Page 27 of Small Town Frenzy
“Up here,” she mouths.
I grimace, knowing I fell right into that trap of hers. Shifting my eyes back to the target, her puck, I slide mine down, knocking hers out of contention. I stand, and my arms go wide. “Looks like I won.”
She laughs and doesn’t let me appreciate my win long before she sidles up to me and says, “It’s a beer, not the World Cup.” Before I can snap back with something I know would have her reeling in the cutest way, she’s back at the bar.
When I rest my forearms down next to her, she adds, “I’m closing the tab, so if you want something else, better order it now.”
“A beer is reward enough.”
My dad sets the pints in front of us, eyeing me with disapproval. “Don’t ya know to let a lady win, son?”
“Trust me, Dad, Cricket here wouldn’t accept anything less than an honest and fully earned victory.”
“No one has to let me win, Mr. Greene. I can hold my own.”
Giving her a smile, he says, “I have no doubt you can. You’re gonna need to with my son.” He shoots me another look before he starts for the kitchen.
“Oh, nothing is needed with your son because I don’t . . .” She gives up when he’s out of earshot. Turning to me, she says, “I don’t need anything with you.”
After taking a sip, I smirk. “It wasn’t a dare.” Bumping my foot against hers, I add, “Weapons down, remember? I know you can hold your own. You don’t have anything to prove.”
She takes a drink, her eyes staring ahead at the mirrored wall full of glasses. As if a thought occurs out of nowhere, she looks up at me. “Why do I feel like I do?”
“Generational belief system?”
“Huh?” It’s cute the way her nose scrunches and her eyes blink quickly before her expression settles back to a natural, sweet little shape again. “I don’t understand.”
Angling to face her, I reply, “Dover versus Greene. It’s something I’ve been thinking about lately.”
“I’m still lost.” She takes another drink and slips onto the stool like she just might stay a while.
“Did you ever hear any stories about the Dovers not liking the Greenes?”
She pauses, and then under a soft laugh, says, “A little. Who hasn’t? But I never heard anything that could be substantiated. What about you?”
“No specifics from anyone, which makes it more confusing. Why is there a preexisting competition of sorts, like one is better than the other and they don’t like each other?”
Her eyebrows shoot straight up as she asks, “The Greenes don’t like my family?” Offense coats her tone as much as shock widens her eyes.
“As the official spokesperson for my family, they have no issues with your family. I’m assuming by your reaction that your family has no issues with mine.” Leaning closer, I lower my voice. “That’s the thing, though. Is this just folklore passed through generations of our families with no actual evidence to back it?”
She blinks again, several times, before her lips twist to the side. “I’m going with folklore.” Her tone is curt as she’s over this topic of conversation. “What is there to say anyway? Of course everyone talks about the Greenes because of the ranch, the farm, and even the orchard. Then there’s the county. I’ve heard a few jokes over the years about crossing enemy lines, but nothing that would give it legitimacy.” She looks out at the restaurant behind us. Some tables have emptied, but a healthy crowd remains. When she turns back to me, she whispers, “Why do rumors run rampant like we’re the Hatfields and you’re the McCoys?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out myself.”
There’s no guard in her eyes and no walls keeping her shoulders from relaxing. She pulls her long hair over one shoulder, but when she looks up at me again, there’s a sparkle, a light I haven’t seen in her pretty green eyes before. And for the briefest moment, I wonder if I put it there.
She tilts her head to the side. “Sure makes you wonder what happened back then to keep this rivalry alive.”
“Sure does.” I take another long drink of my beer before setting it down and turning the glass around on the circle of condensation puddled under it, suddenly worried this is going to end too soon. She could leave any minute because I haven’t given her a reason to stay.Fuck.Just talk to her, Greene. “So what’s next for?—?”
“What are your plans—?” She laughs, making me smile as well that we’re both nervous like two teens talking at the same time. Looking down between us, she says, “You go.”
“I’d rather hear you speak.”
The sun set a bit ago, only leaving the dimly lit room to help me see her as well as I want. It’s not enough, but I’m not going to demand the brightest lights be turned on for my benefit. I swear I detect the faintest deepening color of her cheeks that even this light can’t hide from me.
She replies, “I was just going to ask if you had plans now that the game is over? I hear you like to travel.”
