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“You’re crushing on him, aren’t you?”
“I’m not.” My cheeks turn fire-engine red. “I’m really not.” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince, her or me. “Dad, tell her I’m not.”
Our father chimes in, taking his seat at the head of the table. “It’s ok to be a little star-struck when you meet someone you’ve watched in movies. Just know he’s a different breed than us.”
“What do you mean, Dad?” Joanie asks with a mouth full of food.
“People from Hollywood, who live that extravagant lifestyle, rarely know how to treat others very well.”
I think about my father’s words. I also think of Fender saying he did his own shopping in Hollywood, and how people didn’t know who he was until Trinity made him famous. Or I should say infamous.
“It must suck for him,” I mumble between bites.
“Why do you say that?” our father asks.
“Well, nobody knew him, and now he’s famous for being a heartbreaker. Famous for crushing the very essence of Trinity.”
“I think Trinity’s a bitch,” Joanie says.
“Joanie, that language isn’t necessary,” our father chides.
“Well, it’s true. She cries about how he broke her heart. Maybe he just didn’t love her. Should he have stayed because if not, she’d air all their personal laundry to the world? It’s pathetic blackmail. Her songs aren’t even that good.”
“I like her songs,” I whisper.
I do, they’re catchy. But they’re wrong in a way.
Joanie’s right. She shouldn’t have aired their personal lives to the mainstream. And so far, Fender seems nothing like the guy in her songs.
“She couldn’t think of anything better to write? I bet that will be her only hit album. No one’s gonna care about her singing about other things. Will she have to sing about exes forever? It will scare guys to date her.”
Dad and I laugh at Joanie’s words.
“I think you may be right,” my father says. “Tonight, after dinner I have to go out for a while.”
“Where are you going?” Joanie asks.
He shifts in his seat. “Uh, I just have to help Roger with something in his garage. He’s working on another woodworking project and needs help to mount the thing.” His eyes bounce between Joanie and me.
“Ok, I’ll clean up dinner.”
He smiles. “Thank you, Rachel.”
I shrug. “No problem.” Honestly, I need to keep myself busy, so I won’t think about the man in Richter’s cabin.
I can’t stop obsessing about the way he looked in that towel. For once in my life, I’m looking forward to going to work.
On Thursday, I’m out of the house before Joanie can beg for the umpteenth time to tag along. I want to decorate Fender’s house before he has the chance to change his mind. He has no clue I’ve brought a few holiday decorations to jolly up the place.
Before I leave, I grab my camera, gingerly placing it in its case. After work, I plan to head up to Reindeer Glacier and take cool pics of the landscape. The sun will be kissing the horizon today, and I want to capture the rays reflecting off the ice.
If I can get it just right, it should look like a magical wonderland.
I head off to Fender’s and when I spot him on the porch, I almost want to snap a photo of him. He looks so peaceful, staring at the landscape, drinking from a mug with a blanket around his body.
I smile at when I step out of my Jeep. “I have a surprise.”
He stands and walks toward me, wrapping the blanket tighter around him. “I didn’t think you were stopping by today.”
I pop open the back of my Jeep and grab the first box of twinkling lights. “Surprise.”
“What’s this?” Fender asks, peeking over my shoulder.
“I figured I’d deck your halls.”
Fender cracks a grin. “You know where I come from that has a different meaning than what you probably mean.”
I nearly drop the box of decorations, but Fender grabs it from my hands, balancing the cup of coffee with the blanket very nicely. “I meant I could give you a little Christmas cheer.”
Fender only smiles wider. “Again with the innuendoes.”
I grab another box, rolling my eyes. “You know what I mean. I’m going to decorate your cabin for Christmas.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You sound like Ebenezer Scrooge.”
He heads to the cabin to bring in my box of lights. “Bah humbug,” he says with a laugh.
Once we get all the contents of my vehicle unloaded, which Fender said looked like enough stuff to decorate the North Pole, I stare up at him. “I’ll make sure it’s very festive.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” He sets his coffee down, and tosses the blanket onto the couch. “Look, it’s just me here. I don’t need all this stuff.” He grabs a strand of silver garland from one of the boxes and inspects it.
