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“If you performed any of the duties I’ve given you over the years, every time you come crawling back to me, you’d have my job by now, and I’d be fully retired.”
He groans about my old-fashioned, out-of-touch sense of work ethic. He’s not totally wrong. What do I know about working a regular job these days?
“Back to the matter at hand. Why are you going out with Miriam? To embarrass me?”
The people from the local fishery wrap up the restock, and I head their way to sign the paperwork. Nate follows.
“No, Nate. My goal in life is not to embarrass you, despite what you believe. You were there; Mariam won me at the auction. I don’t have a choice.”
“Get out of it.”
I sign the paperwork from the fishery and then look up the hill, spotting a produce truck making a delivery to the event center. Some big company in Missoula is meeting here today for a team-building exercise, and I’d better make sure we have enough staff on hand to prep the food.
He continues to follow me up the hill to the event center. “Did you stop to think that maybe if you hadn’t stood her up for a date that we wouldn’t be having this discussion right now?” Although, if the date had gone badly, she might have bid on me, anyway. As it is, I find it adorable that she won me right under Nate’s gaze.
I’d really love this conversation to be over, but Nate follows me around back, where I briefly chat with Jonas Whitlock about today’s haul of baby greens for salads. I write a check and shoot the shit with Jonas while Nate hangs back and fumes.
He’s no match for her anyway. Mariam is so kind and innocently charming. Fun and positive. As much as I hope someday someone like that would rub off on Nate, I fear he’d only drag her down.
I could feel the warmth radiating off of Mariam as we talked last night. Literally and figuratively. Her brown sugar and cinnamon scent made me feel oddly nostalgic. I’d thought it was a craving for more of her baking, but then I realized it was her. There’s something so irresistibly cozy about her.
And now, after lying awake in bed all night thinking about Mariam’s smile, coppery eyes, dimples, and sweet openness, I won’t stop this date even if you threaten me with bodily harm.
In the kitchen, I go over the menu with the chef, Dominique, and tell her to use her discretion if she needs additional staff.
“Thanks for all the extra baked goods yesterday,” says Dominique. “I need to meet whoever made that carrot cake; it was delicious. I’ve been telling you we need our own pastry chef. You should hire them.”
I file that tidbit away to share with Mariam. “She doesn’t need a job from me, but I’ll ask her if she’s interested in a contract when I see her later for my date,” I reply.
The French chef gives me a nod of encouragement. “You have excellent taste; I like her already.”
Nate really shouldn’t be here for this conversation, but he’s still hanging around, grumbling.
“That reminds me,” I say to the chef. “Be thinking of ideas for a date menu. I want something to make the young Mariam forget she’s on a date with an old man.”
She laughs. “A faster way to woo a woman is to cook the food yourself.”
“I’m a cowboy, not a chef, Dominique. I know how to make chili and pancakes and grill a steak. But that’s it.”
“Nonsense. I’ll leave instructions.”
“Fair enough.”
As I head out to my truck, Nate is still in tow.
“If you’re doing this to prove a point about me canceling the date, you’ve made your point,” Nate says.
Shaking my head, I unlock the door and glance back at him. “Cancelling is not the same as ghosting. When you cancel, you call a girl. Or text her,” I say. Sighing, I slide behind the wheel. I look over at Nate, who still doesn’t get it. “I feel bad that I never taught you the difference.”
And I really mean that. His formative years were spent watching my marriage to his mom fall apart. I did my best to never speak ill of Julie, but at the same time, I wish I’d taken more time to help Nate navigate dating and career choices.
Nate looks like he’s ready to fall to his knees and beg. “Dad. Come on. You can’t do this.”
I pivot toward him. “Nate. You never appreciated the things you had. I’m going out with Mariam because I like her, and now you’re having a tantrum because you never appreciated her in the first place, and now you want her. Life doesn’t work like that.”
And now I’m in a bad mood.
As I head toward town, I wish I had gotten Mariam’s number. I feel like if I could talk to her and hear her voice for a second or see a comment from her, I’d feel better. The weird, empty ache returns to my chest, and I rub at it as I drive, thinking about Mariam’s sweet smile.
