Page 69 of Snow Globe Secrets

“Everything okay, Aus? Did you want an order of potato skins? I know they used to be your favorite.” Austin was staring at Preston’s back as he walked away.

“Huh? Oh, no, thanks, Mom. I’ve been craving nachos all day. This hits the spot.” He wrangled a cheesy chip from the pile and held it up. We watched the cheese slowly drip before Austin bent his head under it and opened wide.

I couldn’t quite hold in the sharp intake of breath that triggered in me. Steph’s eyes narrowed at me, but it was Marty who spoke next as he grabbed a chip of his own.

“Dive in, you two, before we clear this plate on you. Do they have nachos in England, Randy? Can you get them at the pub?” He said those last few words in a terrible British accent.

I ignored that. “Yeah, actually, there’s a place I used to love in Notting Hill …”

“Notting Hill!” Marty enthused. I snuck a look at Austin, who was busy eyeing Preston as he scurried around the restaurant. “Like, with Julie Roberts? Or I guess in your case, with Hugh Grant. Nachos with Hugh Grant. Sounds delightful and surprisingly British.”

“I’ve never been much of a fan of those romantic movies,” I responded, trying to get Austin’s attention. “Until recently.” He glanced my way, raising his eyebrows. I widened my eyes in silent communication back.

After our early dinner, Marty and Austin got up to help the small staff with the remaining customers. Steph jumped up right after they left and made a motion for me not to follow. She placed a firm hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to get us drinks. Be right back.”

Steph returned, slamming two bottles of IPA on the table and sitting opposite me. “Romantic movies, huh?”

“We’re in our forties, Steph. It can’t be all sci-fi and superheroes, now can it?”

Her tone and demeanor softened. “I mean, for Marty? Probably yes!”

I laughed along with her. “Definitely yes.”

“I’m sorry about your divorce, Randy.”

“Don’t be, Steph. I’m not. In some ways it feels like a lifetime ago. It certainly was an ocean away.”

“Marty said you might be seeing someone?” Austin happened to be passing by with an armful of food as she said it, and both Steph and I just happened to look up as he did so. I was really not made for subterfuge.

“Did he, now?” I responded.

She gave me a look that I hadn’t known when we were younger. This was the banking executive, or the mother, looking at me. It felt like an inquisition.

“Steph. I came here to visit with my old friends. Not to have every eligible bachelor paraded in front of me. I’m … I’ve been perfectly happy all alone in my cabin in the woods.” Not untrue. “And when I’m ready, with any luck, I’ll find an eligible bachelor on my own. Not everyone is as lucky as you and Mart.”

Her eyes narrowed, but then her face lightened. “We never forget that we have you to thank for that. Marty wears his heart on his sleeve, but he would return that favor if he could.”

It was Preston’s turn to walk past us. He deposited two more beers, unbidden. “I know, Steph. And I may”—I chose my words cautiously—“I might just take him up on that someday. But that day isn’t today. And the guy isn’t Turner.”

Marty was running past us with a tray of drinks, but he stopped. “Oh good, I asked Pres to bring you guys another round. It’s the holidays! We deserve to party like a bunch of college kids.” He took a sip of Steph’s beer and continued on, “Hey, Aus. You driving tonight?”

I looked over to watch Austin laugh at his dad and simply shake his head instead of replying, but Stephanie was looking at me when I tuned back in.

“And I suppose the guy isn’t Preston either?” There were those narrow eyes again. I had to try to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Preston? I mean, sure, if you like guys who are blond and built and … have you seen those arms?” We were leaning in and giggling as we ogled the man, who was just then pouring drinks behind the bar.

Steph smacked my hand across the table. “You should have told me, Randy. We could have been objectifying guys together for decades!”

Marty and Preston kept providing us with drinks, and Steph and I got to catching up. My phone pinged after a while. Marty dropped down into the seat next to his wife eventually, slouching as he took a big pull from one of the three beers he’d set at the table.

His hand found Steph’s where it rested on the table. “It’s good to have you back, ET. Don’t tell Austin, but now we have even more of an excuse to come visit him up in the mountains. I tried to convince him that there are medical schools in places other than Hampstead Valley. Hello,” he chimed, pointing. “New York City is right there. But he loves it up there. Don’t tell Steph,” he said, though she was sitting right next to him, “but I think he plans to stay up that way to do his doctoring.”

Steph and I both laughed at the word “doctoring,” and Marty laughed right along with us, just like old times.

The Excuse: I’m glad you’re having a good time. That’s a lot of beer bottles for me to clean up.

I couldn’t help it, I looked around until I found him, heading our way with an empty tray at his side.