Page 13 of Pity Present
“I’m sorry, we don’t,” Lorelai tells him. “I’ve got some Juicy Fruit if you want that.”
Blakes eyebrows furrow as though he’s having a hard time making the connection between cinnamon and artificially fruity flavors. “No, thanks.” Then he looks at me and asks, “What are you up to today?”
Why is he suddenly being so friendly? Last night he treated me like I was a case of poison ivy looking for a hug. I remind myself to keep our interaction brief and words at a minimum. “Not much,” I tell him. “Just working.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a gift shop consultant.” Taking my notebook out, I write something down. “I’ve just made a note to order cinnamon gum.”
The smile he gives me is enough to melt my butter. “Thank you.”
Nodding my head again, I tell him, “Sure thing.” Then I scurry around him. If I stick around, I’m sure to embarrass myself again.
Although, Ihavesuddenly developed an interest in going to tonight’s mixer. I don’t know if I’ll participate in the rest of the activities, but what can it hurt to see what kind of things Trina thinks will bring singles together?
Not only that, but it might also be interesting to find out what kind of woman Blake finds attractive. Especially as he’s made it abundantly clear thatI’mnot his type.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BLAKE
I have no idea why I asked for cinnamon gum. Cinnamon rolls? Those are great. But chew straight cinnamon on purpose? It burns the taste buds right off my tongue. I guess I just wanted a chance to talk to Molly, and for some reason cinnamon gum popped into my mind.
I feel bad about the way we left things last night, but her behavior this morning made it perfectly clear she’s no longer interested in talking to me. This isn’t the first time I’ve sent a woman running in the opposite direction. I reference the time I told a waitress at The Ivy that I couldn’t stay and have a drink with her because I was busy stalking Danny Green. She rolled her eyes and announced that her gaydar must be broken before walking away. Fine, she ran.
I didn’t bother explaining that I was supposed to write an article about the Lakers star, and he wouldn’t return my calls. I just beat it out of the restaurant in hot pursuit.
Walking out of the gift shop, I make my way to the front desk to see what kind of activities there are to pass the time. I find a stack of brochures of things to do in the area as well as a list ofindoor and outdoor happenings that can be enjoyed right here at the lodge. Zip-lining looks like fun, but I worry that after last night’s snowfall I might wind up wearing all the snow in the trees. Cross country skiing is an option, as is snowmobiling. I make a mental note to try both later in the week.
I finally decide to walk around the grounds before choosing an event. After tromping around the woods for a good half hour, I’m about to go back inside and warm up when I see a guy about my age sitting on a log. His head is resting in his hands. There’s something about his posture that makes me think he might be in distress.
Walking up behind him, I ask, “Excuse me for interrupting, but are you okay?”
“No.” He doesn’t so much as look up.
“Can I help you into the lodge?” Call an ambulance, a priest …
He finally lifts his head and turns around. His eyes are so dark I have a strange sensation they lead to a black hole. “You wouldn’t happen to be a therapist, would you?”
A burst of laughter shoots out of me before I can stop it. “Not even close,” I tell him. “Did you and your wife have a fight?”
“No wife,” he says before letting his shoulders sag. “No girlfriend. No one.”
My head bobs up and down like a bobblehead on a speeding dashboard. “Same,” I tell him before walking over to him. Gesturing toward his log, I ask, “Mind if I join you?”
“It’s a public log.”
Since I’m here to write an article about single people, I might as well talk to one. After brushing the snow off the spot next to him, I gingerly sit down.Man, it’s cold!My butt immediately goes numb as it makes contact with the frigid wood. “What are you doing here at the lodge?”
A look of embarrassment crosses his face before he answers, “I’m here for a dating thing. Trina Rockwell fromMidwestern Matchmakeris having her first big mixer tonight.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “It’s actually a two-week-long event.”
Sticking my hand out, I introduce myself. “I’m Blake.”
He mimics the gesture. “Kyle. Kyle Williams.”
“So, Kyle. Are you fresh off a breakup or something?” I ask. I might as well get some information for my article. Who knows? Kyle might even be the perfect guy to follow so people know what a waste of time these things are.
“Not fresh off, no. My girlfriend, Amelia, broke up with me six months ago. She met someone else.”
