Chapter Six

Tinka rehearsed her lines on the putting green while waiting for her dad to show up for their tee time on Saturday afternoon. She’d gotten her stitches out that morning, and, though her scar was still a bit tender, Tinka’s dad hadn’t wasted any time forcing her back out on the links.

“I’ve been thinking, Dad, and I don’t want to play golf this year,” Tinka mumbled to no one. She lined up another putt, took a deep breath, and sunk it. “I appreciate you sending me to Florian’s. I really like it there.” Or she had liked it there, before the whole Colin situation. Tinka shook herself and crouched down to focus on the slope of the green as she whispered the words she’d say to her father. “It’s not like I want to give up golf forever. I’ll keep playing with you…on occasion. I only want to quit the team. That’s it. I no longer want to compete.”

She sank a nice thirty-footer and took that as a sign that this afternoon was going to go well. Her dad was always more receptive to her feelings once they were on the golf course. Plus, she’d practiced this conversation with Sam last night when she and the girls were at his house, which was becoming their evening routine—work at Tinka’s house all day, hang out with Sam at night.

Sam’s house was the only place in North Pole, perhaps the world, where she was at peace. Last night, Jane and Karen had gone down to the basement to play video games with Maddie, and Tinka and Sam had stayed out on the porch, chatting about family issues.

“We need to be honest with them, don’t we?” Sam had asked. They were drinking coffee and picking at the remnants of a chocolate-chile cake Tinka had baked earlier that afternoon. It was the most adult she’d ever felt in her life—drinking after-dinner coffee on the veranda with her (pretend) man friend.

Tinka had glanced over at her parents’ house, which was dark. Her mom and dad had gone to dinner with Mark and Trish again, of course. That was also most definitely becoming routine.

“There’s a first time for everything.” Tinka had never, ever given her parents even the slightest inkling that she wasn’t happy with her current situation. They’d be shocked to hear it, she was sure.

“I’ll do it if you will.” Sam drained his mug. “I’ll get on the phone with Harper and Matthew and tell them that I can’t be in charge of all the wedding details. It’s not fair to me. I get that they’re dealing with a lot right now, too, but so am I. They tend to forget that. Or, really, I tend to hide how much stuff gets to me. It’s time I told them.”

Tinka had frowned. “And it’s time I tell my dad that I don’t want to golf anymore.” She could picture his heart breaking in real time.

“You’re going to be fine.” Sam had punched her lightly on the arm, which made her grin. She almost believed him.

When her dad showed up for their round, Tinka shored up her shoulders. This was her moment. She had considered waiting until after the front nine or even for when they’d finished and were back in the clubhouse, but no. She’d already waited too long. They needed to have this conversation now. “Hi, Dad.” She set her lips in a line.

“Hi, honey.” He placed his bag down and pulled out his putter and a ball. He was wearing a pair of khaki pants and a polo with his company’s logo on the breast—his uniform.

“Can we talk for a minute first?” she asked.

Her dad dropped his ball on the green, crouched down, and lined up the putt. “Give me a few secs to warm up. We’re running late. We can talk on the way to the first tee.”

“We” weren’t running late. She’d been here for fifteen minutes already. She checked her phone while her dad commenced his warming up.

“No phones, Christina,” he warned.

Huffing, she shoved it back in her pocket. Golf, at least with her father, was so arcane, so backward-looking. She couldn’t wear jeans or shorts. She had to wear a collared shirt and a visor—no sunglasses. And now, no phones—because in Scotland when this game was invented, no one used phones. They hadn’t worn visors, either, Tinka was sure. Or collared shirts with logos on them. And women definitely weren’t allowed, but whatever. He was a golf originalist when it suited him.

When he was finally ready to make his way to the first tee, Tinka fell in step with her dad, and tried to broach the subject of quitting the golf team again. “Dad, I’ve been thinking—”

He sidestepped her, waving vigorously to someone standing outside the clubhouse. “Dylan!” her dad called. “We’re over here!”

Dylan? What was he doing here? Well, no matter. She and her dad were still going to have this discussion. As Dylan picked up his clubs and lumbered toward them, a cheesy gameshow host smile on his lips, Tinka said, “Dad, I really need to talk to you.”

