“A holiday club,” I correct, taking my ball from the return rack. I step up to the line, adding over my shoulder, “We get together every weekend from Halloween to Christmas.”
I send the ball down the lane for an eight-two split and mutter a swear.
“Do you bowl every time?” she asks.
“Halt,” Marv commands with a hand in the air. “No more questions until we know she’s safe.” He rummages through his bag and pulls out a security wand.
The woman’s eyes go wide as Marv approaches her, waves the wand around the entirety of her body without asking, and listens intently for a spike ofbeeps.
When he doesn’t detect a wire or explosives, he gives me an approving nod—like I’m the one who thought this woman was trying to bring down a sleepy bowling alley in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains—and returns the wand to his bag.
“First and last name?” he barks.
“Uh. H-H-Hollis,” she stammers, so wide-eyed I cough to hide my laugh. “Hartwell.”
Marv produces a tablet from his bag, typing her name aggressively into whatever database he uses for his endeavors.
“Jay Randall,” I introduce myself, shaking her hand as she gapes at Marv. “And to answer your question, we bowl on Halloween,” I explain. “The rest of the holidays, we do different things.”
She sits in one of the chairs, tail draped over one thigh, and looks between Marv and me, taking a plastic cup of beer I offer to her.
“Different things?” she asks, thoughtful look on her face before taking a sip. “You’re anti-Christmas?”
I grab the ball from the return with a chuckle.
“Anti-tradition expectation.” I bowl and knock only one of the two pins down, muttering another swear. “I love Christmas.” I flick a dangling jingle bell on my hat as proof. “But it stopped feeling fun.” I shrug. “We started The Holiday Club.”
Her spine straightens, look on her face telling me she doesn’t approve. “You don’t think traditions are fun?”
“Not the ones other people expect.”
She frowns.
“Don’t you miss your family?”
“I see my family plenty the rest of the year,” I say whole-heartedly and with a half smile. “These days are just for us.”
Her eyes go to my hand, no doubt in search of a ring she won’t find.
“You aren’t married?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
That ... is a loaded question.
“Never got around to it.”
Her eyes narrow. “Never got around to it?”
I take a sip of my beer. “Seems that way.”
She makes a disbelieving sound. “You have togetaround to it.”
It’s hard not to laugh.
“According to the fact I’m not married, I’d say I don’t.”
