“If you’re going to stand in my booth and insult my daughters then you bet your ignorant ass I am,” Dad declares in a calm, firm voice.
“You piece of—”
“Walk it off Gramps.” Tate’s loud voice overtakes anything George was going to say.
“Did you hear what that punk said?”
“Yeah and I heard you tell him his daughters shouldn’t speak,” Tate replies coolly. “I’m not taking sides here but you never say that to Raquel. Or Louise. They both talk more than I’d like.”
Louise is his aunt and Raquel is her daughter, Tate’s cousin. I went to school with Raquel and I was not a fan to say the least. Louise isn’t my cup of tea either, but for Tate to challenge his grandfather like that in front of us, and more importantly because of us, shocks me. George mutters something under his breath that I can’t hear, rips an apple fritter off the stack Jace was making on the table and storms off.
“Great. Now I have even more work to do since Gramps won’t be helping,” Jace complains and turns and glares at Daisy and me. “Thanks a lot.”
“Yes because your grandfather’s anger management issues are my fault,” Daisy mutters.
“Let’s all just stop talking and keep working,” I say and wish I could have found the Advil this morning, but I couldn’t and my head is still pounding.
An hour later, we’re fifteen minutes from opening and everything is perfect. Dad got our topper folded and clipped on top of one side of the booth. Now you can see the Adler logo and ours. The table looks really good, on both sides if I’m honest. The Adlers have their apple products displayed nicely, Tate even polished each apple before he wandered off somewhere while Jace artistically stacked the jars of apple jelly and caramel apples. Our side has all the different goat cheeses on display in the cooler, the soaps stacked nicely on one side and the jars of honey from our beehives on the other. On top of the mini cooler is what always sells out the quickest, our goat’s milk caramels. And now, instead of taking a moment to snack on the food Mom gave us or drink the coffee she sent, like Daisy, Ben and Dad are doing, I decide I need to hunt down some headache medicine and a Gatorade or this hangover will most definitely kill me before the end of the day.
I tell my family I’ll be right back and head out of the market down the road toward the gas station because they usually carry those travel-size packets of Advil. Of course they’re out—just sold the last pack to someone not ten minutes ago, the attendant told me. I buy a bottle of Gatorade and am on the sidewalk debating whether it’s worth walking another block to the drugstore when I notice Tate coming out of the bagel shop across the street. He doesn’t look as perky and fresh as he did earlier. In fact, his shoulders are slumped and he’s wiping his brow with the hem of his shirt like he’s sweaty. Alcohol sweats? He’s got his own Gatorade tucked under his arm and a big paper bag in his other hand. I watch as he takes something out of his pocket and tosses it into his mouth. He looks up and I notice his skin is paler than normal. I start walking crossing the street but he tries to pretend he doesn’t see me and starts marching off, back toward the market.
“Not so fast!” I call and lunge forward, grabbing his forearm. He’s way too easy to restrain for a big burly hockey player. “You are hungover!”
“Whatever.” He yanks his arm free and the effort makes him look like he might barf and that brings me such joy.
“Ha! I’m not the only one!”
“Quiet already. God you’re so damn loud!” Tate groans, his eyes snapping shut.
“Do you have headache medication?” I ask. “Did you buy the last pack from the gas station? I saw you take something.”
“See you back at the booth,” he says, ignoring my question completely as he starts walking again.
“Oh no. You’re not getting away,” I say and grab his arm again.
“I’ve got bagels for my family,” he says angrily and shakes the bag in my face as he breaks free of my grip again. “Some of us don’t have a mommy to make us lunch, okay?”
“You have a mom,” I argue back. “She lives a couple blocks from here. Stop being dramatic and give me an Advil already.”
He sighs and then, when I think he’s going to tell me off again, he starts to grin and I get a sinking feeling in my belly. “Okay. You want it? Admit I kicked your freckled butt at beer pong last night.”
“You didn’t kick my butt. We didn’t get to break the tie,” I reply calmly. “That is not my fault.”
