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Henri’s eyes scanned the room. “Why are they all here?”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “They’re here every day. It’s part of the retirement program in Chance Rapids. Meet at the diner to drink coffee and catch up with your friends.”
“Really?”
I nodded. “Really. Their wives get together for quilting bees, bingo, and square dancing.”
Henri shook her head. “And, I haven’t time travelled?”
“Oh, you have. Trust me, time runs differently here in Chance Rapids. It slows down.”
“Ugh.” Henri took a sip of her whiskey and blinked her eyes hard. “Whoa. This is strong without the coffee.” She took a breath and then slugged back the rest of the mixture, her eyes watering as she hacked out a cough. “Jack. Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.” I replied, wondering if she was going to ask why I’d been such an asshole all day. And, it wasn’t even lunchtime.
“Are you fucking with me?”
I was confused. “Fucking with you? How so?”
The square dancing, the retired men’s coffee club, the quilting bee. That all sounds like it’s straight from the Christmas movie they’re filming right over there. Where’s the meddling matchmaker? The baker who has to recruit her friends to fulfill a butter tart order? I mean, this stuff doesn’t actually happen here. Does it?”
Trying not to smile was a challenge. My mom could qualify as the meddling matchmaker. “I don’t think there’s been a tart emergency in years.” I drummed my fingers on my jaw as though thinking.
Her smile spread across her face and I saw the dimples return for the first time since I’d decided to be a jerk. Not a jerk, per se, I just couldn’t let myself get close to Henri. She was the first woman since Marnie that had caught my eye, and woken up other parts of my body too.
“No tart emergency?” She gripped the edge of the table dramatically. “What about the big city girl who is engaged to a slick wall street kind of guy who comes home for the holidays and runs into her plaid shirt wearing high school sweetheart?”
I rubbed my neck and tilted my head. I was about to bring up the big city reporter who wears all black getting stuck in a mountain town at Christmas, but in that story, I think that I would be the plaid wearing mountain man. And as funny as it would be to joke about it, part of me wished that it was a story that could come true. But this wasn’t a Christmas movie, or even a fairy tale. It was real life and Henri wasn’t going to fall in love with me, or the town, and give up her big city life.
And, I was going to make sure of it. “Let me drive you to drop your bag off at the Inn.” I totally changed the subject away from Christmas movie stereotypes, and brought us back to reality.
“You got it.” Henri slid out of the booth and dragged the duffel bag out behind her. Before it could thud to the floor, I grabbed it and slung it over my shoulder. I’d come back and tell my father about the lodge after I got Henri out of my personal space. I opened the door for her and waved to mom.
“Bye Jacky, bye Henri.” She waved the tea towel that was slung over her shoulder.
The forecast had called for snow to start falling late in the afternoon, but as we left the diner the wind direction changed and a fat flake fell heavily in front of me. “Smell that?”
Henri sniffed. “Bacon grease?”
“No.” I chuckled. “Although, yes, I smell that too. There’s a storm coming.”
Henri stopped and put her hands on her hips. “You can tell by the way the air smells? Jack Lumber, I never know when you’re making stuff up.”
“I’m not making it up. Although, the big red bulletin on the weather app also told me about it.”
Henri leaned into me in a playful way. “I have street smarts, Mr. Lumber, but you’re a hard country boy to read.”
I handed Taye the cash for the fill-up and opened the passenger door for Henri. I tossed the giant duffel bag in the back seat and got in. “Maybe that’s where you went wrong. I’m not a country boy.”
The SUV started with a grumble and the door closed without a creak thanks to Taye. Henri took her Ray Bans off and carefully placed them in the case. “Says the man wearing flannel, a wool hat, chainsaw pants, and…” she pointed at each part of me as she listed the items I was wearing.
I stopped her. “Maybe you need to start looking deeper than clothes.”
“Humph,” she crossed her arms. “You can tell a lot about someone by their steel toe Blundstones.”
Shifting into first gear we lurched onto Main Street. “Maybe.” The gears ground slightly, like they always did as I shifted into second. “But I think that there’s a lot more to you than a tough streetwise journalist.”
Henri bit her lip and she appeared to be holding in a response.
