Chapter 11 #2
“Hi, um, what’s your coziest drink?”
“Our peppermint mocha. Do you like peppermint?”
“I do. It sounds perfect.”
“Great. Are you going to drink it here?”
“Yes, I’m actually meeting Storee Black.”
“Oh, how nice. She’s over in the corner. I’ll bring you your drink when it’s ready so you can chat.”
“Wow, thank you.” I pay for my drink, and the woman gestures me in the right direction. I slip my card back in my purse, lift my head, and then stop when my eyes fall on a very tall figure holding a baby and talking to Storee.
No freaking way.
For a brief moment, I think about bolting and texting her that I’m not feeling well so I’m skipping out on our meetup, but unfortunately for me, her eyes meet mine, and her face lights up with a smile.
Crap.
With a brave face, I head in that direction only for Storee to stand and greet me with a hug.
“Betty, it’s so great to see you. Thank you for meeting me.”
“Thank you for the invite,” I say, feeling all kinds of awkward as Atlas turns toward me, holding Storee’s cute baby, while another baby rests in the stroller.
“I believe you know Atlas.”
I give him a short wave. “Yes, hi. How are you?” My nice autopilot kicks in, because I couldn’t really care less about how he is. I honestly hope his leg rots and falls off. That’s how much I care about his well-being.
“Doing better.” He presses his hand to his chest. “Sternum has healed.”
“Well, good for you.”
He smirks . . . actually smirks and says, “Then again, holding this little bundle of joy could pretty much heal anything.” Atlas kisses Storee’s baby—God, I can’t remember her name, how terrible—and the baby giggles.
The baby looks like she’s older than one, which means she probably doesn’t take too kindly to strangers, leading me to believe that Atlas and Storee know each other well.
Wait, doesn’t her husband work at the farm? If I recall correctly, he does, which means . . . they probably are all friends.
“Are you okay?” Storee asks, reading the confusion all over my face.
“Uh, yeah, sorry.” I shake my head. “Just, uh, just trying to figure out how you two know each other.”
Storee glances at Atlas and then back at me. “The annoying best friend to my husband.”
“Annoying?” Atlas says with a cute raise to his brow. “Just the other night, you were singing praises about how funny I am.”
“Funny looking,” Storee says with a heaping amount of charm.
Motioning between them with my finger, I say, “Oh, so you two are close?”
“Barely,” Storee answers with a huff. “I put up with him.”
I feel Atlas look me up and down, his studying eyes making me feel exposed. “I think she’s worried to have a cup of coffee with you,” he says, “because you have an attachment to me.”
“The attachment is frayed at best, so you don’t need to worry about him. He was just about to stop bothering me anyway.” Storee takes her baby back and then shoos him away. “Don’t scare her away. I need friends of my own in this town.”
“You realize this is my enemy, right?” Atlas says in a lighthearted tone while thumbing toward me. “You can’t make friends with my enemy.”
“Fine, then I dump you as a friend, and I take her on.”
His mouth falls open in shock. “You don’t even know her.”
“Which says a lot about you.”
That makes me chuckle, because good comeback.
Atlas clutches his chest. “You wound me, Storee.”
“Yeah, what doesn’t wound you? Now get out of here.”
“You’re just going to kick me out like that? What if Betty wants to get to know me better? She hasn’t seen my charming side yet.”
“Yeah, only your Peeping Tom side,” Storee says with an eye roll that makes me snort.
“Hey!” Atlas points his finger at her. “I was not trying to be a perverted Peeping Tom. I was attempting to find out who the resident was.”
“And knocking on the door was too hard,” I say, arms crossed over my chest.
“As a matter of fact, it was,” he says with a smirk that feels very flirty. “Not to mention I did you a favor.”
“How on earth did you do me a favor?” I ask.
“Well, for one, I’ve given you quite the anecdote. Can’t put a price on that. And also, I helped you prove that soda can be used as a weapon, so . . . you’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say thank you.”
He winks. “Yeah, but I can tell you’re grateful. Most women I meet are.”
“Ew,” I say while Storee chuckles next to me.
“Anyway, I’ll let you two get to your coffee date.” He lets out a sigh and starts to pull away from us but not before stopping next to me, lining up shoulder to shoulder. With a smirk and a timbre so deep, he says, “Always a pleasure, Betty.”
The sound of his voice, in a tone that I haven’t heard from him before, pulses all the way down my back and buries itself deep in the depths of my being.