“Caroline disappeared and didn’t come back. That’s a forfeit.”
“You threw like three shots with your elbow over the table,” I reply. “I called you on it and you ignored me. Those shots should have been forfeited.”
“Enjoy your headache.” Tate turns and starts to walk away.
“Argh!” I let out a disgruntled cry of pure annoyance. “Fine. Okay. You won the beer pong. Aren’t you a big hero. Such an important skill to have in life. Congrats!”
He turns back to me grinning that annoyingly adorable smirk he has. “I beat you. Say it. Say Tate Adler kicked Maggie Todd’s freckled ass at beer pong last night.”
My only response is a snort.
“It’s either that or admit you enjoyed the hell out of that kiss,” Tate says. My jaw drops. He grins. “Say I kissed Tate Adler and it was the best kiss I’ve ever had.”
“I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me,” I reply. My face feels like it’s on fire. “I would have walked out if I’d spun that bottle and it landed on you but you seemed damn eager to get your lips on me.”
“I’m about to become a professional athlete. I have a competitive streak that doesn’t stop because the challenge is…undesirable,” Tate replies and shrugs.
Well, that’s such a good burn I almost want to congratulate him.
He holds up the small travel pack of headache meds and gives it a shake. “So which is it, Firecracker? Are you going to say I kicked your freckled ass or I gave you the hots? Or are you going to suffer through the rest of the day unmedicated?”
I sigh irritably. We stare at each other and I swear his smile keeps getting more smug. I ball my fists. “Tater Tot Adler kicked Magnolia Todd’s ass—which is not at all freckled but you’ll have to take my word for it because you will never ever get anywhere near it—at beer pong. Good?”
Tate stares at me wordlessly and I feel that stupid flush happening. Then he bursts out laughing. “It’ll do, I guess.”
He pulls out the small packet from his pocket and hands it to me. He was the one who bought the last pack from the gas station. I shake two pills out of the packet and pop them in my mouth, swallowing them down with a swig of Gatorade. “Thanks. Bye.”
I start off back toward the market. He’s walking behind me the whole way, but I refuse to walk with him and he clearly doesn’t mind. Good. We are not friends. But I decide I need to stop him and say something before we get to the booth so I grab him again just before we turn into the market.
“You really just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”
I roll my eyes. “Reality check time. That kiss was part of a stupid game and no one ever needs to know about it.”
“You think I’m going to brag about it or something?” Tate questions and laughs. “In case you haven’t noticed, my family hates you and if they ever found out I even played beer pong let alone touched you in any way they’d probably disown me.”
“Good,” I say flatly. “Because you mention that gross kiss again and I will plaster that picture of you in your undies holding a feather duster on a billboard in town.”
“We don’t have billboards in this town,” Tate replies.
“I’ll build one,” I call back as I walk away.
The market is officially opened now, so I pick up the pace and scurry behind the booth. Tate comes up behind me a second later pushing his way past us to get to his side. My dad, Uncle Ben and George Adler have all disappeared so it’s just Jace, Tate, Daisy and me.
“Where did you disap
pear to with him?” Daisy demands, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed like she’s Mom catching me out after curfew.
“I went to seek out headache meds and he was doing the same,” I explain. “Trust me we are not friends.”
“You better not be,” Daisy replies.
“We are in a hostile alliance. Nothing more. Now go chop up some of our caramels and offer them as samples,” I say shooing her. “We need to get people to buy those over the stupid caramel apples the Adlers are peddling.”
The day passes much faster that I thought it would given my physical condition. But we’re busy and every customer is in a great mood. A lot of people are thrilled to see us back after missing the summer season. Jace and Tate try to lure our customers away as we’re talking to them by interrupting and suggesting apple products and it even works a couple of times. Two customers put down our honey and our goat’s milk caramels to buy some apple butter and caramel apples. Daisy gets even by telling me loudly, when there’s a group of about six people crowded around the Adler side of the booth, that she thought she read that there was an E. coli outbreak linked to apples.
