from her other side. “But the bear isn’t ever giving up.”
Noah gives Everett the side-eye. “You can tell the bear his strength means nothing. It’s entirely up to the heart of the queen where this story lives and dies. I’d watch out if I were him. One day he might just wake up and find out he’s been turned into a bearskin rug. It’s happened before. The queen just so happens to have a soft spot for bulls.”
Everett’s chest bounces with a silent laugh. “Or maybe she has a soft spot for bull?”
“Okay, you two. We’re here,” I say as we stop in front of a brick building with rounded windows that glow peach from inside. Everett holds the door for us as we file in one by one, and immediately we’re hit with the thick scent of oven-roasted turkey.
“Oh, it smells like heaven.” I moan. It’s spacious inside, with dark wooden floors and tables to match. A bar sits against the left wall, and there are tables and booths scattered around the periphery. Soft country music and a roaring fireplace add to the already cozy ambiance. There’s a small square of a dance floor that has a few bodies moving on it, and next to that there’s a long table with a banner across it that reads pumpkin pie eating contest every hour on the hour!
Evie steps in farther. “This is fun! I’m entering the pie eating contest. I don’t care how crappy the prize is. The bragging rights alone will be enough for me.”
A petite brunette wearing a long green dress and a frilly white apron comes by and navigates us through the crowd on the way to our table, and I can’t help but note the distinct sound of heavy moans of anguish emanating from all around.
The waitress gives a little laugh as she looks my way.
“Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s the competition.” She nods to the crowd of tables around us, and sure enough, there seems to be a Thanksgiving feast set on each and every one of them. “Have you heard about it?”
Noah nods. “We have. So what do we have to do to enter?”
“Rules are, two people to a table. That way we ensure no one else in the family will be helping you out.”
Noah looks to Everett. “So are you in? Are you up for knocking this out and getting that free family meal every week for a year?”
A dark laugh strums from Everett. “Buddy, this bear doesn’t back down.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Please seat us close by so we can watch the carnage.”
She leads us to a couple of round tables near the window, and right next to them I spot another familiar couple.
“Carlotta! Mayor Nash.” I give a cheery wave and they both offer a rather sickly wave back. I only discovered that Mayor Nash was my biological father a few years back, and even though I don’t feel I’m at the place to call him Dad, I do feel close to him.
Their table is strewn with all the fixings one could ask for at this time of year, and that turkey looks so juicy that I’d take a bite out of it right now if I didn’t think it would disqualify them.
“Boy”—Evie hugs me as if sheltering herself from them—“the two of you look as if you’re about to puke your guts up. I’m talking projectile vomiting here—some real head-spinning action. Try not to aim at me. I’m having a good hair day.”
Carlotta warbles out something unintelligible before shoveling a forkful of mashed potatoes into her mouth.
The waitress lifts a finger. “Hey, I can move a table between the two of you and that way you can all sort of be together.”
Before we know it, Everett and Noah help move a third small table into our midst, and soon all three tiny tables are conjoined.
“It’s still within the rules.” The waitress nods as we take our seats.
Everett and Noah are at the table to my left, Carlotta and Mayor Nash are at the table to my right, and Evie is at the same table as me. Everett and Noah request the Thanksgiving banquet challenge supper, and both Evie and I opt for a plate of the Thanksgiving special. I quickly scan the menu one last time before handing it over.
“Ooh, and throw on an order of that ambrosia salad. I haven’t had that in years.” Another menu item catches my eye. “And maybe some of the Jell-O salad, too?”