought about it. “It sounds like you did everything right. You made sure the punishment fit the crime...for both kids. You talked to Hazel about not punching first and asking questions later. So...” He nodded toward her cup. “Why the double tonight?”
Zoey’s face fell. “She’s growing up so damn fast, Mike. I swear it was just yesterday she was running around the house dressed like Cinderella and begging us for a coach and six white horses for her birthday.” Zoey gave him a chagrined look. “I didn’t alwaysunderstandher fascination with all things sparkly, but I loved that shebelievedin it so much, you know? That innocence...” Her voice trailed off. “Now she’s punching boys for grabbing her bra. When did she get old enough toweara bra? And when did she grow up enough to have to deal withboys?My little princess has vanished. I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with a teenager.”
“Look, I can’t help with parenting advice.” Mike ignored the stab of pain the topic always brought. “But Icantell you that you can deal with anything. You’re the fiercest woman I know, and your daughter’s just like you. Except...frillier.”
Zoey had never been one to care about clothes, especially as a kid. Not that she didn’t ever dress up—he remembered the flowy blue dress she’d worn to Mary’s wedding. The way it swirled when she’d chased after a then-toddler-sized Hazel.
After a long pause, Zoey took a swig of her drink and scrunched her face.
“Whew! I mean...it’s good whiskey, but...whoa.”
“Irish whiskey is for sipping, not gulping, knucklehead. This isn’t that cheap swill we used to sneak under the school bleachers with Mary in high school.”
Zoey picked up the red cup and extended her pinkie finger in the air with a grin and what he guessed was supposed to be an aristocratic accent.
“Well, excuse my lack of decorum, Mr. McKinnon. I’ll try to keep our upper-crust surroundings in mind the next time we drink together.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she looked around the shop. The walls were lined with pegboard, and there were machine parts and rubber belts and packages of filters hanging everywhere. It was good to see her smile return.
“I expect china cups and saucers next time.” Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, that reminds me! I haven’t told you about my latest adventure with your godmother’s book club pals.”
“Oh no! What did Vickie and her geriatric gang do now?”
The Rendezvous Falls book club was a bunch of silver-haired delinquents who’d convinced themselves they were matchmakers. The only problem was...they were horrible at it. He’d been in their sights for a while now, and lately Zoey was, too.
“They set me up with Rachel Reynolds. The librarian at the college. They’re determined to put me with every woman who works on that campus. It’s like they think I have a college fetish or something.” Brady College was a small private college sitting on the shore of Seneca Lake at the base of Main Street. It was the largest employer in the area.
“Wait...isn’t Rachel the one who lives on her boat? She’s kind of a recluse, right?”
“That’s her. Lives on her boat with three cats and five hundred books.”
“And you know about her cats and books because...?”
He leveled a get-real look at Zoey before draining his whiskey.
“Because I’m a gentleman and I walked her to her boat after dinner at the marina restaurant. It’s like she’s a hoarder, but only of books. On a boat. I’m surprised the thing still floats.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell if she was painfully shy or just really private. I did all the talking at dinner. I don’t know what the book club was thinking.”
Zoey laughed. “What are those sweary old peopleeverthinking? Vickie insists they put a lot of effort into this matchmaking project of theirs, but honestly it feels like they just throw darts at a list of all the single names in town and pray for a match.” She picked up the miniature vise grip she’d been using and bent over the small motor in front of her. “Last week they suggested I go out with Matt Black. He’s twelve yearsyoungerthan me and lives with his mom! It’s a miracle they haven’t set you and I up with each other yet.”
There was the slightest beat of silence before she looked up and started laughing. He joined her, but his laughter wasn’t quite as convincing. He couldn’t screw their friendship up by chasing somefeelings. No matter how tempted he was.
