up as they approached. “Journee. I was starting to think I was going to have to call you over the loudspeaker. That must be Dante with you.”
“I’m sorry. We stopped to watch the dancing competition, it was really good,” Journee said with a grin, which the man returned.
He didn’t seem upset, although he did look at his watch. They were starting the instructions a few minutes early anyway.
“I’m George Albright, and I’m in charge of supervising this competition. The judges are gathering over there.” The man nodded to a table where several older ladies and a couple of middle-aged ones were chatting and arranging chairs at a rectangular table.
Dante listened with half an ear as the man gave the instructions for the contest. His focus was more on the woman beside him. He hadn’t expected to like her so much so fast. He’d been interested in The Healing Pen, sure. Interested in a curious and mostly superficial way.
Maybe it was something with small-town girls. Since he hadn’t been around many.
He could admit there could be more than friend feelings between them. But he wouldn’t let anything happen. Not yet. It hadn’t been his fault that her notebook had opened where he could see it. But he didn’t want Race to think he was doing something he’d promised not to.
He still had over six months to wait.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy today. Couldn’t start hoping she would come to like him as much as he liked her.
He glanced over the course as George Albright talked about putting a gingerbread house together, upside down.
A smile tugged out Dante’s lips as he looked over at Journee, who was grinning at him.
“Not your skill set?” she whispered, one brow cocked at a goofy angle.
He shook his head. “Even a right-side-up house would be a struggle.”
Her eyes twinkled, and maybe their gazes held just a second longer than necessary. The oddest sensation tripped through his chest, and he had to clamp his teeth over the words that wanted to come out.
“And both of the members of your team have to go down the chimney and back up. If you are over fifty years old, you can have one of your grandchildren do that for you; however, they may not start until you are there, and they have to follow all the same rules that you do.”
“Really? You hit fifty, and you don’t have to do the chimney thing?” He leaned over to Journee, who grinned up at him.
“It is called the Not Such an Ironman Ironman Contest for a reason. I suppose it’s living up to its name right there. But it hardly seems fair, doesn’t it?” She bit her lip in mock consternation. “Do you think we should complain?”
“I’ve a feeling if we did, they’d totally let us out of it. But who would we get to take our places?”
“Forget that. The whole point is to have fun, and while I’m claustrophobic, part of the fun is stepping out of your comfort zone.” Her lips pursed. “I really don’t want to. But still, that’s kind of beside the point.”
“I think that is the point,” he said with a smirk.
They laughed softly together, garnering a few looks from the people sitting next to them. But he didn’t really care.
He was having more fun with this than he expected. Probably because of his partner. He supposed this was the kind of thing that in normal times he would have tried to get out of. But he had definitely been looking forward to spending the day with Journee, spending his time with her, and he was almost certain that was new for him, because beyond football and working on coding, he didn’t do too many other things solely for fun.
He hadn’t been interested.
But maybe he just hadn’t had the right partner.
“All right, and new this year is making a Christmas tree out of decorations.” Mr. Albright paused a little there to let the idea sink in. Dante had heard that in a typical contest, contestants were to decorate a Christmas tree. Now apparently instead of decorating a tree, they were making a tree.
“I’m a little skeptical on this one, because everybody’s going to have different decorations. Mr. Wynn and his wife enjoy going to estate sales, and sometimes, they come back with boxes of decorations.” Mr. Albright paused again. “It’s a long story, but just trust me, Mr. Wynn was more than happy to get some of these things out of his attic.” There were some