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“We have a neighbor?”
John holds his hand out. I hand him the binoculars, giving him a skeptical look.
“That’s cold.” But he’s grinning.
I shrug. “That girl is cold.”
We end up in The Slopes Bar with them, sipping some weird, organic, spring water something or other vodka called Snow Queen.
“Not bad,” I admit, although honestly, I’m not paying attention. I’ve got my phone in my lap and am texting with one of Elvie’s tech girls, Louise, a pretty native New Yorker who dates mostly girls and sometimes drives E home when he’s too drunk and I’m not there.
I’m hoping if I follow the conversation here with half an ear, the guys won’t notice my rudeness.
“See, I knew she’d like it,” one says.
“It’s the spring water.”
Jamie elbows me. “I’m going to take that thing,” she hisses.
When we go to the ladies’ room an hour later, she says, “C’mon, girl. They’re nice, and they just moved into that house. Before then, they lived somewhere smaller, but the dad is Mayor Ferrara.” She blinks, dragging her eyes wide open after.
“What does that mean?”
“Mayor Ferrara. He’s the mayor of Breckenridge. You don’t pay much attention to politics, do you?”
I roll my eyes. “Absolutely none.”
She snatches the phone away. “He’s not a texter. You know that. I’m keeping this.”
I sigh dramatically and refresh my lipstick.
“Do you even want to stay out?” she asks.
I shrug. “I’m cool either way.”
“Okay, well we’re staying. I don’t know John very well—or any of that family, really—but it sure beats watching you mope around at home.”
I let out a melodramatic groan, and Jamie tugs me out the door.
When we get back to the table, the “military” guys are standing up, waving us toward the door.
“C’mon ladies. We’re going down the way to Carlyle’s Blues Bar. Our obnoxious friend is there, and he wants to meet you.”
NINETEEN
GWENNA
November 6, 2015
I watch his hand come to his mouth, his fingertips touching his lips as he blinks at the door, then shifts his gaze down to his feet.
He’s wearing a white shirt and what looks, through the distortion of the peep hole, like dark pants. His curls are blowing slightly the breeze. It looks like he’s trimmed his facial hair, so it’s less beardlike and more scruffy again.
I wonder what’s in the pack he’s wearing on his back. I wonder what he’d do if I pulled the door open right now.
He blinks right at me through the peep hole, and I can’t resist the urge to pull the door open.
“Come on in.” I laugh.
