“I won’t be long.” I make my way to the refrigerated section in the back of the store in search of milk and cookie dough. After I find those essential items, I take a look around for anything I might’ve missed. I have bread, but you know what I don’t have? Ice cream. I could make chocolate-chip-cookie ice-cream sandwiches. I get a carton of vanilla ice cream and head toward the cash register. My heart jumps into my throat.
It’s him.
Wyatt is standing at the register in a long black wool coat and black boots. I’ve seen him at The Horseman Inn a few times over the last week, but he was with his sister, so we didn’t talk much. His eyes meet mine briefly and then drop to the snowstorm supply I’m carrying. “Just the essentials, huh?”
“I sense judgment.” I try to see what he’s buying, set out on the counter, but he shifts, his large shoulder blocking the view. He takes out his wallet and hands over a hundred-dollar bill to Nicholas. “Here. Keep the change.” He grabs his items and tucks them inside his coat pockets. On the inside pockets too, like it’s supersecret.
Nicholas looks concerned. “This is way too much, Wyatt. Hold on now. I’ll get your change.”
I grin and set my stuff on the counter. “Hmm…small enough for your pockets, but embarrassing enough to hide. What could it be?”
“None of your business,” Wyatt mutters. Oh my God, the back of his neck is red. It must be something good. Wyatt turns to Nicholas. “Keep the change, really.”
“I can still count just fine, young man!” Nicholas exclaims as he slowly digs through the cash drawer, getting a little huffy about a perceived age slight. He hands over the change, and Wyatt reluctantly takes it.
“Thanks,” Wyatt grumbles.
“Is it a pack of cigarettes?” I ask, stepping close. “Nasty habit.” I ruffle his hair to distract him as my other hand pulls open his unbuttoned coat. A box of tampons sticks out of his inside pocket.
His cheeks pinken. “Happy now? They’re for my sister. Obviously.”
My knees actually go weak, warmth stealing through me. None of my brothers would ever be caught dead buying me tampons. “Is that all?”
He looks to the ceiling, and the blush moves from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “She had a craving for peanut M&M’s.”
I don’t know what comes over me, but I suddenly want to spend time with this man. Like right away. “Maybe she’d like a chocolate-chip-cookie ice-cream sandwich too. I could make some for you both.”
He studies me warily. It’s almost like he thinks we don’t normally get along. Ha-ha.
“I’m being sincere,” I say. “It’s nice what you do for her. My brothers would never—”
He cuts me off. “Sure, stop by with your ice-cream sandwiches. You guys can do the whole girl-talk thing.”
“Okay. Lemme pay, and I’ll be right over.” I figure I can get in and out for a visit before the worst of the storm. It’ll be hours before the roads are impassable. His place isn’t far from mine.
He backs up a step, studying me for a moment before he nods once and leaves.
Nicholas scratches his head. “That one is a little odd, dontcha think?”
My mind goes back to the hippy founders of Summerdale, and the traditions we still have from them—shows performed in the big red barn, the found-items flotilla races, clam bakes at the lake, even though the clams are from the grocery store and don’t grow in our lake. Our tamale-delivering mailman, among other odd people in town. “Actually, I think he fits right in.”
The cookies are ready to go within an hour, and I know I should get going, but I find myself in my room, going through my clothes rack. The room is too small for a dresser, and the tiny closet holds my jackets and shoes. What I’m wearing—sweatshirt and jeans—won’t do. I want to look presentable. I’m not trying to impress. Nothing like that. It’s just important to take the time once in a while to look nice when you go out.
I settle on a soft green V-neck sweater with black skinny jeans and my high-heeled black leather ankle boots. Jenna calls them my first-date boots because they’re impractical to wear for long, but they show off my legs. First dates are universally uncomfortable displays. Of course, this isn’t a first date. I’m just visiting some friends, one who’s in need of some womanly conversation, and one who isn’t as bad as he seemed. I get that warm feeling in my chest again. I can hardly think someone who would buy his sister tampons is Satan. He definitely looked less satanic today, even with a red face.
I stop in my tiny bathroom for a quick visual inspection in the mirror. When I can finally afford an apartment of my own again, the first requirement will be counter space. This bathroom only has enough room for a pedestal sink, toilet, and small shower. It’s all done in white, except the floor, which is black and white penny tiles. Very utilitarian. I pull my hair band out and grab a brush from the medicine cabinet, brushing out my long hair, one of my best features. I’m just being practical. When it’s cold out, leaving my hair down keeps my neck warm. Just a little makeup to look presentable, a spritz of honeysuckle perfume, and I’m ready to go. My stomach flutters.
I put a hand to my stomach and take a calming breath. “This is not a date.” I look myself in the eyes in the mirror. “Chill. Not a date.”
I head out, grab my purse and the cookies, and stride to the stairway that leads to the rear exit of the restaurant. I’m halfway down the stairs when I realize I forgot the ice cream. I go back for it and leave again, mentally reviewing if I need anything else as I hurry down the steps. I’m not usually so scatterbrained.
I make the short drive to Wyatt’s place, which I could theoretically walk to, except it’s about a mile down a long road and then across a major thoroughfare with lots of drivers going more than the 50 mph speed limit, and at the top of a steep hill. Besides, it’s freezing out, and I’m wearing my impractical boots. Not first-date boots. They’re just regular boots that show off my long legs because I want to look presentable for friends. Really.
I park in his driveway and look over to my right at the lighthouse. Now that we’re on speaking terms, would he give me a tour of it? It’s just the kind of weirdness I love. I gather my bag of goodies and get out of the car, spotting Snowball in the window, barking at me.
“Hi, pretty girl!” I ring the doorbell and bounce on the balls of my feet, energy coursing through me.
The door pops open a few moments later to Wyatt holding Snowball like a football under his arm. “What’s the password?” He looks left to right like there’s spies around here.
I stifle a laugh. “Ice-cream sandwiches?”
“Close enough.” He jerks his head and steps back to let me in.
I walk inside, looking around for any changes. Nothing different in the living room. I was here a little over a week ago, so I’m curious what the crew did.
He sets Snowball down. “I’m going upstairs for a minute. Go ahead to the kitchen.” He gestures me toward it and heads upstairs.
Snowball looks up at me expectantly.
I walk toward the kitchen and Snowball follows. I set my stuff on the island counter and crouch to pet Snowball. “What a sweet pup you are,” I coo. Her little tail wags and she goes up on her hind legs, putting her paws on my chest. “Aww, are you trying to hug me?” I stand and cuddle her close, stroking her silky fur. She leans her head against my neck.