She dropped her voice and sang the opening bars, making him laugh, the husky sound a low bass line in the rain-muffled car. For the second time that day, her lack of vocal skills made her want to stop, but when Fox glanced at the entrance to the church auditorium with renewed anxiousness, she turned up the volume and kept going, snatching a pen out of his cup holder to serve as a microphone. By the second verse, Fox shook his head and joined in. They sat in the rain, singing at the tops of their lungs, all the way until the final note.
When they finally walked into the church hall several minutes later, the stiffness was completely gone from Fox’s shoulders.
Chapter Seventeen
Charlene Thornton was exactly as Fox described.
She wore big vintage eyeglasses with a rose tint, a long sweater wrapped around her slender body, and there were hints of gray springing out from her temples. The church hall was packed full of folding tables, and she walked through them, holding court, dropping witticisms on the bingo players as she passed, smoothing feathers that had been ruffled from their wait in the bad weather.
There was a pack of Marlboro Reds in her hand, though she didn’t seem in a rush to do anything, let alone go outside and smoke one. She seemed more inclined to use the pack to gesture or possibly as a safety blanket.
Hannah wasn’t prepared for the flinch Fox had warned her about, especially coming from his own mother. Or the fierce surge of protectiveness that permeated her, head to toe. It was so strong that she reached for Fox’s hand and wound their fingers together without thinking, her heart leaping a little in her chest when he not only didn’t pull away but tugged her closer to his side.
“Hey, Ma,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Good to see you. You look great.”
“Likewise, of course.” Before he could pull away, she caught his head in both hands, scanning him with a mother’s eyes. “Would you look at these goddamn dimples on my son?” she called over her shoulder, turning several heads. “And who is this young lady? Isn’t she just cute as hell?”
“Yeah, this is Hannah. She’s pretty cute, but I wouldn’t recommend messing with her.” His lips jumped at one end. “I call her Freckles, but her other nickname is the Captain Killer. She’s famous in Westport for going toe-to-toe with Brendan. And most recently for calling some of the locals ball sacs.”
“Fox!” Hannah hissed.
Laughing, Charlene released her son’s head and planted bent wrists on her hips. “Well, now, I’d say that deserves the best seat in the house.” She turned and waved for them to follow. “Come on, come on. If I don’t start soon, there is going to be a riot. Nice to meet you, Hannah. You’re the first girl Fox has ever brought to meet me, but I don’t have time to make a big deal out of it.”
Dammit. Hannah liked her right away.
And she’d really wanted to hate her after that flinch.
Charlene pushed her and Fox toward some chairs at the top of the hall, right in front of the stage where her bingo equipment had been set up, pulling some bingo cards and blotters out of her apron and dropping them onto the table.
“Good luck, you two. Grand prize is a blender tonight.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Thornton,” Hannah said grudgingly.
“Please! Let’s not stand on ceremony.” She squeezed Hannah’s shoulders, guiding her into one of the metal chairs. “You’ll call me Charlene and I’ll hope my son has the good sense to bring you around again so you have the chance to call me any damn thing at all. How about that?”
Leaving that question hanging in the air, Charlene sailed off.
Fox exhaled, looking chagrined. “She’s a character.”
“I really wanted to be mad at her,” Hannah said glumly.
“I know exactly how you feel, Freckles,” he responded, the words almost swallowed up completely in the shuffle of chairs and buzz of excitement around them. Across from Fox and Hannah sat two women who had erected a portable barrier between each other, ten cards spread out in front of them both, a rainbow selection of blotters at the ready.
“Keep your eye on Eleanor,” said the woman on the right, closest to the stage. “She’s an unrepentant cheat.”
“You just shut your mouth, Paula,” hissed Eleanor over the barrier. “You’re still bitter about me winning that Dutch oven two weeks ago. Well, you can shove that high-and-mighty attitude where the sun doesn’t shine. I won fair and square.”
“Sure,” Paula muttered. “If fair and square means cheating.”
“Is it even possible to cheat at bingo?” Hannah asked Fox out of the side of her mouth.
“Stay neutral. Don’t get involved.”
“But—”
“Be Switzerland, Hannah. Trust me.”
They were still holding hands under the table. So when Eleanor leaned across the table and smiled sweetly—bitter accusations apparently forgotten—and asked how long Hannah and Fox had been dating, Hannah’s answer sounded somehow fabricated. “Oh. No, we’re just”—her gaze locked with Fox’s fleetingly—“friends.”