Snowy Ridge Gift Shop & Café.
Who’d have thought an apple orchard would need a gift shop?
I climbed out of the car, promptly coughing as I took in a lungful of freezing New England air. Christ. I was going to have to dig my inhaler out from whatever box or suitcase it’d ended up in if breathing during the winter here physically hurt this much. I pulled my scarf up to my mouth and used the thick cloth as a barrier. Walking across the snow-packed lot, I passed a few other cars and families before stopping to stare at a sign post beside the porch steps of the shop. A half-dozen arrows pointed toward different walkways, reading: pumpkin patch, apple orchard, Christmas trees, rental cabins…. Business must have been good.
A wind blew through the towering pines and I shivered. I’d have to take a look around the property another time. Not like there’d be much to see in December anyway, with everything hidden under several feet of snow. I hiked up the steps and opened the door.
The bell over the door chimed as I entered. Inside was a large rustic-themed shop in front, and toward the back I could see several small tables and a bar that must make up the café. The interior decorating fancied reds and whites, and mixed into the down-home vibe was garland, twinkling Christmas lights, and carols playing softly on the shop speakers.
Oh, also, the entire place smelled like baked apples and it was absolutelyto die for.
“Evening, sir,” a woman, no younger than a hundred and five, said as she rounded a display of what appeared to be apple body butters, soaps, and even ChapSticks. “We’re closing soon, but was there something I could help you with?”
“Hi, is Mr. Hansen here? He was working your booth at the food fair today. I was hoping he also worked here, or came back here….” I looked around the room again.
“Felix Hansen?”
“That’s the guy.”
“He’s the owner. He got back about an hour ago, but I think he may be out at the Christmas tree farm. Did you want to leave a message?”
I couldn’t give this lady the prepaid card from the cleaners I’d picked up on the way. I mean, for one, I’d written my number on it. Two, she closely resembled my great-aunt Dolly, and that was creeping me out a bit. But three, and most importantly, how was I to really know, beyond my own intuition, if Mr. Hansen was into guys? It wasn’t my place to out the man, especially if Dolly here put two and two together regarding the phone number. But on the off chance he wasn’t gay and I was about to make a fool of myself, I also didn’t want to accidentally have a rumor started about him by putting her in the middle of it.
Hell’s bells.
Speaking of, that bell over the front door chimed again and I moved to the right to get out of the way, when—
“Speak his name and there he is!” Dolly said.
I turned around and was immediately looking at Felix, his shoulders practically taking up the entire doorway. “H-hi,” I said, feeling myself smile.
“Mr. Bowen Merlin,” he said, sounding a bit surprised as the door fell shut behind him.
“You remembered,” I stated.
“Hard name to forget.”
“And for once I can thank my parents for that.”
Felix smiled and peered over my shoulder. When I turned to see what he was looking at, Auntie Dolly was shuffling away. Her head of poofy white hair was all that could be made out among the displays.
“What can I help you with?”
I looked back at Felix and offered him the card from the cleaners. He took it with a gloved hand, eyeing me curiously.
“For your coat,” I stated, motioning at it. “It’s already been paid for. Drop it off when it’s convenient.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Please,” I insisted. “It was going to make me crazy otherwise.”
Felix nodded and slipped the card into his pocket. “I appreciate it.”
He didn’t comment on my phone number. Should I mention it? Maybe Dolly was lurking nearby.
I did a quick scan of the shop, but I didn’t see her. I turned back to him. “There’s—I wrote my number on it too.”
Felix’s eyes widened and he took the card back out.
