Games We Play (21 page)

This was a fairly typical putting practice green, with five holes to choose from. Barnabus was in the middle of a putt now, along with a little African American girl who took her putting seriously. Kendall knew that look. It was similar to one she’d worn as a kid, when visions of making the women’s tour had danced in her head. Way too serious for her age. Kendall kept her eyes on the young girl. She didn’t flinch, eyes fixed on her ball, head down, body still, so different from Barnabus, who started laughing mid-putt. He missed his putt; the little girl didn’t miss hers.

Kendall step out of the shadows and walked over to join them.

“Professor,” Barnabus said in greeting. All the children moved forward in a pack to inspect her more closely.

She smiled.
Children
, she thought. You had to love them and their lack of pretense.

“Kids, meet my friend, the professor,” Cooper said.

“Professor,” he said again, smiling at her, his green eyes dancing. “It’s my pleasure to introduce you to some of Coopersville’s finest young golfers. This is Briana and Ashley, sisters, Huey and Hector, brothers, and LaDerrick,” he said.

“I’m the oldest,” LaDerrick said, pointing to his chest. He was a little skinny, but he was a tall, handsome young man.

“He’s not that much older than me,” Briana clarified. She had been the one putting the ball, dark-colored skin, hair in braids that started at the top of her forehead and ran down her back, decked out in shorts and a polo shirt, just like the rest of the crew. New-looking golf shoes on her feet.
Pretty and serious
, Kendall thought.

“Hi,” Kendall said, smiling. Interesting, Briana’s little sister, Ashley, was Hispanic. Huey was brown-headed and white, La Derrick was African American too, and Hector was Hispanic.
The start of a small golf United Nations of sorts
, Kendall thought.

“Practice?” Cooper asked.

“Yes,” she said.

He’d seen her car pull into the parking lot earlier, since he’d been kind of on the lookout for her. He’d caught sight of her as she walked over to them, smiling as she stepped from the shadows. She was dressed in some mighty fine shorts that hugged her ass, which he was really going to spend some serious time getting acquainted with when he got the chance. He continued to watch her as they all putted. She was in her putting position—legs together, head bent down, looking as she hit her ball, and followed it into the hole. She lifted her club and turned toward him.

“Not bad,” Briana said, “your form and finish are pretty solid.”

Cooper smiled at Kendall, green eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth at the young girl’s analysis.

“Thank you,” Kendall said in response to the mixed compliment.

“Briana hopes to compete professionally someday,” Cooper said, and smiled.

“I will,” Briana said, and Kendall could tell she meant it.

For the next thirty minutes, they all worked on putting, while Kendall watched him interact with the kids.

“So you’re like a teacher?” Ashley asked, looking up at Kendall later on that evening. She’d stopped practicing and was now standing in front of Kendall, her face lifted as she addressed her. She was as cute as a button with her two pigtails slightly askew from her gymnastic pursuit—cartwheels around the putting green. She was carefree and easygoing, a contrast to her sister’s seriousness of purpose.

“I am,” Kendall said.

“At my school?”

“No, at a college.”

“I’m going to college.”

“I’m sure you are,” Kendall said, looking down at her, smiling.

“’Hey, Professor, we’re done here. Do you want to play a few holes on the course with us?” Cooper asked, the kids around him staring up at her, waiting for her response.

“No, maybe next time,” she said.

“See you around, then,” he said.

“Yeah, see you around,” Briana said, eyeing her—and was that speculation she saw staring back at her?

“Nice to meet you all,” Kendall said.

“Sure, nice to meet you too,” came back to her in various forms from all the children.

She watched their motley crew walk over to the cart area and disappear from her view. A few minutes passed before two carts rolled out. Briana was driving one of the carts, her little sister and Hector in the seat beside her, while LaDerrick drove the other one, Huey sandwiched between him and Cooper. Barnabus-the-golf-instructor was another addition to her list. Barnabus-the-potential-friend-with-benefits was turning into a very interesting guy.

