THE SETUP
The Lake Bittersweet Series ~ 3
Chapter One
Gina Moretti knew she had a long list of faults, and right at the top was “inability to be polite while raging inwardly.” When that flaw surfaced during a bad date, things could get awkward. There was the time she’d tossed a glass of wine in a date’s face. Once she’d even stabbed a breadstick into a dude’s hand. (Said hand was on her ass, who could blame her?) The best method of surviving a bad date, she’d learned, was to keep her mouth full of food or any handy beverage.
As her date—Phil something—continued his tedious explanation of Bitcoin versus Ethereum, she treated herself to a giant forkful of manicotti. It was a defensive move, she told herself. The equivalent of screaming into a pillow, except with marinara sauce.
“You really know how to put down some food.” Phil broke off from his lecture to give her an approving stare. “Lotta girls don’t like to eat this much on a date.”
Gina shrugged and gestured at her stuffed mouth to explain why she wasn’t answering.
“I mean, I don’t mind it. I figure if you like to eat pasta this much, there’s other stuff you like to put in your mouth.”
Gina nearly choked on her food. Was he making some kind of crass reference to oral sex on a first (and last) date?
“Do you work out, though? Because that’s a lot of calories to burn off. I’m not really into the flab, that’s just me. I keep fit and I appreciate the same from the ladies. Know what I mean? Frank said you’re an athlete, it’s why I asked you out, I’m sort of a hockey fiend, anyway I guess you don’t have to worry too much about…” He trailed off as she desperately forked another large chunk of manicotti into her mouth. “That’s…uh…that’s a lot of food. Is that safe? I took CPR once, but I zoned out and the one time I tried it on someone, they threw up in my mouth.”
Gina felt laughter, along with some nausea, bubble to the surface. Oh God. She was going to choke to death on giggles and tomato sauce and then she was going to kill her brother for this. He’d done it on purpose, hadn’t he? Her second-oldest and most-annoying brother had punked her by setting her up on this date. He must know what a tool this guy was. Not even Frankie was that clueless. He was teasing her, the way all her brothers had since the day she was born. It was the Moretti way.
She held up a finger, then bolted to her feet. “Excuse me,” she managed to mumble, and shot through the Loon Feather Bistro to the ladies’ room. She dashed into a stall and spit out her pasta into the toilet, a blast of sauce and cheese and pure relief.
“Oh my God,” she murmured out loud. The laughter came freely now, until tears were running down her face. “Is that safe?” She repeated his words, picturing his half-alarmed, half-revolted expression, and let the helpless giggles roll out of her.
When she’d flushed the toilet and composed herself, she sat on the seat and texted Frankie. Ur dead 2 me.
A string of laughter emojis was her only answer.
Question: did older brothers EVER grow out of teasing their younger sisters? Bigger question: why had she fallen for this trick? Was she that desperate for a relationship?
Hmm…maybe she kind of was, but not in the way people thought. Recently she’d read something that really rang a bell—which didn’t happen often because she wasn’t a big reader. “The most important relationship in your life is the one you have with yourself”—or something to that effect.
Ding-ding-ding! It felt so true to Gina, because her relationship with herself was a disaster. Somewhere along the line she’d lost her oomph, her mojo, her confidence. The process had started about seventeen years ago, when she’d face-planted at the Olympic training camp. It had continued with her next big disaster, her brief marriage and divorce from Eddie “Junkyard” Jorgen.
Worst of all, both catastrophes had happened just before Christmas, which used to be her favorite holiday. Since the divorce, every year, as soon as she saw the first holiday decorations go up, she braced herself for another disaster. She gritted her teeth through every holiday season and only relaxed after New Year’s Day had passed.
This year, she’d decided to do things differently.
The inspiration had come from her friend Emmaline. She and her new sweetie Conor had launched a hot competition to find her a date for the holidays. When Gina had found out, at first she’d been annoyed, but then she’d thought…why not? If she had to give herself a grade in the man department, it would be an F—or maybe a J for Junkyard. Why not let her best friend take a shot at it?
Word had spread, and now it seemed everyone in Lake Bittersweet was getting into the “set up Gina” business. She’d decided to embrace the matchmaking madness. What the heck, it kept her busy. Besides, it was nice of her family and friends to try.
Except for Frankie. He deserved a kick in the balls for this one.
She texted her friend Emmaline. Help. Date emergency.
Wine or breadstick? Do I need to bail you out?
Ha ha. No. Hiding out in bathroom.
Her phone rang. “You got this, babe,” said Emmaline. “Just go out there and tell him you’re not interested.”
“He’s a friend of Frank’s. They play hockey together.” Gina groaned. “I should know better. What’s wrong with me?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re perfect.” Emmaline was always so supportive and sweet-natured. Gina’s romantic life might suck, along with her not-so-professional life, but she was lucky in her friends. That was worth a lot. It was good to know she hadn’t screwed up everything in her life.