By the time the market closes at two we are almost sold out of everything. The Adlers did well too, but I think we did better judging by the scowl on their faces as we pack up. “See you boys next Sunday!” I call merrily as we leave, which only deepens the sour looks on their faces.
“It’s going to be a long fall,” I hear Tate grumble as I climb in my car and I smile.
7
Maggie
“Umm…hello? Did you even hear what I said?”
I blink and tear my eyes away from the ice and shift on the hard cement bleacher to look at my sister. “You dragged me to this game against my will and now you’re complaining because I’m paying attention?”
“Who, exactly, has your undivided attention, Magnolia Todd?” Caroline asks in a sing-song voice that annoys me to no end because she’s caught me. Only I won’t admit it. Ever.
“The team I’m rooting for, the girls’ team,” I reply coolly and shoot laser beams out of my eyes at her before turning back to Daisy. “Now, what did I miss?”
Our women’s hockey team is playing our men’s hockey team in an exhibition game. I had no intention of going but everyone else was, and Daisy insisted I join. So now I’m sitting here on the cold concrete bleachers, breathing the cold, dry arena air, getting all warm inside when I look at number seventy-six.
Daisy huffs her annoyance at me. “I was telling Jasmyn and Caroline how much it bugs me that we don’t know anything about our grandmother.”
“Our grandmother was born and bred in New Hampshire. She still lives there today in the house our mother grew up in, on a lake just outside of Concord New Hampshire,” I say and can’t seem to stop my eyes from darting down to the action on the ice. It’s only an exhibition game but it’s really good. Currently the women are winning by one goal and there’re only six minutes left in the game.
“Not Mom’s mom. I was talking about Dad’s mom,” Daisy says, exasperated.
“Dad didn’t have a mom,” I reply. “That’s what he keeps telling us, and I think we should finally respect that.”
“I don’t know,” Caroline says as I watch Tate steal the puck from one of the forwards on the women’s team and make a break for it down the ice. People cheer and I have to sit on my hands to keep from joining them. “Maybe there were circumstances involved no one knows about. Don’t you two have a right to find out for yourselves?”
“One day. Maybe. But if we keep bringing it up right now it will only get everyone mad. And we don’t need Clyde angrier than he already is,” I reply but I don’t know if anyone hears it because Tate Adler just took a hard slap shot on goal and it sailed over the female goalie’s shoulder and into the net. The stadium erupts and gets on their feet. I do too. I can’t help it. It was a really sweet goal.
Daisy reaches up and yanks me back down. She aggressively waves her pink foam finger with the words Moo U and the female symbol on it in my face.
“Oops. Right,” I say sheepishly. Caroline smiles knowingly over Daisy’s shoulder but I pretend she doesn’t exist. “So about Dad’s mom… Why are you so obsessed with this suddenly?”
“It isn’t sudden. It’s been bugging me since ninth grade biology when we learned about hereditary diseases. Dad’s stroke just made it all too real. The doctor said there could have been hereditary factors,” Daisy says. “We know nothing about this woman’s side of the family. What if there’s something else we need to know? What if there’s breast cancer? Or ovarian? I’m finally old enough to investigate this without permission and I’m going to and I want your support.”
I don’t think Daisy is wrong. I’ve always been curious about where Elizabeth Todd disappeared to and why, but I don’t want to go behind my family’s back. “How are you going to do that without Dad or one of our uncles or, God forbid, Clyde finding out?”
I turn back to the game. Tate is on the bench now. He is squirting water into his mouth from a water bottle and he’s talking with a teammate and smiling. His skin is rosy from exercise and his eyes are sparkling with a fire of competition. He’s actually really hot right now…like he was when he was just about to kiss me. I tell myself it’s not a crush. It’s just an indisputable fact of life. Tate is hot. His bone structure is pronounced without being angular. And even with the war wounds from sticks and pucks —the faded nicks and stitch scars that are visible up close, when he’s about to make out with you—somehow make him more attractive, not less. But his personality ruins it, I remind myself, and that’s something I can never ever let myself forget. Because I need a crush on Tate Adler like I need a bee in my bathing suit.
