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Chapter 17
Acheer went up in the dark interior of Cupid’s Arrow as soon as Troy opened the door.
Alison peeked around him to see who was leading the raucous cheer and saw that it was the other team. They occupied an entire long table and a half at the back of the space, their jerseys turning that whole side of the room into a sea of red and white.
She looked up at Troy, confused. “Are they being sarcastic?”
He laughed and slipped his arm around her shoulders as they entered. “No. Not at all. You have to understand what it’s like here. We may’ve been competing in the softball game tonight, but Jerry over there cuts my hair. Madeleine’s the librarian. Mr. Joyner—I’ll never be able to call him Tom—was my high school phys ed teacher. I could go on. I told you on the first day I met you, in Valentine Bay, everyone’s your neighbor.”
“I like that. It’s sweet. And cozy.”
Troy walked up to the bar as the rest of the team filed in and found seats close together, and since his arm was around her shoulders, Alison followed along with him, fighting to keep a goofy grin from taking over her face. It wasn’t just the fact that he had his arm around her; it was the fact that he was doing it while basically the whole town was watching. He’d touched her and even put his arm around her before in public, where there was a decent chance someone might see, but it wasn’t like this, where they were definitely watching. She felt like she was a teenager in the 1950s who’d just “got pinned.”
Troy stepped up to the oak top bar and signaled to the bartender. When he came over, Troy said, “Hey, Max. Can I get fifteen beers? You can put it on my tab.”
Alison chimed in, “And the next round’s on me.”
Just then, Mila came charging up to the bar, jostling her brother with her shoulder as she said, “Hey, Max! Make it sixteen.”
“Make hers of the ‘root’ variety,” Troy said wryly, ruffling her hair.
Mila punched him in the arm and returned to her group of friends, and Max asked, “Bottles? Or do you want whatever’s on tap?”
“Tap. Make it pitchers. We’ll pour.”
“Sounds good. I’ll bring it over.”
“Thanks, Max.”
Alison followed him back over to the table and sat at the empty seat next to the one he chose. She was happy to see Ella, Abby, and Gen on the other side, sitting with Troy’s brothers. She felt more comfortable knowing there were friendly faces there.
Max brought the pitchers of beer over then, and that’s when the party really started. Alison felt the vibe in the room shift to a palpably more relaxed atmosphere, and it affected her, as well.
The muscles in her shoulders lost the tension that had been holding them all night. She only wished she could’ve channeled a little of this Zen energy during the actual game. Maybe she would’ve played better.
On second thought, she realized, nah…there wasn’t a lot that could help her with softball. She just wasn’t a great player. Hopefully, though, she’d get better with time.
That thought caught her up short.
With time.
She was thinking about this place, this group, as if she was going to be around for quite a while. She hadn’t made any such decision consciously. That was just where her brain had gone on its own.
Hmmm…interesting. I’ll have to watch that.
Mila bopped over to the laughing, jovial group and stuck her head in between Troy and Alison.
“Hey, Troy. I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be staying over at Keira’s tomorrow night.”
“That’s fine,” Troy replied, his tone automatic.
Mila sighed. “Okay… just to make it clear. Me. Gone. At Keira’s. All night. Tomorrow.”
Troy looked at her strangely. “Yeah. I said it was fine.”
The girl looked down at the floor and shook her head. Then she lifted it and looked back at Troy, speaking slowly. “So, you’ll be free to do whatever you want. Go wherever you want.”
Troy scrunched his forehead and opened his mouth to reply when Donovan punched Troy’s arm and said, “She’s trying to say you can get together with Alison, ya doof. Just wink your acknowledgement and move on.”
Mila laughed and returned to her friends, and Alison was left laughing awkwardly with Troy, wondering whether or not he was going to pick up such obvious bait, and hoping and praying that he would.