I glance up at him, startled at the reaction his voice has given me, and when our eyes meet, he winks one more time before taking off.
What the hell was that?
I . . . I don’t even know what to do with that. How to react.
How to process.
Because . . . what?
Thankfully Storee breaks me from my spell as she gestures to the seat across from her. “Sorry about him. Please don’t run away. I’d still love to have coffee with you.”
Taking a seat, still slightly shook, I say, “Oh, no need to apologize. It’s fine.”
“I just know that things are tense between the two of you.”
I wave her off. “Seriously, no need to worry. We can be civil.”
“That’s what he informed me of when he bumped into me, and I told him you were on your way, so get the hell out of here. But of course Flo wasn’t letting go of him.”
Florence, that’s the baby’s name.
“You know, it’s annoying when you feel your kid likes your husband’s best friend better.”
I chuckle. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’d choose you over him.”
She presses her hand to her chest. “At least I have you on my side.”
“Sorry, ladies, don’t mean to interrupt,” Atlas says, coming back with that deep voice, startling me.
When I look to my left, he’s standing there with that freaking grin again, holding out a tray.
“I went ahead and ordered you both the peppermint hot chocolate cookie, and I also have your drink here, Betty. Told Tanya I’d deliver it for her so she could take a rest. It’s only going to get busier from here. ”
Umm . . . what’s happening?
Why is he acting like a saint?
Like the jolly neighbor, ready to lend a helping hand when called upon?
He sets down two plates with giant cookies on them and then places my drink right in front of me. When he rises, he tucks the tray under his arm, and I don’t know what comes over me, but I say, “Why are you being nice to me?”
My question catches him by surprise, because his brows raise as Storee chuckles.
“I don’t mean that to sound rude, but seriously, why?”
“I’m more being nice to my friend Storee.” He lifts his chin.
“That’s so not the truth,” Storee says as she crosses one leg over the other with a smirk.
“Yes, it is,” he says.
Storee shakes her head and laughs. “No, it’s not.” Then she looks at me and says, “It’s because he thinks you have really pretty eyes.”
Uhh . . . what?
Excuse me?
Did I hear that right?
I turn my attention to Atlas for some sort of confirmation that she’s joking, but when I read his expression, all I see is him staring daggers at Storee.
Wait . . .
Is she serious?
From his reaction, I’m assuming yes.
He thinks I have pretty eyes?
I . . . I really don’t know what to do with that.
“Go ahead. Tell her.” Storee nods in my direction. “You know you want to.”
Lips pursed, he lightly shakes his head, which causes Storee to roll her eyes.
“Oh stop. You were just telling me earlier how pretty her eyes are. Go ahead. She’s here. Tell her.”
The back of my neck grows hot as I glance toward him.
“I . . . uh . . .” He stumbles, taking a step backward, looking all sorts of uncomfortable.
It’s such an intense and awkward reaction that I feel like I need to give him privacy but don’t know how to.
If only my chair would swallow me whole.
Silence falls between us.
The awkwardness grows.
Until he clears his throat and looks at me, his expression serious. He wets his lips.
Clears his throat again.
Then meekly says, “I . . . uh . . . I think you have really pretty eyes.”
Oh God.
He means it.
And now things just took a turn, because I don’t know how to react to that, and when I don’t know how to react, my awkward instincts kick in, meaning . . . I’m about to ramble nonsense.
I know it’s coming.
I know it’s my only way to fight off the bumbling feeling pulsing through me.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
My cheeks flame. I look away and hear myself say, “Oh, uh, thank you. They’re, uh, they’re my dad’s eyes.”
They’re my dad’s eyes?
Who says that?
“Your dad’s eyes? You don’t say,” Atlas says. “Well, your dad has really pretty eyes then.”
I look up at him again, and he’s blushing as well. Probably just as much as I am. “I’ll, uh, I’ll let him know you think so. I’m sure he’ll appreciate the compliment.”
“That would be great.” He clutches the tray to his chest. “Because who doesn’t like a compliment?”
“Some people might not, but my dad does.”
“My dad likes compliments too.”
“Oh really?” I ask, wanting to slowly melt into my chair from the awkwardness of this conversation. “Glad your dad likes compliments.”
“He does. Would you like to, uh . . . would you like to pay him one as well?”
Absolutely not.
Don’t know the man.
Just want this to be over.
But clearly, I have no ability to end this as I say, “Oh, uh . . . sure?”
I can feel Storee watching us, metaphorically with a bucket of popcorn in her arms, enjoying every second of this.