Now her dad glanced down at her, a frown on his face. “Oh…that’s right.” He peeked up at Dylan, who was a mere fifteen feet from them now. “I’m sorry, honey, but can it wait? We can talk on the ride home.”

“Fine,” Tinka muttered.

Still smirking like the Joker, Dylan greeted Tinka’s dad with an enthusiastic handshake. “Ready?” He hiked up his bag on his shoulder.

She scowled. “For what?”

“Dylan’s joining us.” Her dad grabbed his clubs and led them over to the first tee. “Tinka got her stitches out, and I thought I’d drag her out here since she didn’t have any plans with her friends this afternoon. But…what are you doing tonight? Something fun, right? You should ask Dylan to come.”

A litany of expletives flew through her brain.

The starter sent Tinka’s dad over to the tee box, leaving Tinka and Dylan alone a few feet behind him, her dad’s proposition hanging over them. Tinka ran her fingers over the dimples on her neon pink ball.

“What are you doing tonight?” Dylan whispered so as not to disturb her dad’s concentration.

“Movie night,” Tinka mumbled.

“Ah.” Dylan grinned. “The great North Pole tradition. You’ve never been, right?”

Tinka dropped her ball into the ball washer and plunged it up and down. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh.

“It’s always a fun time.” Dylan paused as Tinka’s dad launched his first drive of the day. “So, are you having a girls’ night out or—”

“Sam’s going to be there,” Tinka blurted. She couldn’t say his name enough in front of Dylan. She grabbed her ball and wiped it dry with her towel. “Sam works at the video store, you know. He said he’d give us the red-carpet treatment, free popcorn and everything.”

“The popcorn’s always free.” Dylan had this idiotic bemused look on his face, like he knew she’d cave to his wiles eventually. She would not.

“I know the popcorn’s free. I was making a joke.” Tinka nodded toward the men’s tee box, which her dad had vacated. Dylan was up.

He grabbed his driver and saluted her with it. “I may see you there.”

“It’s a free country.” Tinka shoved her ball into her pocket.

“So Dylan’s going to be hanging out with you ladies tonight?” Her dad wiped the head of his club and dropped it into his bag.

“He said he might be there.”

“It’s nice to see you two getting along so well. Duke isn’t that far from Florian’s, really. You two can get together on the weekends—”

“Dad. I’m dating Sam. Sam,” she added for good measure.

“Right.” Her dad followed Dylan’s drive with his eyes. “But Sam is going to school in California. You two will be a whole continent away from each other next year.”

“And we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” She and Dylan would still be a whole state away from each other. To see him, she’d have to cross state lines as a seventeen-year-old. Why did no one—certainly not her father—see the issue with that?

Tinka grabbed her bag and marched up to the women’s tee. She set up her ball and swung the club in nearly one motion, without thinking, completely neglecting to set up the shot. She put it right in the weeds, but Tinka couldn’t care less. That was how she’d play the rest of the round—alone and from the rough. She’d leave the fairway to her father and his new buddy, Dylan.

In the clubhouse at the end of the round, after avoiding her dad and Dylan for hours, Tinka grabbed a lemonade at the counter, leaving the guys alone at a table. When she returned to them, her dad was showing Dylan a photograph. Tinka snuck a peek, and her heart immediately started hammering in her chest. It was a picture she knew well—a shot of Jake at age three swinging a golf club.

She’d never seen that photo out in the wild before. It used to be up on the desk in his home office, in the privacy of his workspace. It wasn’t a picture people saw when they came to the Fosters’ house in Minneapolis. It was private, never mentioned, for Fosters’ eyes only.

And here was her dad beaming with pride and showing it to Dylan.

Dylan frowned at Tinka, and she felt his pity, which, ugh, was the last thing she wanted. She’d never even told Jane about Jake. Karen knew the situation, obviously, but she understood that the topic of Tinka’s dead brother was verboten. The only person Tinka had ever opened up to about Jake was Sam, and that was merely because he’d been through something similar with his mom.

“Tinka’s got the same skills.” Her dad smiled up at her. “I swear it was a moment of divine intervention when I saw her pick up a club for the first time and swing it like her brother. It was as if Jake was talking through her.”

There it was. The thing that had kept her stagnant her entire life—her dad saw her as an extension of Jake. How could she possibly tell him that she was prepared to cut the tether to her brother, and by extension her father? Without golf, Tinka would be nothing but a disappointment to him. She wasn’t even capable of dating the right guy.

