Page 55 of The Long Game

Cameron muttered something I didn’t catch under his breath.

“So…” I hesitated. “You’ve brewed the beer that will be served tonight?”

“Yes, ma’am.” A bigger than usual grin parted her face. “It’s a hazy IPA. I’ve been perfecting the recipe for months, and I think this is the one. You can tell me when you try it.” She winked. “Okay, enough chitchat. People will be coming in soon and I want every volunteer set and ready to go.” She pointed at a barrel with a device locked at the top. “Have you ever used one of these?”

“Yes,” Cameron answered with a sigh before I could say a word. “And the spigot is not screwed in properly.”

He rolled up the sleeves on that flannel jacket he was wearing tonight. My eyes dipped to his forearms and immediately spotted the ink spilling out of the rolled sleeve, covering his skin. Something lodged somewhere between my rib cage and stomach at the sight, something that wasn’t just curiosity. I leaned forward so I could get a better look as Cameron’s hands landed on the top of the barrel.

Forearms flexed as little pieces and bits were screwed off and on with determined motions.

I patted my cheeks. They were warm. And I—

Oh God. What was happening? I’d never been into manual labor. Or tattoos. Or forearms. Or flannel for that matter.

I was startled out of my trance by an elbow to the side.

Josie’s pale blue gaze was pointed at me with a mischievous glance.You’re drooling, she mouthed. My eyes widened in horror and my hand dashed to my mouth. She chuckled loudly, and when Cameron shot us a questioning look, she sobered up and said, “Thanks for taking care of it, Cam.”

Cameron’s answer was a shrug.

“Okay, now that I really know the Josie’s Jostler is in good hands and that you, Cam, can show Ada how the tap system works, I’m going to cut straight to the chase.” Josie’s hand stuck in the air, in the direction of a black metallic box. “Everyone coming gets food and drink tokens at the entrance, so all you have to do is take a token and serve a beer. If you get any enthusiastic tippers, you tell them that there’s a piggy bank in the shape of a goat by the hot beverages stand. That’s where I will be. All tips will go to the budget of next year’s BBBBL. Questions?” She waited for an instant, but when my mouth opened, she said, “No questions, perfect! Now I need to run to the grill station. Gabriel said something very disturbing about homemade vegan patties earlier. Have fun, and”—that mischievous look returned—“remember that you’re here to pretend you’re bonding. Diane is extra watchy today, so I suggest you be extra bondy.”

And with a very suggestive wink in my direction that made my face turn beetroot red, Josie jogged away.

“You okay?” Cameron asked.

“Sure,” I answered, walking around him and setting up somewhere where those extremely distracting forearms were not visible. “I was just thinking that I forgot to ask Josie what the boogie thing was about.” I busied myself with the cashbox. “So how did you know about the spigot?”

Turned out Cameron had worked at a pub in his late teens. He’d also spent his summers juggling every possible job available before signing his first contract. It explained things. It also made a little spot on my chest expand.

But I wasn’t going to pay any attention to that. Me having a sweet spot for hardworking people wasn’t new.

It also turned out that the boogie part of the evening was a Green Oak band’s renditions of seventies and eighties songs. A band in which Josie played the bass.

It was truly fascinating the number of things that woman could do.

Except for brewing beer, as it also turned out. I’d had a sip of the Josie’s Jostler and let’s say it was so hazy I could have chewed on it. I wasn’t an expert on craft beer, and had always favored wine, but I didn’t think a hazy IPA was supposed to work like that.

Not that the crowd in attendance seemed to care. The Josie’s Jostler stand had been just as busy as the rest. I wouldn’t use the wordpacked—by my or any standards—but busy enough for Cameron to do most of the work and relegate me to token duty. That, unfortunately, had involved more sleeve-rolling, forearm unveiling, and muscle flexing when lifting glasses and exchanging barrels. At some point, I realized I’d been staring at one of his forearms—at that one specific inked spot left of his wrist—so hard and long that I had forgotten to collect tokens. So I’d thrown in a few dollars from my pocket and continued my ogling.

That was when he’d produced a beanie from a secret pocket in his flannel jacket.

I despised flannel, beanies, and secret pockets now.

That was why the moment the first five notes to “Boogie Wonderland” from the improvised stage hit and most people shifted in the direction of the band, I ran away.

Yes. I was officially hiding. From Cameron, not the boogie.

I was at the far end of the BBBBL premises, near the lake, with the not one but two goats María had brought with her as my only company. And if a ghost was to come out and lure me and the goats into the woods, I’d go gladly.

Brandy bleated from her spot at my feet. And just like every time she’d done that in the fifteen minutes I’d been here, Tilly stirred in response.

“You two need to stop that,” I whispered, obtaining another two baas. “No. Shush.”

I glanced over my shoulder, checking the crowd for a specific set of green eyes, dark beard, and beanie. Not a trace of him. Good. I returned my gaze forward, just in time for a gust of chilly air to hit me in the face and make me curl into myself.

The tweed suit was the warmest outfit I had, but Josie had been right, now that the sun was setting, it hadn’t been the smartest choice. Not that any in my wardrobe would have.

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