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“I’ll grab your lunch from the fridge,” Anna says as I lean over to scoot the mess out of Kaela’s reach.
She disappears, and I look down at Kaela.
I need to pick up some crayons for her.
I make a mental note to stop by the general store in the morning.
Anna returns with a bag from the deli in town. “I got you an Italian sub and chips. You want a soda?”
“Water is fine,” I answer.
She sets the sack on the corner of the desk and leaves, returning with a glass of ice water.
I hand Kaela off to her.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask before she walks away.
“I don’t have any plans. Why?”
“Can you bowl?” I ask.
Anna
We pull up to the Rock’n Bowl. Apparently, Weston and Rich are on a team that bowls against other business owners in the valley on the third Friday of every month, and Rich had to back out due his anniversary. Therefore, Weston talked me into representing Balsam Gold tonight so the farm wouldn’t have to forfeit. He even arranged for Sara-Beth to keep Kaela at his house. She picked her up at the office just before closing time.
“So, this is what you do on a raging Friday night, huh?” I ask.
“Yep. I like to make wagers and take all the old timers’ money,” he says.
“Scoundrel.”
He parks and grabs his bag from the back of the truck, and we enter the bowling alley.
“You have your own ball?”
“I do. Shoes too,” he confirms.
As we make our way in, the guy behind the counter calls out to Weston, and he throws his hand up. Leading us to a lane against the far-left side of the building, he sets the bag down.
“I haven’t bowled in years. I’m not sure I was the best choice for Rich’s replacement,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “It just has to be someone who works at the farm.”
We hear a low whistle, and I look over my shoulder to see an older man in jean overalls. His well-worn skin crinkling around his kind eyes, he grins, and I notice he’s missing one of his front teeth.
“Who do you have here, Weston?”
“Justin, this is Anna” Weston introduces.
He takes my hand and kisses it.
“Watch out for him. He’s a feisty old dog,” Weston warns.
Another elderly gentleman steps forward and extends his hand.
“This is Zemry Wells. He’s a crabby old bastard.”
“Only to shitheads like you,” Zemry retorts.