Her dad folded the picture and put it back in his wallet, which was apparently where he kept it now. “Tinka needs a little something extra to push her over the edge before her senior year. That’s why I was hoping you could work with her, give her lessons. Again, don’t judge her by how she did today. Her hand was obviously still bothering her.”

“Obviously,” Dylan said.

Tinka focused on the rapidly melting ice in her lemonade. Her dad was talking about her like she wasn’t there. He was making decisions without consulting her, not that she could do anything about it. To reject this would be to reject him.

“I’m in if Tinka is,” Dylan said.

Tinka was not in, but she didn’t have the luxury of saying that.

“She played well last season,” her dad said, “but there’s room for improvement. No doubt about that. This is her last year before college. She has to be great.”

“Definitely,” Dylan agreed.

“I was thinking, three times a week.”

Tinka nearly choked on her drink. “Three times a week? But my hand.”

“You hand is fine.”

“The house.”

“Your mother will get along without you.”

“If Tinka’s available, so am I,” Dylan said.

“Fantastic.” Her dad shook Dylan’s hand. The deal was done. The men had shaken hands. Tinka was going to spend three days every week with Dylan breathing down her neck—literally—trying to improve her skills at the game she no longer wanted to play. Perfect. She felt an overwhelming urge to run over to Sam’s house, curl up in a chair on his deck, and listen to him tell her all kinds of things about movies—like his feelings on horror as a political statement, and how Hollywood needs to make more true rom-coms.

She and her dad said good-bye to Dylan, and Tinka followed her father to his car. Halfway through the parking lot, he turned around. “I forgot, Tinka. What did you want to talk about?”

This was her moment. This was her chance to break her father’s heart. She couldn’t do it. She could not be that cruel.

It was just one summer, one school year. She would survive, as she had for her entire life. “Nothing,” she said. “Never mind.”

…

“You promised we’d be watching The Revenant,” said Craig, “as part of Maurice’s ongoing Best Actor series.”

“I know.” Sam handed him his complimentary can of Mellow Yellow. “But we had to change it. Too depressing. And too cold. We can’t be watching Leonardo DiCaprio freeze half to death in June.”

“Fair points,” Craig said, and Sam took note of this. It was a big moment. Craig never relented this easily when he disapproved of Sam’s movie night picks. “But why Popstar of all things? What does that have to do with Best Actors?”

“I don’t know.” Sam shrugged. “Maybe Andy Samberg will win an Oscar someday. Consider this a good faith, pre-Best Actor entry in the series.”

“I’m not a fool. That’s never going to happen.” Craig shook his head. “Is nothing sacred in this town?”

“Sorry, Craig.” Sam handed him his popcorn, and Craig marched away.

Sam turned his attention to Tinka, who’d been hanging out near the window. She walked over and rested her elbows on the counter. “Why does he even come if the movie choice bugs him so much?”

The door slammed shut behind Craig.

“I’m fairly certain the fact that it bugs him is the point.” Sam smiled at Tinka. “Craig takes glee in being able to complain about something.”

“Well then, thank you for changing the movie,” Tinka said. “For me and for Craig. I don’t have to sit through Leo’s struggle, and Craig gets to bitch about it.”

“Everyone wins,” Sam said.

Tinka glanced at the front door as it opened, then spun back to Sam and whispered, “Shit.” Her shoulders were practically up to her ears.

In came a quartet of guys, Dylan among them, who’d graduated from North Pole high a year ahead of Sam.

“Hey.” Sam waved them over to the counter. “Home for the summer?”

One of them said, “And still doing the same stuff we used to do in high school.” The four guys paid, and Sam crouched down to grab their drinks.

Dylan sidled up to Tinka. “Hi.”

“Hey.” She locked eyes with Sam. S.O.S.

Dylan bobbed his head, trying to get her to look at him, but she wouldn’t. Sam stood and handed Dylan a can of Diet Coke. “You can go on in now.”

Grinning his sly, preppy, Troy from The Goonies grin, Dylan took the pop from Sam’s hand. “Did Tinka tell you? I’m going to be her golf coach.”

Her eyes were stormy.

“Really?” Sam asked.

