There’s another guy next to Lincoln, but it’s not one of his usual crew. He has a kind smile and the kind of lean muscles that wear a fitted shirt really well. His face looks familiar—do I know him? Then it comes to me. It’s my cowboy waiter from the ski resort! What is he doing here?
As if my eyes are shooting laser beams across the street, he seems to feel my stare and looks up. He waves at me, then saunters over in a way I imagine only Southerners can do.
“Hey there, how’s your horse wrangling these days?” he says.It takes me a second to figure out what he’s referring to. When I do, I feel a flush of pleasure at the fact that our conversation made enough of an impression for him to remember that detail.
“I’ve tangled with some pretty wild stallions, actually,” I reply. I mean that to be a clever metaphor, but instantly realize it maybe sounds like I’ve been fooling around with a bunch of guys. I shift gears. “What are you doing here? And did you bring loaded Tater Tots with you?”
“Ha! I wish. I haven’t even seen a Tater Tot for about a month. Which is nice—I was starting to have nightmares that I was being swept out to sea on a tidal wave of Tater Tot grease.”
“Well, guess it’s lucky you’re here then. This town is entirely landlocked. Not one Tater Tot tidal wave on the books.”
“Good to know. I’ve got to get educated on my new home.”
I swallow. “You moved here?”
He nods. “Two weeks ago. Snowcap Mountain was just a temporary stop on the highway of life. I’ll be starting at the high school after Christmas break.”
I feel a momentary panic. “As … a … teacher?”
“What? Oh no, ma’am. I’m a senior.”
“Right, of course. Um, welcome, then. I thought maybe you were done with high school.” I mean seriously, what brand of growth hormones are they putting in boys’ cereal these days?
“It’s the facial hair.” He’s right; that and his impeccable manners had me confused. “I turned seventeen on Halloween.”
“A Halloween baby? That’s cool. You must have the best birthday parties.”
He grins. “I’ll be sure to invite you to the next one and then you can tell me how it ranks.” Is this flirting? I bite my lip.
Some more runners walk up behind him, and he moves to the side to let them approach the table. After he watches me do my “mittens off—four safety pins—mittens on” routine a few times, he starts counting out the pins for me, since his fingers are bare.
“So, speaking of facial hair,” I say, “how do you know Lincoln?”
“We just met yesterday. I had a job interview at that restaurant down the street—the Hollywood?—and Lincoln was on shift. Anyway, he told me this was happening, so I thought I’d come support.”
Of course, that would be just like my cowboy to make friends so easily. I flush deeper at the realization that my brain thinks of him as “my” anything. It’s a good thing that it’s cold outside, otherwise my red cheeks would be a dead giveaway of how happy all my nerve endings are to see him.
“Did you get the job?”
“I start Thursday.”
“Well, see if you can get them to put Tater Tots on the menu.”
“Only if you promise to come in and order them from me.”
There’s that charge of pleasure again. “It’s a deal. I’m Hattie, by the way.”
“Jay,” he says, enveloping my mittened hand in both his bare ones. “Want to run-slash-walk together, Hattie?”
“Yeah, sure.” It’s not until I turn to ask Lucia if she thinks she can handle the last few stragglers on her own that I realizeshe’s been staring at us, open-mouthed and eyes all twinkly, for some time. She answers my question before I can ask it.
“Go, go, go!” she says, practically shoving me away from the table. “I’ll finish up here. Nice to meet you, by the way, Jay. I’m sorry my rude friend didn’t introduce us. I’m Lucia.”
“That’s Lucia,” I echo. “Lucia, Jay. Jay, Lucia.”
Jay actually touches his hat in Lucia’s direction, which could not be more cowboy, even though it’s a White Sox baseball cap. “Thanks for sparing her.”
“No problem. You two kids have fun,” she replies, ever the maternal type. Part of me wishes she could play it a little cooler and not seem so obviously excited for this match, but most of me is glad she’s seeing this. Whatever happens now, it won’t be a secret from the Beaver Bunch.
