Moving on, they picked up croissants and coffees from Garrett’s stand, which earned them another knowing grin. Each loaded up complimentary cloth tote bags with fruit and veggies for their respective fridges. Xander reflected—he hadn’t really cooked a proper meal since coming to Trappers Cove.
“I’ll have to make you dinner sometime. Show off my amateur chef skills.”
“When?” Hannah’s smile sparkled with challenge.
“Uh, let me check my calendar.”
She nudged him. “Right. I’ll never see a crumb, will I?”
Oho, so it was like that. Never one to leave a dare unanswered, he snapped back, “Okay, you’re on. Tomorrow night, my place, Greek dinner.”
“Can’t. Tomorrow’s the St. Patrick’s Day party at the Salty Dog Saloon. You’re my date. And wear green. I may get violent if other women pinch you.”
“Noted.” Neither of them owned the other, of course, but hearing her claim him like that filled him with a rosy glow.
“Ready for our next stop?” Hannah asked.
“Does it involve privacy and the chance to pick up where we left off this morning?”
She pecked his lips. “No and no. I’ve got another story to cover, and it involves you.”
He took her sack and looped his free arm around her waist. Side by side, they crossed Main Street and strolled up Dunes Avenue.
“Mini golf? Are you kidding me?”
“I never kid about the important stuff.” Her tone was perfectly serious, but she didn’t quite hide her grin as a gangly teen handed them clubs and colored golf balls—neon pink for her, acid green for him.
“Gram’s running a little late,” the kid said. “She’ll come find you in a minute.”
They teed up behind a family with three squealing preschoolers. The oldest rushed over to hug Hannah around the knees, clobbering her with his tiny golf club.
At the first hole, a six-foot lighthouse, Hannah wiggled her butt enticingly while lining up her shot.
Xander leaned on his club. “Really? We’re doing this?”
She waved him off. “Relax and have some fun! You must’ve come to this place as a kid.”
“Yeah, sure.” He scanned the chipped, faded obstacles. “Looks like it hasn’t been painted since then.”
Hannah sent her ball gliding up the plastic turf path. “It’s all part of the Trappers Cove vibe. Nova adds a new obstacle each year.”
Smooth as butter, her hot-pink ball rolled through the lighthouse door, triggering a flash of light from the glass cupola. She hooted and pumped her fist. “Hole in one, baby! You’re up.”
Xander was a mediocre golfer at best, and he hadn’t played in years, but he couldn’t have Hannah thinking he was a no-fun stick in the mud. He made it to the lighthouse in three putts, the pelican’s mouth in two, and by the time he sank a hole in one in the metal loop de loop, his forced grin gave way to genuine laughter. “Move over, Tigress Woods. I’m coming for ya.”
Hannah smooched his cheek. “Oho. Our Xander has a competitive streak.”
“It’s my Aries nature.” He hooked his fingers into curly horns. “We keep battering away until we reach our goal.”
She ruffled his hair. “Didn’t you say you weren’t a woo-woo kind of guy?”
“Must be the TC vibe sinking into my bones.” Capturing her waist with his free arm, he snugged her close and nuzzled her neck. She squealed with laughter, and if they weren’t surrounded by families with kids, he’d explore what other ticklish spots she was hiding under that businesslike blazer.
“Careful,” she protested, “Don’t wanna scare the littles.”
“They’ve gotta learn about the birds and bees somehow.”
A raspy laugh broke them apart. A seventy-something woman stood behind them, hands on hips, her salt and pepper hair in a long braid, a merry grin creasing her weathered face. Just his luck, she wore a Souvenir Planet hoodie, the one with the surfing alien.
