The Tourist Attraction (Moose Springs, Alaska #1)(48)

“She’s so mean to me,” he said to the man next to him. “You should see how she is with the kids. All sweet as sugar to them, but I’m chopped liver.”

Zoey listened intently to the guide’s spiel, ignoring Graham’s increasingly detailed and forlorn description of his and Zoey’s married life. His imagination was impressive, and as she made mental note of the inconsistencies between the guide’s talk and the extensive research she had done on the area, Zoey found herself growing increasingly distracted by Graham’s tale.

“Oh, and the fights we have over the bills. Don’t get me started. I mean, I work hard every day to make sure the Hamburger Helper is on the table when she gets home, but does she appreciate it? Nooooo. She’s always saying, I make more money than you. I don’t forget to mail in the mortgage check. My boss doesn’t think I’m a drunk.”

Graham sighed so loud he drew nearly all the bus passengers’ eyes. “It’s just rough. I think she needs to go to rehab.”

Twisting in her seat, Zoey gave Graham her best death stare. “Seriously?” she stage-whispered.

“What was that, dearest? I couldn’t hear you over the factually inaccurate account of our homeland.”

A modest wooden sign appeared in the distance, next to a building that Zoey had been waiting to see.

“Oh. Oh! Can we stop?” Half standing in her seat, Zoey nearly jumped with excitement. “Please, just for a moment.”

“No stopping.”

“Hey, man, my emotionally unsupportive spouse wants to see something. We’re good on time. Ten minutes won’t kill you.”

Bless the man. He might be annoying, but he was quick to jump on her side. The tour guide frowned in the mirror.

“No stopping. Please remain seated until we arrive at our destination.”

Disappointed, Zoey slid back into her seat.

“I would remain seated,” Graham drawled loudly, “but I’m pretty sure someone in here’s about to have a bathroom emergency.” He waited, then said, “And you’re gonna get stuck cleaning it, buddy. Sure you don’t want to stop?”

The guide’s eyes narrowed, just a little, then he slowed down just in time to make the turn-off into a tiny gravel parking lot. As soon as they came to a stop, Zoey rushed outside, the crisp mountain air hitting her nostrils, wiping away the scent of stuffy, grumpy bus.

Graham joined her, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You know about this place, huh?”

“Of course.” Zoey pulled her well-worn travel book out of her bag, thumbing open to an earmarked page and reading aloud the words. “‘Bob’s Banana Blasters. An oddly non-banana-shaped and non-banana-flavored treat that will change your existence as you know it. Do not miss this one if at all possible.’ And I do not intend on missing it.”

“This thing again?” Graham scoffed playfully, tapping her copy of Luffet and Mash’s How to Do Alaska. “I’ve got to find you a better tour guide.”

The shuttle driver gave them a dirty look. Biting her lip to keep from giggling, Zoey slipped her arm through Graham’s and tugged him toward the building. The actual shop was the length of the single-wide trailer it once started as, but in the years since inception, the shop owner had added more than a few lean-tos off the exterior. It was also a knife shop, and inside, dusty glass displays stuffed with all kinds of weaponry filled the trailer, with a few stools pulled up in front of carved animal horns. And at the far end was an overweight man on a stool, beard halfway down his paunch, standing guard over an old freezer and a bucket of cash.

“You ran screaming from me, but this place you want to go into?” Graham murmured in her ear.

“Your steel box of horrors wasn’t non-banana-shaped.”

“Do you think he calls himself the blast master when he’s alone?”

Snickering, Zoey hurried to be first in line as the busload of tourists obediently shuffled toward the blast master. Graham followed at her heels.

“Buy a guy a blaster?” he asked hopefully.

Zoey was more than happy to peel out enough bills to cover two of the oddest treats she’d ever seen in her life. And Luffet and Mash weren’t wrong. It didn’t taste like a banana, even though it was vaguely flesh colored, yet whatever it was she put on her tongue melted with utter deliciousness.

“Thanks.” One single word, but the way he said it had her toes curling. While Zoey was busy hiding behind her treat and uncurling them, Graham peered around the establishment with a critical eye.

“I bet Harold would eat this place alive.”

“Who’s Harold?”

“Long story.”

“Graham, look.” Grabbing his hand in excitement, Zoey pulled him to a glass counter, her focus on the wall behind it instead of the artifacts inside. “See that picture? I read that all the movie stars coming through here used to stop and take their pictures with the original Bob.”

“I think the original Bob retired somewhere warmer a long time ago.”

“I think the original Bob is hiding beneath that beard. Do you think he’d take a picture with us?”

“I think going whale watching is as close to tourism as I can conscientiously endure. No selfies.”

Grinning around her provided wooden spork—because whatever they were eating had enough lumpy parts to require some stabbing—Zoey shook her head.