Derek laughed under his breath. “Yeah. I thought we’d get maybe half this.”
I glanced toward the rows of raffle baskets. “This is amazing.”
“It’s the club,” he said. “They helped organize a lot of it.”
My eyes moved automatically toward the bikers again.
That explained some things.
Though not all of them.
Before I could ask, somebody shouted Derek’s name from across the room.
He looked over his shoulder and grimaced. “I gotta go, but I’m really glad you came.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” I said.
And I meant it.
He gave me a quick squeeze on the shoulder before disappearing back into the crowd.
Maya turned immediately toward the smaller bar in the corner. “Drink first.”
“Agreed.”
We made our way over and only had to wait behind two people.
“What are you getting?” she asked.
“Cranberry Carbliss.”
She snorted. “That is the most Emma drink possible.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if a drink could be polite, it would be that one.”
I laughed. “And what are you getting?”
“Something stronger.”
“That tracks.”
When it was my turn, I ordered, paid, and took the cold can from the bartender with quiet gratitude. The aluminum was already beaded with condensation. I cracked it open and took a sip.
Sweet. Cold. Exactly what I needed.
Maya ordered some tequila concoction that smelled like citrus and bad choices.
Then we moved toward the raffle tables.
I paused at the first one, taking in the prizes. Gift cards. Tool sets. Kids’ baskets. Coolers. Home décor. Kitchen stuff. A couple of huge toy sets wrapped in so much cellophane they practically sparkled under the lights.
The variety made me smile.
It felt deeply Midwestern somehow.
Like nobody fully agreed on what constituted a good raffle prize, so everyone just donated whatever they thought people might fight over.
