At the door, she turned, facing all those gathered. “Alex Boxer is in town for a few more days. Everyone will get a chance to see him again.”
“Same time, same place tomorrow?” Jerry Petree asked.
“Only if Alex has a taste for more ice cream,” was as far as Holly would commit.
Back on the sidewalk, he rubbed his stomach. “I tried every flavor. My gut’s about to burst.”
“You’re a crowd pleaser and great for business.”
He wanted her to see him as more than free advertising. “I’ve never dropped a hundred on ice cream.”
“Profits rose tonight.”
“I’m a bankable commodity.”
“Mind if we walk?” she asked. “Otherwise I’ll locate a golf cart.”
Alex couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a walk, nor could he recall spending an eve ning with a woman when they weren’t headed for bed. Relaxed and casual had gotten lost in his tailspin life.
“Walking works.” He decided to give it a try.
A Midsummer’s Ice Cream fronted on the Holiday Boardwalk on the south end of town. The twenty-block, wooden-planked promenade ran north, the perfect setting for visitors to catch their first view of the seashore.
Holly pointed out sites along the way. “The Morrow House is the oldest beach cottage still standing in Holiday. The Victorian is now a bed and breakfast. It has twenty-two rooms, a basement, an attic, and twelveinch brick walls.”
The Atlantic Beach Library was located next door. The Bohemian Café; stood two lots down. A small verandah charmed passersby with rose paint and deep purple shutters. Lime green wrought-iron tables and chairs offered dining al fresco.
“The Bohemian’s known for its Corn Flake french toast. Stop in one morning,” she suggested. “Order a big glass of fresh tangelo juice.”
All future breakfasts depended on the judge’s mercy. Alex hoped Holly would present the official with a good progress report, and he would soon be driving cautiously out of town. If not tomorrow, hopefully the next day.
He blew out a breath, kept right on walking. The souvenir shop windows reflected their progress. The scent of vendor hotdogs and nachos hung on the air.
Few people strolled the planks, leaving the sounds of the ocean to fill the night. In the distance, strains of seasonal music and enormous neon signs drew residents and tourists to the arcade and amusement park. That was the heart of the action.
“The boardwalk lays claim to its fair share of proposals and honeymoon moonlight strolls,” Holly commented. “There’s something about the night air, the firefly stars—”
“The smell of dead fish.” Alex coughed.
“Be glad it’s not Randolph.”
He smiled. “The reindeer’s a charmer.”
Athletic games from the basket toss and balloon darts, to the baseball throw caught Alex’s eye the moment he entered the arcade. He wanted to play. He was good at winning stuffed animals for women. He’d show off for Holly. Just a little.
He laid down a buck, and the worker passed him a basketball. “Take three shots,” the man behind the counter said. “Sink one for a kewpie doll, two for a rubber duck, three for a teddy bear.”
Alex went for the bear, only to miss all three baskets. Son of a bitch. Heat climbed his neck, and his face went hot. “Again.” He smacked down another dollar.
An Andrew Jackson later, he had yet to win a prize.
The worker turned to Holly, asking, “Would the lady like a turn?”
“The lady would,” she agreed.
Agitated, Alex slid the man two dollars. He figured two tries were plenty for Holly. Then they’d move on.
He watched as she centered herself, then tossed the ball using some backspin. Her aim hit true, bounced off the tilt of the upper lip and dropped through the hoop.
Double damn. Two turns and she’d scored both the duck and the teddy. She passed Alex the duck, which quacked when he squeezed it.
“Later, Wally.” She waved to the worker.
The man nodded, grinned at her.
“You know the guy?”
“I grew up in Holiday,” she reminded him. “The arcade was a second home.”
His competitive nature kicked in. “Balloon darts next.”
She followed him to the booth, where she kicked his ass a second time. Holly walked away with a cuddly Mickey Mouse.
Lady was racking up prizes.
“Ring toss.” He felt his luck shift.
He dropped fifty dollars before Holly hauled him over to the baseball throw, his saving grace. Ten groups of bottles offered the challenge, each group positioned with three bottles at the base and two stacked on top.
He was a professional athlete. This would be an easy win.
He received four baseballs for five dollars.
“Knock over three of the four bottle groups and take home Lola the stuffed leopard,” the worker said.
Alex took aim and Holly moved behind him. “Lola’s been at the arcade for five years,” she whispered. “She’s impossible to win.”
Alex set his back teeth.
He was taking Lola home tonight.
A Ben Franklin later and Holly stepped between him and the counter. “You’ve spent more at the arcade than you did on ice cream. Let’s ride the carousel, call it a night.”
A crowd had gathered. Fifty people now watched him make a fool of himself. He was a ballplayer with an accurate arm. He should be able to knock over those damn bottles.
He wasn’t a good loser.
Holly pressed into his side, her voice low. “The bottles have lead bases. Throw low, split the bottom two.”
He turned on her. “You tell me this after I’ve blown a hundred bucks?”
“You’re good for our economy, Alex Boxer.”
He shoved up his sleeves, untucked his shirt, and got down to business. His next three balls bowled down the bottles.
Those gathered cheered him on, then applauded wildly with his win. Alex victory-pumped his arm—Lola was his.
In the end, he decided to give Holly the leopard. “All yours.” He presented her with the stuffed animal.
She looked surprised. “Maybe you should hold on to Lola, give her to your girlfriend.”
“I’ve no one special in my life.” Blond twins awaited him in Miami. Somehow it didn’t seem fair to give one a life-size leopard and the other a bathtub ducky.