Clara rolled her eyes. “I made pancakes and he had half a bottle of syrup.”
"How about a coffee then?”
“You're quite the pusher, Megan.” Let me guess, you've got a bottle of booze behind the stand?"
Megan giggled. "I'm not Mable. I thought you might want a hot drink before the polar bear dip."
"Oh, no. I gave up ice baths when I retired from the show."
Josh laughed. "Tell that to Logan. He signed your entire team up. I hope none of you geezers have a heart attack."
I was younger than Josh, but didn't point it out. "I'll have to have a word with Mr. Brush."
Megan pressed a cup of black coffee into my hand. "It's on the house. Consider it a welcome-back gift."
We found Charlotte and Logan near the mountain of sawdust. Emma the florist and Charlie were there too, along with a woman named Henri, a writer who'd moved here from LA.
"Beck!" Logan clapped me on the shoulder. "Hell of a game last night."
"What?" A chainsaw roared to life nearby, and I had to cup my ear. The crowd cheered as a guy in a plaid shirt jabbed at a log, the shape of a bear slowly appearing with each cut.
"That's Jack Lumber," Charlotte said.
"Makes sense. He's good with that saw."
"No, Beck." Clara giggled. "His name is Jack Lumber."
"This fucking town." I shook my head, but couldn't stop grinning.
Clara pointed to the woman in the leather jacket with the camera. “That's his girlfriend, Henri." Henri's eyes were locked on the woodcarver through the lens of an old-school film camera.
Watching them, both in their element and supporting each other, felt like a blueprint for what Clara and I could have. Pride filled my chest as I walked through my hometown with her on my arm. My girlfriend. We'd have to have that discussion soon.
"Beck." Clara tugged my hand. "The dog show is about to start."
"But Jack isn't done with the bear."
"Dash has to defend his title. You can stay, but we've got to get his outfit on."
"Outfit?"
She patted her backpack and winked.
We wove through the crowd to the community center. Barks echoed through the open room overlooking the ice. Dogs of every breed were lined up, most in costumes. Dash sat perfectly still with a set of antlers on his head that looked suspiciously like the ones Clara had worn the night she pulled me out of the ditch. He looked like he knew the trophy was already his.
When it was his turn, the judge, Mrs. Krinkle, held up his ears for the crowd. "Woohoo!" I whistled. "Go Dasher!" The audience joined in, and the applause was the loudest of the day.
"For the fourth year running... Best Ears!" Mrs. K announced. Clara bent to rub Dash's scruff and kissed his snout.
"Your mother would be so proud," Mrs. K said, squeezing Clara's hand.
Clara's expression went soft. "She would have loved Dash."
The old woman's eyes turned to me. "And you. I hear you've been making yourself useful."
"I'm trying."
"Good boy." She patted my arm like I was one of the contestants. "Now I have to go help Donnie get the defibrillator ready for the polar bear plunge."