“Great. Umm, you might need some help unless you’ve met him before. Have you?”
“No, can’t say that I have.”
“Ah, so yeah, umm, let me think . . . He and I are both tall. If that’s something you want to compliment. We also have the same eyebrows. And hands.” Atlas holds up his hands. “Lots of things to work with.”
“Wow, that’s quite a lot.” Swallowing the saliva building up in my mouth and wanting this nightmare to be over, I say, “Well, tell him nice eyebrows. Congrats on . . . on how bushy they are.”
Just swallow me whole, world, please. Please end this.
Atlas smooths his fingers over his brows. “Uh, thank you. I’ll be sure to let him know.”
“Please do.”
Then silence falls between us.
The awkward cringe of no one knows what to say takes over.
And I can feel the sting of sweat break out on my neck, urging me to do something, anything to end this.
To make him go away.
To pretend this interaction never happened, because dear God, this might be the worst conversation I’ve ever been a part of. And it’s because he’s trying to be nice? Why is he trying to be nice? It’s better when he’s peeping in my window and I’m chucking liters of soda at him.
“Well . . . this is fun,” Storee finally says, breaking the silence with one leg crossed over the other and a smile on her face. “Are there any other compliments you want to throw toward each other’s fathers, or are you set on that?”
“I think we’re set,” I say.
“Yeah, all set.”
“Great. Well, if you don’t mind, I would like to have coffee with my friend.” Storee gestures to me.
“Right.” Atlas nods. “Yeah, sure. Okay, well, have fun chatting.” He looks between us, waiting one second longer than he should. He clutches his tray and then adds, “Yeah. Okay. Bye.”
With that, he turns on a dime but unfortunately for him runs right into another table, tumbling over it, head over heels with an earsplitting crash.
His body flips over the table, the chairs tumble to the ground, and he’s left on his back, looking up toward the ceiling, his coveted tray flung halfway across the coffee shop.
Oh dear God.
“Oh my God,” Storee says as she stands with a baby on her hip and rushes over to Atlas, who’s writhing on the floor.
“Fuck,” he groans.
“Are you okay?” Tanya asks as she rushes to his side.
Not wanting to look like a beast who doesn’t care, I stand up as well and start righting the chairs. “Yeah, are you . . . are you okay?”
“Fine.” He slowly stands, his large body taking up space. He pats down his sweatshirt and rights his reindeer hat. “Just a bruised ego is all.” His eyes meet mine, and once again, for some stupid reason, I feel my cheeks blush.
“Do you need any ice?” Tanya asks.
“Nah, I’m good.” He twists back and forth and then side to side. “Shit, my back will be fucked now.”
“Language around Flo,” Storee says.
“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “Well, now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself, I think I’ll go bury myself in work. Ladies, good seeing you.” He looks around and then finishes with his eyes on me. “Have a good day.”
“H-have a good day,” I say as he takes off, his giant feet stomping across the shop until he’s gone.
“Well, he’ll be thinking about that all day,” Storee says while taking a seat.
“You think so?”
“Oh yeah.” Storee nods and breaks off a piece of cookie for her daughter. “Atlas is the type of guy who thinks and rethinks things constantly. Bet you anything he’ll be bothering Cole about it tomorrow as well.”
“Are they . . . are they really that close?”
Storee nods her head. “Yeah, their parents were best friends, which of course caused them to play together as kids. They grew up together, and then when Cole was eighteen, his parents died in a tragic car crash, and Atlas was the first one at his side.” She drops a piece of cookie in her mouth.
“His family took Cole in as their own, offered him a job, helped him through the hardest time of his life. I honestly believe if it wasn’t for Atlas and his family, Cole wouldn’t be around either. ”
Wow, that’s not . . . that’s not what Uncle Dwight has said about him.
“But enough about him. I bet he’s the last person you want to talk about right now. Tell me about you. Are you all settled in? Are you enjoying Kringle?”
“Umm . . . almost settled in,” I say, trying to get comfortable, even though this new information about Atlas doesn’t seem to settle well. “Just have a few more things to take care of. And I love Kringle. It’s so picturesque and everything I would have dreamed about living in a small town.”
“Picturesque is the perfect way to describe it. My aunt Cindy lives here, and when I was younger, my family visited all the time. I didn’t appreciate it as much because I lived in Southern California and didn’t love the cold winters.
But now I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
I’m sure you’ll get to that point too once you spend a little more time here. ”
“Yeah, I think I might.”