“It’s the holidays,” Emmaline continued. “You always get weird this time of year.”
“I’m sure I’ll be back to normal next year. January second, mark your calendar.”
“Maybe this year there will be a Christmas miracle.” Oh Emmaline, ever so adorably hopeful. Of course she didn’t know about her first heartbreak humiliation, Coach Peters. No one knew about that one, although unfortunately everyone knew about Junkyard.
“It’ll be a miracle if I don’t kill Frankie, I’ll tell you that.”
Emmaline laughed. “Seriously, I have a good feeling, Gina. Trust me.”
“Speaking of good feelings, what are you and Conor doing right now?” Gina asked, deciding to indulge in a little self-torture. It was better than going back out to her date.
“That’s a delay tactic, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I shouldn’t go along with it, but since you mentioned the magic word, Conor, we’re not doing much. We’re watching a movie while he rubs my feet.”
“I fucking hate you. I mean I love you. You know that. And now I understand the good-feeling thing. That was your feet talking.”
Emmaline took no offense, probably because she knew Gina so well. “My feet are very wise. Now they’re telling you to tell hockey dude that you’re not interested. They also said to mention that the next time you get a call from a number in Maine, you should answer. That’s Conor’s college friend. He thinks you’ll hit it off.”
“Is he Conor’s setup?”
“Yes. Personally I think you’ll like my guy better, but whatever. Conor says he’s super-cool and he designs sailboats for a living. You love canoes, he loves sailboats, it’s like a love-boat connection.”
Honestly, he sounded intimidating. What would she have in common with an Ivy League sailboat designer? She didn’t design canoes, she just loved them and raced them; and now she didn’t even race anymore. She’d been a go-hard scrappy athlete who’d crashed and burned in the Olympic training camp. If they talked about boats, they’d have to talk about that fiasco.
“Seems like a stretch. But he’s probably better than the guy who just made me spit up all my pasta into a toilet.”
Emmaline chuckled. “Love that positivity. I’ll text you later, okay?”
“That’s nice, but I expect you to be making mad passionate love with your foot masseur later.”
“Then I’ll text you after.”
Emmaline hung up before Gina could get out another “I fucking hate you,” which was good because she could never, ever hate Emmaline no matter how many rich, charming, handsome men her friend got engaged to.
She stationed herself in front of the mirror and fluffed her black hair back into its proper bouncy curls. Noticing a speck of tomato sauce on her chin, she splashed water on her face, then refreshed her Iced Raspberry lip gloss. It matched the deep crimson of her clingy jersey dress, which ended just above the knee. The length showed off her favorite boots, black leather with silver grommets and stacked heels.
“You’re a babe,” she told herself. “You can do this.”
As long as “this” didn’t mean smiling politely while Bitcoin Phil said stupid shit, sure, she could do this.
She marched out of the restroom and threaded her way through the tables, spotting her fifth grade teacher, her OB/GYN and a firefighter who’d been crushing on her friend Kendra forever. Jacob must be trying to forget Kendra, because he was on a date with the new history teacher from the high school.
That was life in a small town; not even dating was a private endeavor.
She slid into her seat opposite Phil, who was scrolling on his phone, his plate empty. Oops, she’d missed the rest of dinner, apparently.
“Sorry,” she said. “That took longer than I thought.”
“Forget about it. I…uh…well, I gotta get going.” He glanced at his phone again. “Maybe see you at the rink.”
Wait. She leaned across the table to peer at his phone. “Did you just set up another date while I was in the bathroom?”
Unfazed, he shrugged. “Didn’t seem like this one was going anywhere.”
“You got that right, buster.”
Buster? Where had “buster” come from? Nobody said “buster” outside of old movies. Screwing up another date must have really rattled her.
“The waitress came with the check and I told her to split it. I already paid my part.” As she watched, in wordless shock, he got to his feet. “See you around, Gina. You should think about going Paleo. You got a real problem with carbs.”
She stared after him as he strolled toward the coat check desk by the Loon Feather’s entrance. Somewhat annoyingly, he wasn’t a bad-looking guy—the kind of solid-muscled, sandy-haired Midwestern type she’d grown up with.
A glass of wine appeared in her line of sight. The waitress set it down on the table before her. “It’s on me,” she said with a wink, then added the check. “But the rest of it still needs to be paid, sorry.”
“That’s all right. That manicotti was out of this world. Worth every,” she looked at the bill and winced, “kajillion pennies.”
The waitress laughed, then bent down to whisper in her ear. “Actually, the wine isn’t from me. It’s from someone who doesn’t want you to know he sent it. But he’s super-hot and not at all creepy, so I’m just going to tell you.”
“What? Who?”
Gina looked around the restaurant, confused. Had Mr. Geller from fifth grade sent her a glass of wine? She wouldn’t describe the sixty-year-old with the wispy moustache as “super-hot,” but hotness was in the eye of the beholder.