Second week of June

The second Monday of the month was the official day for tour taking and beer talking over at the Coopersville Brewpub. Kendall knew this because Myra had reminded her of it often, as in every day for the last week, and she hadn’t stopped there. She’d called up Cooper and asked him to put Kendall’s name on the list for the upcoming tour—Myra, the unrelenting matchmaker.

So here she was at the front door of the Brewpub to learn about beer making from the best of the best, according to Myra anyway. Beer was turning out to be a much more complicated endeavor that she’d initially thought. From the Internet research she’d done, she’d learned that beer making and its different styles had traveled across the pond from Europe. Immigrants had moved to the US in search of better lives, and they’d brought beer recipes from their homelands with them, making pre-prohibition America a patchwork of communities and neighborhood beer flavors.

All that variety had come to an end when politicians, who thought to curb the sins of mankind by outlawing the making and drinking of spirits, enacted prohibition. All but a few independent brew-makers were able to rebuild afterwards, and a few regional brewers began to buy up their smaller brethren until only a few huge beer brewers and distributors were left.

Starting in the 1960s, independent men had commenced brewing beer in their garages, which had eventually blossomed into small local breweries. That, along with eventual changes in the law, allowed the craft market to develop and the brewing of richer and more diverse beer to grow. The market for craft beer was small compared to the total beer market, a mere 6 percent of the total, but it was growing, taking beer back to its independent roots.

Kendall entered the pub, looking around for the tour group, but mostly she was searching the room for him. She found the sign for the tour near the brewing-room door. There were three men waiting there.

Cooper had just cleared the door leading from the back when he saw her. He smiled and had to mentally restrain himself from rubbing his hands together in anticipation. She was clearly softening toward him. He was putting his all in his pursuit of her, which was surprising to him. But it was working. They’d been seeing each other daily, whether at the Brewpub or at Myra’s; then she’d caught him with the kids last Friday, and he could read it her eyes, in her smile. He was so close, one blow, and it didn’t need to be hard either, and she’d be his, all legs and arms open, all warm welcome for the rest of the summer if he wanted, and hell yeah, he wanted.
Whatever,
was what he told himself whenever he started to think his interest might be in something more than short-term sex. He brushed those thoughts aside and kept the image of her in his bed foremost in his mind.

“Are you all here for the tour?” he asked when he reached the group. A round of yeses, her mixed in with the others.

“I’m Cooper, the main brewmaster. I’ll be leading the tour today,” he said, introducing himself to the men standing next to her. Mike, Jay, and Kevin were their names. Kendall had already introduced herself to them.

“Most of our time will be spent in the room located behind you, getting to know the equipment we use to make beer. Then we’ll get to the fun part, the tasting part, which is the real reason you all are here, right? The free beer at the end. I understand, it’s a highly attractive prospect,” he said, chuckling. “Just a fair warning, though, and I’ll remind you again before you start tasting. Like most craft beer, the beer brewed here is typically much more potent than what you may be used to, unless you’ve been drinking craft beers for a while,” he said, smiling.

“Sorry I’m late,” a woman said, interrupting Cooper’s speech, all breathless, like she’d run over, hair loose and flying around her head, wearing a really nice dress, expensive, that flowed around her body. Kendall recognized her. She was a waitress here. She saw her almost daily, although the woman had never waited on her personally. Cooper was usually the one who served her, the Colonel, and Myra. This woman had always smiled at Kendall, though, whenever their eyes had met, and she’d been polite in all their interactions. The waitress took her place near the back, behind the men.

“Not a problem,” Cooper said. “So, everybody, let me introduce you to Celeste, the newest waitresses to our pub. All new hires have to make the tour, which is why Celeste will be joining us today.”

Kendall watched him as he glanced quickly at Celeste again.
And why does it seem like there is more to that story
, Kendall thought. It was an instinctive something she felt but couldn’t explain.

“So who knows what the ingredients are for beer?” Cooper asked, scanning their faces.

Celeste raised her hand, kind of tentative, a sheepish smile on her face. It was endearing, causing the men around her to smile.

