Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
I looked over at Grady, who was shaking his head. As soon as our eyes locked, he mouthed, “Good job,” and butterflies took flight in my stomach.
“Let’s go!” Curt called out. “They get to leave this station thirty seconds after us, so move your asses!”
We had to put on snowshoes for the start of the obstacle course. Calla helped secure mine, and I walked between her and Sally. It was harder than I’d imagined it could be, all of us quickly winded. Curt was barreling through the course like a wild man, beating on his bare chest.
I focused on putting one foot in front of the other, the finish line for the snowshoeing part in sight. Uncle Don was following along on the sidelines, waving his sign and encouraging me to keep going. Tears welled in my eyes as I pushed on, wanting to make him proud.
Next, we had to army crawl through the snow beneath metal bars. When I collapsed to the ground, breathless, Deacon came back and passed me a rope.
“Just hold on,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
I caught my breath as he pulled me the rest of the way through, thanking him when I crawled out. How had he made it through that narrow opening in a Bigfoot costume?
“Snowball throw,” Curt announced. “Who’s going to kill this one?”
“Me,” I announced, still breathing hard.
He gave me a skeptical look, the rest of the group quiet.
“I played softball through high school,” I said. “I can hit those targets.”
“Let’s go, Avon!” Uncle Don cheered from nearby. “You’ve got this!”
And for the first time in the competition, he was right. Curt and Deacon made snowballs for me and I fired them at the targets, easily hitting all of them.
“That’s my niece!” Uncle Don yelled. “She’s my niece!”
“Nice job!” Curt said, fist-bumping me. “Just the lake jump, guys! It’s over when we’re all out and we’ve all touched the flag.”
I looked over my shoulder as we ran for the lake, and I saw Grady carrying Georgette over his shoulder at the front of his group on the run from the obstacle course to the snowball throw. Curt was right; Grady was superhuman.
I made it to the edge of the dock, hesitating.
“Together?” Sally asked me, taking my hand.
I nodded, closing my eyes as we jumped.
It wasn’t just cold—it was like ice running through my veins. For a few seconds, I literally froze, unable to even move. Then I scrambled for the ladder and climbed out, Grady racing toward us with Georgette still slung over his shoulder.
We all touched the flagpole and an alarm sounded, signifying that we’d won. I was a little lightheaded as people embraced me and congratulated our team.
Grady had jumped in with Georgette over his shoulder, and he’d also climbed the ladder while still holding her. He reached his team’s finish line, panting as he set her feet on the ground.
“That was fun!” the older woman said, clapping.
I understood now. Whoever had her on their team was guaranteed to lose. Poor Grady.
Calla led the way inside The Sleepy Moose, which was a beautiful, sprawling lodge. Each competitor was given a key to a room so we could shower and get changed.
Hot water had never felt so good. I just stood and let it wash over me for the first five minutes. Bess had dropped off my bag with extra clothes, hair tools, and makeup, so I had everything I needed to get ready for lunch.
After I finished, I dropped my bag off in the truck and went into the big dining room at The Sleepy Moose, which had open rafters, tall windows, and dozens of beautiful wood tables surrounded by chairs. The Chronicle’s table was filled with Bess and her husband Harry, Sam and his wife Deb, and three pressmen who were all there solo.
“Nice job, Avon,” Sam said. “Pete would’ve been proud.”
“Thank you. And thanks to all of you for coming to this lunch.”
“Best meal in town,” Harry said. “Shea’s a heckuva cook. It’s too bad she won’t settle down and give her folks some grandkids, ain’t it? She’s pretty and she can cook. But she’s married to this place for some reason.”
Bess gave him a scolding look. “She’ll settle down when she’s good and ready. Or not at all. It’s her decision.”
“So Shea is the chef here?” I asked.
“Yes, and she’s a lovely girl,” Bess said. “You’d like her.”
Servers in black clothes and white aprons delivered bowls of cream of mushroom soup to our table then, the garlicky scent making my stomach rumble. As soon as everyone at our table had a bowl and I took my first bite, I held back a moan.
“This is the best soup I’ve ever had,” I said.
One of the pressmen, Benji, nodded and pointed his spoon at his soup. “This is the reason I come to this lunch every year. You can’t eat at the Moose unless you’re a guest, but if they opened this place up as a restaurant, it’d be packed every night.”