Page 22 of Bad Luck Club

Professional Swinger

Was swinging an actual profession?

He dropped it on the ground as though it were a hot poker.

“Now, Lee,” Dottie said in a disapproving tone. “I’m not sure how they do things up in the Big Apple, but we don’t litter here in Asheville.”

“Uh…sorry.” He turned back to retrieve it, then hurried over to drop it in a trash can next to the parking lot. As he turned to walk over to the car she was standing next to, he could see the brewery a block away, and a pang of guilt hit him. Georgie was likely losing her mind right now. Not only had she lost Phil, but he’d walked out as well.

“Phil’s been there nearly as long as I have,” Dottie said, nodding toward the building as she got in her car.

“He did them a favor by retiring,” Lee said as he opened the back door and put Blue’s box on the back seat then got in the front. “He didn’t want to keep up with technology, and he lost half their business last summer. Doesn’t seem like he tried too hard to get it back.”

She gave a slow nod. “Phil lost his drive after Beau died. Actually, truth be told, he lost it several yearsbeforeBeau died.”

“Like Lurch.”

She lifted one shoulder into a slow shrug. “There’s likely some truth to that. Phil should have left last summer, with the changing of the guard.”

“Youstayed,” he insisted, as if Dottie really needed to be reminded that she still worked in the tasting room.

Hesitating, she said, “My job wasn’t done yet, but the end might be coming soon.”

He gave her an alarmed look. While he wasn’t as attached to her as his siblings, he wasn’t a monster. “Are you sick?”

As she pulled out of her parking space, she released a small chuckle. “Oh, good heavens, no. I’m fine.”

“Georgie and Addy don’t want you to quit,” he said. “In case you think they want to clean everyone out.”

She reached over and patted his arm. “I know, dear. Buteveryonehas an end date. Beau taught me that.”

That didn’t sound reassuring, but she quickly dismissed his continued questions about her health, insisting she was likely healthier than he was.

They stopped by the art supply store, and Lee loaded more canvases than he’d expected into the trunk of her car. Once they’d gotten everything loaded up, she asked him, “Since you’re already with me, can I trouble you to go to the hardware store with me to pick up some paint?”

“For the canvases?”

She released a small laugh. “Of course not. For the house. It needs to be repainted, and I could use help carrying the five-gallon buckets.”

He couldn’t very well tell her no, so they headed to a locally-owned hardware store and parked in the lot. She ordered three five-gallon buckets of paint, and Lee cringed when he saw the color was turquoise—not something he would have picked, but Dottie Hendrickson was an eccentric woman.

After he loaded up, Dottie said, “We have one more stop to make before we can go home.”

“Okay.” He had nothing else to do, and he was glad he could save her from having to wrestle the buckets into her garage. Besides, it was a distraction from thinking about the state of his life.

She started driving without offering an explanation for their final stop, and he didn’t ask.

“You will find your place, Lee,” she said after a few minutes. “You just need to give it time.”

He sat up straighter in his seat. “At Buchanan?” he asked dryly.

“Perhaps there. Perhaps somewhere else. The important thing is you find something that fulfills you.”

“I already felt fulfilled,” he snapped. “At Buchanan Luxury.”

She hesitated, then asked, “Did you?”

“I know what you’re doing,” he said defensively. “You’re trying to coerce me to go back to Buchanan Brewery.”

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