“Water, grains, hops, and yeast,” Celeste said.

Cooper smiled. “Thank you, Celeste,” he said. “Yes, that is correct. Beer is, at its heart, a simple recipe, one that requires water, grain, yeast, and yes, hops. But they came later.”

“We all know what water, grain, and yeast are, but what are hops?” Cooper asked, scanning their faces again.

Celeste’s hand went up again. “It’s where beer gets it bitter taste.”

“Right,” he said. Kendall glanced over at Celeste again, whose eyes were on Cooper.

“Right, hops are the most recent addition to the beer-making recipe. They are cones of the hop plant, a preservative that keeps beer from growing sour. It also brings the bitterness and the aroma that you find in beer,” he said, starting his spiel.

Kendall tuned him out for a minute, her eyes returning to Celeste, who stood smiling, her eyes still trained on Cooper, as though pearls would appear from his mouth like raindrops any minute.
Okay…what is up here?
Kendall wondered again.

“And now on to the tour part of our tour,” Cooper said, bringing her attention back to him. He opened the door leading into the brewing room and allowed them to precede him inside.

“Who is Celeste?” Kendall asked her aunt later on that night.

She and Myra were sitting at the table for an end-of-the-night tea-and-brandy-drinking session, a tradition she was starting to enjoy a little too much. Myra said it helped her sleep better, and Kendall had to agree with her.

“How do you know Celeste?” Myra asked.

“I met her today on the tour, and I’ve seen her working at the pub.”

“I’ve never met her, although I knew she was living and working here now. I’ve seen her at the pub too. Luis hired her; he does all the hiring for the pub and the bingo hall,” Myra said.

“Did you know that Barnabus and Celeste lived in Europe once? He worked there for a while to learn how to brew beer,” Kendall said. Celeste had shared that information with the tour group, along with other nuggets of Cooper-and-Celeste information.

“Yes, he was out of the country for a while. He left not long after high school. He ended up living there close to five years, and he only came home when he found out that his daddy was sick, dying of cancer. Even then, he didn’t move back to Coopersville right away.

“I heard that Celeste grew up just up the road from here from a small town of less than a few hundred people. I don’t know how she came to be overseas, but that’s where they met, and she returned to the US with him. I believed they lived together for a while in that condo his daddy owned in Austin. When it looked as if Cooper Two would not be beating his cancer, Cooper moved back here permanently and took care of his daddy until the end. Celeste didn’t come to Coopersville with him. He never said anything about her or what happened between them, and I never asked.”

“Really?” Kendall said, not sure how she felt about Barnabus having such a long history with a past girlfriend, one who was still around and very, very pretty. “He never brought her here to meet you?”

“No.”

“Interesting,” she said.

Tuesday night

Cooper’s phone was ringing, and it was very late, that he knew. He lifted his head from his pillow to read the clock on his night stand, which confirmed that it was indeed late—2:45 in the morning late, or early, if you preferred that view. He reached for his phone.
Who in the hell?
his only thought.

“Hello,” he said.

“Cooper, could you come over here, quick?” a woman’s voice, partially registering through the fog in his head.

“Celeste?” he asked.

“Yes. The fire alarm is going off, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

“What?”

“My fire alarm won’t stop ringing,” she said.

What the hell?
he thought. “Find the red button on the outside of it and push it in,” he said.

“Okay, would you stay on the phone while I do that?”

“Yep,” he said, rolling over onto his back, eyes closed so that he could go back to sleep without having to really wake up, listening to the noise in the background, the loud ringing of a smoke alarm gone awry. It stopped a few seconds later.

A few minutes later she returned. “Thank you, Coop—” she started to say, but the alarm sounded again.

“There it goes again. It’s been doing that for a while now,” she said.

“Just take the battery out of it,” he said.

“What if there’s a fire? Can you come over here and check it for me? I know it’s asking a lot, but if everything checks out when you look at it, maybe you can remove the battery yourself,” she said.

“It’s almost three in the morning, Celeste.”

“I know and I wouldn’t ask, but—”