“Three days a week. I’m gonna get her in shape for next season.” Dylan grabbed his bag of popcorn from the counter and raised it as a salute. “See you in there.” Dylan followed his friends into the theater.

When the door had closed behind them, Sam turned to Tinka, who was still staring at the counter. “I’m guessing the conversation with your dad didn’t go so well, then.”

She shook her head. “It never happened. I chickened out, and now I’m going to be subjected to Dylan and his feeble attempts to seduce me three times a week. How about you?”

“About the same,” Sam said. “I called Harper and started to tell her I needed some help, but she cut me off and told me how great I’ve been, taking this stuff on for her and Matthew. Then I ended up agreeing to make the song list for the ceremony on top of everything else.”

“We’re such chickens,” Tinka said.

“At least we’re chickens together.” Sam glanced up at the door, then said through clenched teeth, “Oh goodie, Dottie’s on her way in.”

“I finally get to meet the infamous Dottie!”

Dottie in her blue buns and movie ticket dress sauntered through the door with her usual gang of girls. A surly, confident smile on her face, she marched right up to Sam and tossed a five on the counter. “Hi, Sam. Did you save me a seat?” Sam knew she was being sarcastic, but the underlying tone was one of malice, not friendly ribbing.

Sam coughed. “Um…”

Tinka got right up in Dottie’s face and narrowed her eyes into a confrontational stare. Sam half expected her to pull out her earrings and slam them on the counter. “Are you Dottie?”

Dottie turned to Tinka and swallowed. “Yeah.”

“So, you know Sam is my boyfriend, then?” Tinka put her hands on her hips.

Sam nodded somberly. “Dottie, this is my girlfriend, Tinka.”

Dottie sized her up. “How long have you two been together?” She raised a hand, silencing Sam. “From her. I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”

Tinka stepped back, affronted. “Did you just call me a horse? Whatever. Sam and I have been dating for a few weeks now, since I moved here.”

Dottie turned to her friends and motioned them over, like she was assembling her backup. “Did you know your boyfriend kissed me last week?”

“Dottie kissed me,” Sam said.

“And he texted me to hang out.” Now Dottie’s angry eyes were trained on him.

“You did?” Tinka glared at Sam in mock anger.

Sam backed up, shaking his head. His focus swung from Dottie to Tinka, then back to Dottie again. He was unable to look at Tinka right now. The feigned horror on her face was going to make him laugh and ruin this whole charade. She was really selling the whole “jealous girlfriend” thing. If Sam hadn’t known she wanted to be a baker, he’d have wondered if Maurice might be featuring one of her movies in the Best Actress series one day. “Harper did.” Sam doubled down on that lie. Harper could handle it. “She was being a jerk.”

Dottie shook her head. “Like I’m supposed to believe you weren’t in on it.” She looked him up and down. “You’re no better than your sister or anybody else in this town.” She and her friends marched into the back room.

“I’m hoping she’ll have cooled off by the time she’s working on my brother’s cake,” Sam said.

“I don’t know if she’s capable of cooling off.” Tinka tapped out a rhythm on the counter.

“I don’t want to go in there.” Sam shuddered.

“Me neither, honestly.” Still drumming her fingers, Tinka stared at the door as Maurice stepped through.

“The movie’s started. You two can go on back.” Maurice nodded at the room behind him, which was dark except for the screen.

“Idea.” Sam mimed a light bulb flashing over his head. “What if we didn’t?”

“Huh?”

“What if we skipped movie night? Dottie’s probably angling to make a scene, and Dylan will be leering at you like he knows you’ll eventually fall in love with him.”

“You see it, too?”

“He’s laying it on pretty thick.” Sam could barely fathom how a person could have that kind of confidence in their ability to seduce anyone. He supposed it probably had something to do with looking like Prince Eric from The Little Mermaid. The confidence came as part of a package with the perfect mahogany hair helmet and chiseled physique.

Tinka narrowed her eyes. “What should we do instead?”

Sam nodded to the front window. “Whatever we want. It’s a beautiful night.”

Eyes twinkling, Tinka grabbed her purse. “Let’s do it. Let’s go out on the town.”

Leaving Maurice to watch the store, Sam and Tinka dashed out onto Main Street, free to do whatever they wanted for the next ninety minutes. “What should we do?” she asked. “I’m up for anything. Short of Jingle Falls.”

Sam raised his index finger. “I know exactly the place.”

