Janet Evanovich - Love in a Nutshell

“We’re fine, Kate. Just fine! How’s the refrigerator?” he asked. “Do you need any help stocking it?”

They’d finally reached the real purpose of the call. Kate was glad no one was around to witness her embarrassment. The last time her dad had asked questions like this, her brother, sister, and their respective spouses had been watching. Kate had felt like the loser-girl on a reality TV show.

“I promise I have more than diet soda and shriveled-up apples in the fridge,” she said.

She still had that head of purple cauliflower, after all. But so long as she loaded up on the cheap employee meals at work, shopping was optional.

“Just checking. I know things have been tight.”

“It’s okay. I found a job.”

“Really? What are you doing?”

“I’m washing dishes and doing prep work at Depot Brewing.”

The line fell quiet for a beat.

“That’s great! It’s a tough job market out there. You should be proud. If you come up short, let me know and I’ll slip a care package your way. Just like your old college days.”

Ugh. Kate knew he was trying to be positive and supportive, but she was right back to feeling like the loser-girl. Kate wanted to be there for her parents, like her siblings wer C sitivee. Not the other way around.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m doing great,” she said. And it was true, if “great” could be defined as able to splurge on a fake cappuccino the next time she put gas in the Jeep.

“Just say the word, Katie-bug…”

She wouldn’t, though. Her parents were retired, and money didn’t grow on trees. They probably had a woefully out-of-date concept of how much money was needed to get the house in shape. But more important, Kate had something to prove. Not to her parents, but to herself. She could stand on her own.

On Friday night, Matt walked into Woodsmen’s Hall with a parent at each elbow. The crowded room was filled with laughter and the blended smells of three dozen casseroles that probably all included crispy fried onions. This was an old-school Keene’s Harbor food-and-gossip fest, right down to its location. Other than getting an occasional refresher coat of paint, the long and narrow single-story hall hadn’t changed in a hundred years.

Matt felt pretty okay with being there until he saw Deena Bowen over by the beer table. In her bright blue V-necked dress, Deena was as much a knockout as she had been on the one date they’d had together. One date had been more than enough for Matt but not for Deena, and a woman scorned is a woman to be feared. Matt turned his head before Deena could catch him looking. It was the same technique he used when faced with a black bear in the woods. Deena and that bear bore a lot in common, personality-wise.

“You’re dragging your feet, son,” Matt’s father said.

“Just soaking it all in.”

“Come along, Patrick,” his mother said. “I want to see what’s over in the silent auction.

“Harley Bagger has offered up a couple of lighters from his collection, and Enid Erikson was donating some of those fun toilet paper covers-you know, the ones with the dolls’ heads and frilly dresses?”

His parents headed to the back of the hall, Dad with less fervor than Mom. Matt stuck to the front. One of those blank-eyed dolls would be staring at him from the back of a toilet at his parents’ home soon enough. Mom would probably give him one for Christmas, too. Unfortunately, Chuck could sniff out chewy plastic items the way most of his breed could raccoons. The doll would be history.

Matt stopped and talked with Bart, his brewmaster and buddy, about the upcoming hockey season. They were defending league champs, and Bart had his eye on a prospect to be sure they stayed that way. Matt gave Bart a fist bump and took the slow route toward the three refreshment tables. The first held soda and mixers, followed by high-octane punch, and then beer. He stopped and chatted with as many folks as he could. He wanted to give Deena time to move on.

Clete Erikson, the town police chief and husband to toilet paper doll-maker Enid, was manning the brew table. Clete reminded Matt a Fustify”little of Chuck. Not that Clete was missing a limb. He just had the same droopy hound features.

“Hey, Chief,” Matt said.

Clete returned the greeting and slid a red plastic cup of beer Matt’s way. “Guess you’re wanting one of these.”

“Sure am.”

Matt took a sip and scanned the stream of new arrivals flowing into the hall. And then he saw her. Kate was a flash of scarlet sweater and spiky blond hair, so obvious among the less vivid colors surrounding her. The night was looking up.

“IT’S THE townie mother lode,” Kate said to Ella as they worked their way into Woodsmen’s Hall. The place was packed, which made it all the better to be with Ella. Kate’s friend was gorgeous. She was tall, with straight black hair that just swept her shoulders. She also possessed a figure that Kate envied but didn’t want to work to attain. Crowds just kind of parted for Ella.

“This is also the safest place on Earth,” Ella said.

Kate could see why. She’d already spotted a handful of police officers and most of the volunteer fire department, all of whom she recognized from her brief stint at Bagger’s.

As Ella and she wove through the throng toward Ella’s unstated destination, Kate said hello to the people she recognized. She was pleased to even get a few return greetings that didn’t come with that confused “Where do I know her from?” look in the eyes.

“Where are we heading?” Kate asked her friend over the noise of the music that had just started.

“Beer table for the first stop,” Ella said.

“I don’t suppose there’s a wine table?”

Ella shot her a dubious look. “You’re not serious, are you?”

She had been, but she’d never admit it.

Ella had a conspiratorial look in her eye. “I have a plan for you.”

“And beer is part of it?”

“If you don’t want a beer, just make sure you grab something to drink, because you’re going to need it.”

“That sounds marginally dangerous.”

“If it’s only marginally, we’re doing pretty good,” Ella said.

They rounded food tables packed with the kind of calories a sensible woman would avoid, but which Kate considered staples. She looked away from the temptation, but suddenly the evening’s danger factor rose. Matt stood at the beer table, and something way hotter than hunger for ham casserole rippled through Kate.

“Hi, Matt!” Ella called.

Matt very slowly turned his attention from Kate. This was a first, since usually when Ella called, guys hopped to.

“He’s into you,” Ella said to Kate in a low voice.

Kate shook off the moment. “Punch sounds good. Really good.” She moved on to the table directly to the left of Matt.

Ella lined up with Matt, got a cup of beer, and chatted a little with Clete Erikson.

Kate investigated the punch. Clearly, this was the grandma drink, complete with the obligatory island of orange sherbet slowly melting in a sea of bright pink liquid studded with chunks of melon and strawberry. Not her beverage of choice, but still about ten thousand spots ahead of beer. She ladled herself a big plastic cup, trying to avoid the fruit. If anyone was going to have the bad luck to create a scene with a public fruit-choking incident, Kate knew she’d be that person. To make up for the fruit, she added a little more punch, plus some of the orange stuff.

She glanced over and caught Matt watching her, a broad smile on his face.

“You sure you want to drink that?” he asked.

“Not really, but I’m going to give it a try, anyway.”