Page 24
But seriously, how did he do that? This cute teddy bear of a man flipped a switch and suddenly looks like a grizzly.
He leans forward with a frown. Muscles pop out of his biceps. Did the lights dim? Because somehow the whole place looks darker except for a single can light spotlighting James.
Peter leans across the counter. Gives this man a firm handshake.
I can’t be sure, but I think I see James giving the tiniest shake of his fingers at his side when he lets go.
“James,” Peter says with a curt nod. “Welcome to the area. You got a last name?”
Oh, for goodness’ sake, Dad.
“Stone,” James says. And to my relief, if anything, he looks like he finds this miscommunication and suspicion of his character to be mildly humorous.
“He hasn’t kidnapped me yet, Peter,” I say, cutting in with an easy grin before he says something really stupid. “Actually, if anyone has something to complain about there, it’s him.” I jut a finger in James’s direction.
Peter looks at him.
James nods. “It’s true. She locked me in her truck without a way to get out and keeps dragging me off on mildly dangerous derailments for what are apparently nostalgic reasons.”
“It was Hollyhock Bridge,” I say, heat creeping up my cheeks.
“And the magical tree,” he adds.
“What was the danger there? Frostbite?”
He smiles at my quick retort.
“Anyway,” James continues, “we’re here for coffee. Unless . . .” He casts his gaze in my direction. “Your mother’s tradition is specific about hot cocoa.”
I smile. “I think so long as it’s hot, we’re in the clear.”
“You sure? Nothing in the bylaws?”
“I’ve looked them over thoroughly. We’re safe.”
Peter, who’s been watching our interaction, seems to conclude that he can lighten up. He takes the card James very smoothly slipped to pay for us both (with the air of someone who tips regularly), and we find two seats by the window.
In the past five minutes, my body has warmed up considerably. It’s the first time all day that the world has felt cozy.
James watches the snow fall outside, his jacket discarded over the chair behind him. He sips his coffee seemingly without a care in the world.
I count the seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Fascinating.
He truly is someone comfortable enough in his own skin not to even think about small talk. He clearly isn’t worried about making sure the person he’s with is comfortable.
Have I ever done that in my life?
As I sit opposite him, my heart is already starting to pound, questions itching at my brain like a bad case of lice.
Is he happy? Is he bored? What should I ask him about? I need a list of questions and backup questions. What if there’s an awkward lull in the conversation? Who am I kidding—I’m living an awkward lull in the conversation.
Would I bother him by talking right now?
