Page 132 of That Reunited Feeling

“Yeah, that’s likely.” Hugo rolls his eyes. “I can’t ever imagine being like you guys. Or them.” He nods toward the happy couple, who’re attempting some sort of dramatic tango surrounded by a circle of guests clapping and cheering them on.

“Maybe a new job?” I suggest.

Hugo looks at Tom. “She reads minds?”

“Definitely mine,” Tom says, tickling the back of my neck and sending a shiver down my spine that makes me look forward toheading back to our room later. “But since no club will touch you with a ten-foot pole for a coaching job, given your…er…reputation…then what is it? Is it with a sports gear company or something?”

“Nope.” He smiles a satisfied smile. “Itisa coaching job.”

Tom leans forward. “I thought you were a pariah and no European club would touch you because you’ve either offended, thumped, or shagged everyone they know.”

“Who said it was for a European club?” Hugo drums his fingertips together under his chin, like a Bond villain.

“Oh, interesting.” Tom says. “Where then? Brazil?”

The band segues almost seamlessly from whatever the tango thing was to a conga.

“Nope.” Hugo taps the table to the beat.

“But it must be South America somewhere, right?” Tom tries. “I can’t imagine there’s anywhere else in the world that has clubs you’d be interested in working for.”

A beaming Dylan takes hold of Polly’s waist as they join the conga line circling the dance floor.

“Nope,” Hugo says.

This could go on forever. “Could you maybe just tell us?” I ask. “Or Tom’s going to be sitting here trying to name countries outside Europe and South America for the rest of the night.”

Emily, who’s at the head of the conga, leads everyone onto the lawn, holding up her dress to keep it off the grass.

“Well,” Hugo mirrors Tom and leans on the table toward us, lowering his voice. “Remember that meeting I had when I came to visit you in February?”

“Um.” Tom looks at me and raises his eyebrows. “My mind was on other things at the time.”

I pinch his chin. “It all worked out okay in the end though, didn’t it?”

“Sure did.” He takes my fingers from his face and kisses my hand.

“Okay, okay, love’s young dream,” Hugo says.

The conga train heads toward the lookout over the ocean.

“Yeah. You were meeting someone in Boston about something,” Tom says. “Oh! Fuck.” I can almost see the lightbulb illuminate his brain. “You got a coaching job inBoston?”

Hugo nods with a satisfied smile.

“For the Massachusetts Maritimers then.” Tom punches the air in victory. “Must be.”

“Nope.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Tom deflates and despair spreads across his face. “You’re not going to work for the god-awful Boston Commoners?”

“No need to say their name like they’re something you’ve scraped off your shoe.” Hugo shoves Tom so hard his chair tips onto two legs. “They havepotential.”

“About as much potential as a fish flapping around on dry land. Last season was their first in the MLS and they didn’t score a single goal. They’re not doing much better so far in this one. And from what I’ve heard, they’re not exactly rolling in cash to shake up the team.”

The smiling and whooping conga line loops around the lookout then heads back across the lawn toward us, the low sunlight glinting off the water behind it.

“Then the only way is up, my friend,” Hugo says. “You know I love a challenge.”

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