“Great. Would you mind giving me some privacy?” he asks, motioning to the door.
“Of course. Sorry.” I observe the curtain in a ball on the floor. “I’ll bring you another shower curtain later.”
“No need. This one’s fine. I can hang it back up.”
It’s only when I leave the cabin that I hear his rollicking laughter, and I can’t help but smile. My embarrassment aside, it’s a good sound. One I’d very much like to hear again.
Chapter Eight
Trivia night is one of my favorite events during camp because what nerd doesn’t love a knowledge-based competition?
We divide into groups and summon the Ubers for those intending to drink. Somehow Charlie ends up in the back of a sedan sandwiched between Angela and Esther, which I am fairly confident Angela orchestrated. If he were older, I’d worry for his safety, but Angela has always preferred older men, at least when it comes to husband hunting.
The bar is only a seven-minute drive. I’ve been coming here since I was a teenager, but those early years mainly involved driving my dad home at the end of the night.
Charlie gazes at the squat building in wonder when we arrive. “Nickers? Is that a pun?”
“You aced the test. Most people think Nickey’s was misspelled, and he was too cheap to change it.”
He continues to stare at the building. “This is a dive bar.”
“Very good. Now identify this.” I point to a nearby bush.
“I was expecting more of a sports bar, the loud kind with big TVs.”
I nudge him forward. “What’s the matter? Are you afraid you’ll burst into flames upon crossing the threshold?”
“No, I’m worried they won’t accept AmEx.”
“You’re right, they won’t. Not to worry, we have enough cash between us to cover the bill. As I’m sure you can surmise, the beer here is inexpensive.”
The bar’s owner bounds toward us with a Labrador’s enthusiasm. “Cricket. Great to see you, honey.”
“Hi Nick. I reserved seating for trivia night.”
“You sure did. Manny will be here soon. You want pitchers for the tables?”
“Please.” I lean over to Charlie. “He’s talking about beer, not baseball.”
He bites back a smile. “I’m familiar with the concept.”
“I’ll help Nick with the pitchers and glasses,” I say. “You all go ahead.”
“I’m sticking to you,” Charlie says, following me to the bar.
“Nick and I can handle it.”
“No, I mean there’s so much residue on the floor, the toe of my shoe has adhered to your heel.”
“Hardy har. Be prepared. You’ll leave this place tonight with more molecules than you came with.”
Charlie recoils. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”
I try to see the place through his eyes. There’s a U-shaped bar in the middle of the room dotted with stools. To the left is a jukebox, a dartboard, and a pool table. To the right is the seating area where we’re headed, with a few booths that line the wall and a smattering of square tables. The floor is covered in sawdust and it’s anybody’s guess whether it’s a design choice or leftover debris from construction. The lighting is dim enough to make everyone look reasonably attractive but not so dark that you end up canoodling with your own brother. I’ve always liked it here, not that I frequent bars very often. I’m more of a pajamas-by-eight-and-bed-by-ten person.
Nick slides a tower of glasses across the bar to me. “Is that enough?”
“Two more.”