“I told Daisy about all the DNA, genealogy and ancestry websites out there,” Jasmyn says sucking my focus off Tate and back to our current conversation. “You can go on one and fill out all the info and send in a swab from your cheek, and if others who match your profile and fit in your family tree are also open to find potential relatives, they’ll alert you.”
Daisy perks up beside me. “I knew about the sites but I didn’t know they matched you with other people from your family. So I’m going to join a couple and see what happens.”
“It’s a way to possibly find out more without pissing Dad off,” I agree. “But I doubt she’d register for something like that. If she wanted to be found by us, all she would have to do is come back. Our family has been on that land, in that exact farmhouse, since Clyde’s grandfather.”
“True,” Daisy says and bites her bottom lip for a second. “But screw it. I’m going to try anyway. If nothing else, maybe I’ll find some other cool relatives too. Like maybe we’re related to a celebrity or historical figure or something.”
“My great, great, great grandfather wrote the music for ‘O Canada’ and then moved to Boston,” Caroline says.
“Very cool,” Daisy says but as they continue to talk about Caroline’s relatives, I refocus on the game…otherwise known as secretly admiring Tate Adler. He is really good at hockey. I knew that because he got into that fancy boarding school and everything, but I never really paid much attention to him when he actually played. By the time the game is over, I’m convinced that Tate Adler will actually be drafted into the NHL. That’s awesome for him but potentially awful for us. If Tate is drafted and signs a big contract, he’ll have the money to save his family’s farm, which means my family won’t be able to buy it and grow our business the way Daisy and I had hoped and planned.
I voice this concern to her, while we wait for Jasmyn and Caroline to use the restroom so we can head over to the Biscuit in the Basket for some food. Daisy looks as concerned as I feel. “Maybe he won’t want to save the farm. I mean, maybe he’ll get drafted somewhere far away, settle down with a local puck bunny and use his millions to move his whole family to wherever he is.”
That little fantasy Daisy just invented makes me feel queasy instead of hopeful. I don’t know why. Ma
ybe my blood sugar is low. I barely ate lunch after all. I shrug. “I don’t know. If he’s playing like this all season and enters the draft this summer, he’ll make it for sure and then he’ll have enough money to not only save the farm but hire a ton of people to run it for him.”
“According to Clyde, George Adler moved here from New Hampshire with his wife when she was pregnant with Vince because he cheated on her in New Hampshire and they were looking for a new start together. He had been in construction before that, so farming isn’t a family tradition or anything for them.”
“Yeah and then George set about ruining the town with his seedy-ass existence, not to mention ruining perfectly good farmland Clyde had wanted to buy and add to our land mass,” I say because Clyde has told the story many times through the years.
“Yeah, so maybe they’ll just give it up anyway,” Daisy says and crosses her fingers.
“I’m worried,” I mutter and stuff my hands into my jacket pockets. “I wish he wasn’t so damn good.”
“I could go all Tonya Harding on him and take a pipe to his knee caps next Sunday,” Daisy offers and grins like a psychopath. I laugh and she laughs too.
“What’s so hysterical?” Jasmyn wants to know as she and Caroline exit the ladies’ room.
“Long story but you know what’s not funny? How hungry I am. Let’s get to the Biscuit. There’s a burger with my name on it,” I say, and we start out of the arena.
The Biscuit is packed, as is always the case after a home game, even an exhibition one. The hockey players and fans love this place. We get a high top table directly next to the long high top with a placard on it marked ‘Reserved’. I know instantly who it’s reserved for. The hockey players always congregate at the same table at the Biscuit.
“Maybe we can find a table on the other side of the place,” I say hopefully, but looking around, I know it’s impossible. “Or we could go to Tito’s instead.”
Blindsided: A Moo U Hockey Romance Page 8