Maybe Jacob the firefighter? A sympathy gesture? But Jacob’s table was empty; he and his date were probably moving on to the next phase of their romantic evening.
“At the bar,” whispered the waitress.
Gina swiveled her head toward the bar and spotted a lone man who looked vaguely familiar. She stared for a long, astonished moment. Was that…who she thought it was? Was it possible? If so, she might need an entire bottle of wine.
“Tell him no thanks,” she told the waitress, then flung up a hand. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself.” She slid a credit card from her wallet and handed it to the waitress, then got to her feet. Carrying the glass of wine in one hand, she marched toward the bar.
As she came close, getting a better look at his profile, she saw she was correct. It was Kirk Williams, in the flesh. Kirk was back in Lake Bittersweet, just casually hanging out at the bar of the Loon Feather Bistro as if he hadn’t left almost twenty years ago without even a goodbye.
Part of her wanted to fling that glass of wine right in his face. But that would be an unjustified waste of good wine. He wasn’t a date, after all. As if that would ever happen. He was practically a celebrity now.
She placed the glass of wine on the bar next to him. He looked up, surprise in his hazel-green eyes, fatigue in his face. She’d forgotten how freaking good-looking he was, even though she’d seen him on TV enough times that she should have remembered.
“Hi, Kirk,” she said, with dignity.
“Hi, Gina.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little rude to send a drink to a woman who’s on a date with someone else?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t a come-on, just some moral support. Looked like you could use it, considering the fifteen-minute bathroom break.”
“You timed it? Seems a little creepy.”
“Rough estimate.” He smiled at her, all warmth and sparkle. She didn’t trust it. Kirk Williams could probably get any woman to fall at his feet, but not her. She put him in the same category as her brothers because he’d practically grown up at their house. Back then, he’d been on the quiet side, wiry, a late bloomer who girls didn’t notice until late in high school.
“Damn, it’s good to see you, Gina. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
From the appreciative glint in his eyes, he meant that as a compliment. Figured, since she’d been a gap-toothed tomboy the last time she’d seen him. “Likewise. You were wearing a lot more foundation the last time I saw you on TV.”
He snorted, shifting gears to match her teasing approach. “Thanks for watching. Need an autograph?”
“Definitely. How much can I sell it for? Ten bucks on eBay?”
“Five ninety-nine on a good day.”
Crap. So he wasn’t as arrogant as he probably deserved to be, given his semi-famous hero status. After Kirk had left Lake Bittersweet, he’d joined the Army and somehow managed to save his entire squad from an ambush. He’d been hailed as a hero far and wide. Then he’d written a book about some of his experiences in the military—which she hadn’t read—and gotten even more famous. Also, he was super-hot, just like the waitress had said, so he’d wound up with a lot of press coverage.
He’d never bothered to come back until now, even though Kirk had been her brother George’s best friend. Despite her ups and downs with her brothers, she’d defend them all to the death, as they would her. So on George’s behalf, she was furious with Kirk. Or ought to be.
It was hard to hang onto that indignation under that bright hazel gaze.
“What are you doing here? Does Georgie know you’re back?”
“No, I just got into town. No one knows. Except you, now.” That magic smile, as if she was special because she was the first to spot him.
“I’ll be sure to alert the newspaper. And the mayor. She’ll probably want to issue a proclamation.”
Her wry tone made him wince. “I’m begging you…”
“Ooh, I love it when famous people beg me for stuff.” She flashed a grin at him. “Unfortunately, they’re usually asking about extra towels or bug spray.”
“Bug spray?” He shook his head. “Never mind. Look, Gina, can we start over? If you don’t want that wine, hand it over. I probably need it more than you do by now.”
“Ha. Let me guess. No one teases the famous author and national hero Kirk Williams anymore? You’re out of practice? You’d better get into shape before you see my brothers.” She paused. “Are you going to see them? Seriously, what are you doing here?”
He folded his arms across his chest as he rotated his stool ever so slightly. “You don’t seem all that happy to see me. You look like you’re one breath away from tossing that wine in my face.”
Did he know about her wine-tossing history? Or was he just guessing?
“Are those your breadsticks?” She pointed at the jar filled with crunchy spears.
With a cautious glance, he moved them farther away from her.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What have you heard?”
“Heard? Nothing. Just remembered the Great Pretzel Battle of whatever year that was. Wasn’t there bloodshed?”
She rolled up the left sleeve of her dress. “I still have a scar. Worth it, though. I won.”
“You did. Most competitive kid sister in all of Minnesota.”
“I’m sorry, just Minnesota?” She found herself grinning at him with the exact same sassy challenge that was her childhood default mode. It was such a good feeling that it chased away the bad aftertaste of Bitcoin Phil.
Talk about a miracle.
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