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Chapter 11
Evie
I hold back my aggravation until I get to my truck. Then I climb in and give the door a good slam. It’s not quite enough to clear all my annoyance, so I go to my mantras.Kill ‘em with kindness. You’ll catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.A smile is worth a thousand words.I only have to say them about a thousand times before I can see the funny side of what just happened.
With my Adam-irritation in check, I take his “advice” and Google where to look for antler sheds. He wasn’t lying when he said there are people with sheds full of antlers willing to sell them, but if I can’t pick them up at the grocery store, I want tofindthe antlers. Hunt for them, or whatever. I think that will make the piece I create even more special, and I’d like to do something special for Georgia after all she’s doing for me.
So I go back to Google. The one useful thing I get that’s not an advertisement for storage sheds, is to look in an area where deer bed, particularly coniferous forests. Then I have to look up coniferous forest to remember what they look like. And maybe I should do more googling, because antler shed details are still murky, but I haven’t left the parking lot of Thomsen’s. I don’t want to risk giving Adam the satisfaction of seeing me doing what he’d essentially told me to do rather than offering me real help.
I mean, would it have been that hard to say,here is where deer leave their antlers and let me take you there? Georgia said he would help me, but so far all he’s offered is some very intense frowning and growling. Both of which are unhelpful on so many levels. Especially the level where I find that sort of thing attractive.
So, I spend the rest of the day working at home to avoid accidentally running into Adam again. Obviously, I see him there later—at least from out my window—but I’m not surprised by it. He’s my neighbor. And sure, I have to listen to his stupid dog bark all day, but I’ve got noise canceling headphones.
The next day, I explore more of Paradise Valley and the little towns scattered across it. I want a sense of the vibe here so I can incorporate it into the designs for Grandma Rose’s.
All the towns are charming in their own way, but none are Paradise. The sloganthe place so nice they named it twicedefinitely applies here. Maybe even better than it does to NYC. The town of Paradise in Paradise Valley is nice. Very nice. The people and the landscape.
But the day after that, I’m tired of eating cereal. I’m not ready to see Adam, so the grocery store is out of the question. I text Georgia for suggestions of where to eat. I could tell her everything that’s happened with Adam, but that needs a phone call, and I know she doesn’t have time for that right now.
She texts back one answer:Britta’s.
I can only assume Britta Thomsen is the owner of this establishment, but I doubt Adam could fit working at one more family business on his schedule, so I decide to go. Aside from Georgia’s recommendation, the restaurant has the advantage of being part of the Little Copenhagen Resort. I can grab breakfast and check on the house. Demo is done, and framing is scheduled to start as soon as the lumber arrives, which means I don’t have to worry about running into Adam there.
By the time I park atBreakfast at Britta’s, the sun is done with its brief early-morning appearance and is hiding behind clouds. A large thread-bare canvas sign advertising huckleberry shakes hangs across the front windows. Despite the cold and the early hour, a huckleberry shake sounds delicious. I wrap my cardigan around me and run to the door.
A man wearing shorts and a camo t-shirt opens the door for me. I nod my thanks, then get in line behind a woman with a frizzy hair and…
Is that a tinfoil hat on her head?
“You new in town?” Camo-t-shirt-guy gets in line behind me, and tinfoil hat lady turns around.
“I am.” I direct my gaze to the menu over the counter. In New York, this would have sent a clear signal I was only there to order, not to share my life story. But then, in New York, no one ever asked me that question. Or any question, really.
“Thought I’d try the huckleberry shake,” I add, remembering that small talk is considered polite, especially in small towns. Big cities too, but it’s not as necessary if you’ll never see someone again. “Are they good?”
“Best thing they make here, but you’re not getting one today.” The man smooths his hands over his belly, and I notice the very pro Second Amendment slogan written across his t-shirt and punctuated with graphics of guns. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just hadn’t seen anything like it since moving to New York.
“Order the ebelskiver,” the woman says, still staring at me.
“Able-what? I don’t see that on the menu.” Huckleberry shakes, however, are right there in bold letters.
“Britta’s got some cooking right now. That’s why there’s a line.” The lady nods behind me, and I notice a few other people have come in. Then she readjusts her hat. Cap? Is there a proper term for headwear made from tinfoil?
The line moves and the woman steps up to the counter. The girl at the register—her name tag says Mekylie, and I don’t know what that spells—greets her with a smile. “Hi, Lynette. See any aliens today?”
Mekylie asks this as though it, like her name, is totally normal. I glance at Mr. Second Amendment, but he doesn’t react.
“None today, but I saw UFO tracks, so I’m not taking any chances.” She touches her hat, as though it has something to do with aliens.
I’m so engrossed in the conversation that I don’t notice Second Amendment guy lean close. “She means the contrails—vapor trails airplanes leave,” he whispers close to my ear. “Just go with it.”
My eyes dart from him back to Lynette. “Give me an order of plain ebelskiver and the loaded ones for our newcomer,” Lynette says with a wave in my direction.
“Oh, you don’t have—” I can’t get the words out. Lynette has her many-ringed pointer finger on my lips, shushing me.
“You will love them,” she whispers. “But be quiet about it. I don’t want the aliens to think I’ll buy theirs when they get here.”
“I got these, Lynette.” A familiar voice says, and my head jerks in its direction. I shouldn’t be surprised to see Adam behind the other register—we’ve already established he will always be everywhere in Paradise—but I am. “According to Britta, she’s a friend of Georgia’s, so her first order of ebelskiver is on the house.”