Together, they walked down Main Street—Sam and this girl who should definitely be with someone who looked like Prince Eric and not someone who looked like the Beast’s grungy younger brother. They passed Santabucks, where he waved to the owner, Maggie Garland. He sensed a hint of surprise in her eyes. She was no doubt wondering what Tinka was doing with Sam. He nodded to Trip Prince and Tom Chestnut, who were working in Prince’s Summer Sports. Tom gave Sam a thumbs-up, like he definitely knew Sam was with a girl who was far out of his league.

Near the end of the street, Sam held the door open for Tinka at Santa’s Playhouse. “Here we go. Another one of my favorite places in North Pole.”

The arcade was fairly empty, which was how he’d assumed it would be—it was mostly families with young kids and, of course, the servers who were dressed like Santa’s elves. Most of the Playhouse’s biggest fans were crammed into the back room at Maurice’s right now.

Sam bought Tinka a pop and purchased a game card for each of them. She played Tetris while he worked on his pinball skills. After a while, they came together and pooled their tickets, winning long strips at Skee-Ball. At the end of the hour, Sam led her up to the counter where they perused their prize options, while Craig’s BFF Dinesh, who was working the counter, kept his eyes glued to the Twins game on the TV across the room.

“Two hundred and thirty-five tickets,” Sam said. “What do you want? One whole miniature Tootsie Roll? A plastic whistle that probably doesn’t work? The world is your oyster, basically.”

“I know what I want.” Grinning, she crouched down and pointed to a ring in the glass case in front of them. It was silver and heart-shaped with a massive pink gemstone in the middle. “I want that gorgeous plastic ring to commemorate our love.” Even though he knew she was kidding, Sam blushed. The smile on his face was becoming permanent.

Sam stood up. “Dinesh, we’ll take the ring.”

Dinesh made them wait until the current batter had struck out before he reached into the cabinet, grabbed the ring, and chucked it unceremoniously across the counter.

Sam slid the ring onto Tinka’s finger. “Now we’re officially official.”

She clutched her hand to her heart. “I’ll never take it off.”

“You might want to. It’ll probably turn your hand green.”

Laughing about embarrassing things that had happened to them as kids, the two of them walked back to the video store to relieve Maurice and wait for Jane and Karen. Sam was lighter around Tinka. He probably should’ve been more self-conscious around her because she was so pretty, but he wasn’t. He was as comfortable with her as he was with Harper. So comfortable, in fact, that when they got back to the video store and Maurice had retreated into his office, Sam handed Tinka a rag and asked her to wipe down the popcorn machine.

“I will make it gleam, boss,” she said.

Sam plopped onto the floor to fill the fridge with more pop, while Tinka wiped down the machine. He was in the middle of telling her about the time he got locked in a bathroom stall in fourth grade when she screeched, “Ouch!” behind him.

He jumped up, spinning around. Tinka was clutching her hand—the same hand she’d hurt when she’d tried to remodel the kitchen by herself. “What happened?”

“Burn.” Wincing in pain, she nodded toward the popcorn machine.

Sam checked the appliance. “Damn it. We shouldn’t have left Maurice alone here. He forgot to turn it off. This place would go up in flames without me.” He opened the drawer next to the cash register and pulled out a tube of Alocane. “This works great. Give me your hand.”

Tinka held out her hand. Sam rested it in his palm and assessed the situation, holding her hand up to the light. “Not too bad.” He squeezed a bit of the gel onto the burn and lightly spread it around with his finger. Tinka’s breath caught when he touched her. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” she whispered.

Sam’s heart beating a tattoo against his rib cage, he backed up, still holding her hand.

Tinka’s eyes met his. “Thank you.” The air around them had changed, at least to Sam. Electricity bounced between them, and, even though he knew it was impossible, he sensed Tinka could feel it, too. Sam wasn’t Prince Eric, not even close; but Tinka, in that moment, was gazing at him like he was.

And Sam, who had never, ever been in this situation before, and therefore had no idea how to handle it, or if he should even let himself believe it, turned away, letting go of her hand. “You need to stop hurting yourself,” he joked. “You’re turning into a rom-com cliché.” He screwed the top on the tube of Alocane and handed it to her, letting his fingers graze hers again, but for only a second. “Take this. You’ll need it.”