The Sign of Seven Trilogy by Nora Roberts

do better yet. More from your shoulder down this time. Nice perfume,” he added before he walked back to get her another ball.
    â€œThanks.” Stride, bend, swing, release, she thought. And actually managed to knock down the end pin on the other side of the alley.
    â€œOvercompensated.” He hit the reset button. The grate came down, pins were swept off with a lot of clattering, and another full triangle thudded into place.
    â€œShe knocked them all down.” Quinn gave a head nod toward the woman in the next lane who’d taken her seat. “She didn’t seem all that excited.”
    â€œMrs. Keefafer? Bowls twice a week, and has become jaded. On the outside. Inside, believe me, she’s doing her bootie dance.”
    â€œIf you say so.”
    He adjusted Quinn’s shoulders, shifted her hips. And yeah, she could see why he had such a high success rate with this routine. Eventually, after countless attempts, she was able to take down multiple pins that took odd bites out of the triangle.
    There was a wall of noise, the low thunder of balls rolling, the sharp clatter of pins, hoots and cheers from bowlers and onlookers, the bright bells of a pinball machine.
    She smelled beer and wax, and the gooey orange cheese—a personal favorite—from the nachos someone munched on in the next lane.
    Timeless, all-American, she mused, absently drafting an article on the experience. Centuries-old sport—she’d need to research that part—to good, clean, family fun.
    She thought she had the hang of it, more or less, though she was shallow enough to throw a deliberate gutter ball here and there so Cal would adjust her stance.
    As he did, she considered changing the angle of the article from family fun to the sexiness of bowling. The idea made her grin as she took her position.
    Then it happened. She released the ball and it rolled down the center of the alley. Surprised, she took a step back. Then another with her arms going up to clamp on the sides of her head.
    Something tingled in her belly as her heartbeat sped up.
    â€œOh. Oh. Look! It’s going to—”
    There was a satisfying crack and crash as ball slapped pins and pins tumbled in all directions. Bumping into each other, rolling, spinning, until the last fell with a slow, drunken sway.
    â€œWell, my God! ” She actually bounced on the toes of her rented shoes. “Did you see that? Did you—” And when she spun around, a look of stunned delight on her face, he was grinning at her.
    â€œSon of a bitch,” she muttered. “I owe you ten bucks.”
    â€œYou learn fast. Want to try an approach?”
    She wandered back toward him. “I believe I’m…spent. But I may come by some evening for lesson number two.”
    â€œHappy to oblige.” Sitting hip-to-hip, they changed shoes. “I’ll walk you back to the hotel.”
    â€œAll right.”
    He got his coat, and on the way out shot a wave at the skinny young guy behind the shoe rental counter. “Back in ten.”
    â€œQuiet,” she said the minute they stepped outside. “Just listen to all that quiet.”
    â€œThe noise is part of the fun and the quiet after part of the reward.”
    â€œDid you ever want to do anything else, or did you grow up with a burning desire to manage a bowling alley?”
    â€œFamily fun center,” he corrected. “We have an arcade—pinball, skee-ball, video games, and a section for kids under six. We do private parties—birthday parties, bachelor parties, wedding receptions—”
    â€œWedding receptions?”
    â€œSure. Bar mitzvahs, bat mitzvahs, anniversaries, corporate parties.”
    Definitely meat for an article, she realized. “A lot of arms on one body.”
    â€œYou could say that.”
    â€œSo why aren’t you married and raising the next generation of Bowl-a-Rama kingpins, pun intended.”
    â€œLove has eluded