Chapter Fifteen
Mondays were always Mondays.
I arrived at the shop on time with a list of jobs that needed to be completed before the holidays.
After firing up the woodstove, turning on the lights, and adding a new scarf to the line, which was now, sadly, untouched without Anders coming every day, I glanced across the road at the craft shop.
There in the window, kneeling on a pile of quilts, was Franny holding a sign with COME OVER NOW in purple glitter marker that she was moving back and forth, making it hard as hell to read.
I padded behind the counter to find an empty box, wrote WHY on it, and went back to the window to hold it up.
She laid down her sign, picked up her binoculars, read my sign, and picked hers back up.
She shook it more vigorously. Obviously, she was fine and healthy if she was giving me sign attitude.
With a sigh of resolution, I jogged across the road and scared a few bluejays pecking at a suet holder Franny had hung off the gutter at the corner of her shop.
When I pushed in, she was sitting in the window, bathed in bright winter sun, wearing her gardening gloves and an apron with pansies on them.
“What, are we starring in a Taylor Swift video all of a sudden? They have things called phones now,” I said as her silver brows tangled.
“No, they’re jays, not swifts. How could you confuse them? Jays are blue and swifts aren’t.”
“My bad. What did you want?” I shouted while checking the shop to see if I could figure out what was broken or needed tending to. Nothing leaped out at me. No smoking toaster like the last time I was summoned over.
“I wanted to ask you if you and Anders were wrapping your wieners.” My jaw dropped.
“Now don’t get prissy. I know what goes on with two young bucks when they get together.
I just want to be sure you don’t get no kind of pecker malady that will make you sick.
Gilda needs her dad to be there for her and not die because his willy fell off. ”
Words failed me. Shock slowly gave way to humor then tenderness. It was quite sweet that she worried about me. And my penis. Good Lord.
“We have not gotten to that stage of our relationship yet, but when we do, we’ll discuss all the safe sex options that are available,” I explained at volume.
“Okay then, so you two are in a relationship.” Damn it.
Oh, she was clever. She and Gilda were a pair of aces.
“I told the other women while we were setting up for the bazaar that I seen you sneaking off to the campsite for a week straight then making up some cockamamie excuse for taking two hours for lunch when you never did that before. They said maybe you were just taking a ride to cheer you up since you get them winter blues. I told them that it looked to me like Anders cheered you up on the daily if the grin you wore when you come back after them long lunches was any indication.”
Oh. My. God. Above.
“It’s too new to be discussing in public,” I managed to croak out.
“Sure, I see. You’re shy. Always have been. Well, it’s fine with me if you and him get busy. He makes pretty eggs.”
“That he does. So did you need me for anything other than tittle-tattle?” I asked loudly.
“Oh yeah, the toilet is plugged. Can you plunge it for me?”
Yep, this felt like a Monday.
***
It takes a huge amount of whole wheat flour to bake dog cookies.
And eggs, peanut butter, and pumpkin puree.
Gilda had been incredibly busy while I’d been at work all day.
School was now out for the holiday break, and she’d been baking up a storm.
I felt so uncomfortable now that I knew the rest of Grouse Falls was aware of my afternoon delights topped by the fact that Gilda was home alone that I backed out of lunch with Anders.
I called her a few times during the day.
Finally, around noon, she told me to stop distracting her.
She was almost thirteen and was fine being home by herself.
And yes, she had locked the doors. Maybe we should get a dog for protection on days like these…
When I texted Anders, he understood my misgivings. I asked if he would like me to pick him up on the way home so he could join us for dinner. He and Della were delighted to be invited.
I was trying to cook up some turkey chili and make a tossed salad amongst the chaos that was my kitchen.
Gilda was fretting over the consistency of her cookies as she packaged up the ones that had been cooling for a few hours.
Della was dancing about on her hind legs, begging for another taste of a doggie treat, as she had been dubbed the official taster.
Anders was tying skinny ribbons around the crinkly gift bags.
The doorbell rang as I was adding more chili powder to the bubbling goodness.
Della set off barking madly. Pity she didn’t know quite where the front door was, for she made a few circles before locking onto Anders, who was waved on to answer the bell.
A moment later, Anders, Della, and Pastor Pete entered the kitchen.
“Goodness, this kitchen has seen some things,” Pete said with a kind smile. “I’m here to pick up the doggie treats. You will be swinging by later? I’m sure people will want to meet the egg artist.”
Anders’ cheeks got a bit pink. “If we can swing it. We’ve not had dinner yet, so…”
“Perfect!” Pete said and bent to scratch Della behind the ear.
“I’ll go fetch the boxes from the back of the car,” Anders volunteered and jogged off. Gilda started bagging dog treats. Pete sidled up to me, hands behind his back, to inhale the aroma of my chili. “Now that smells divine.”
“You’re welcome to stay,” I said and got a sad shake of his head.
“As much as I would like to indulge, I have to hurry to the Meyers to pick up Marsha’s nut rolls. She’s not feeling well, so I said I would drop by to pray with her as well as grab the rolls for the baked goods table.”
“Probably her sugar acting up again. She doesn’t eat well for a diabetic.” I sighed as I thought of the sweet old woman who made such delicious nut rolls every year. We’d all known her from her forty-plus years as a cafeteria worker at the high school.
“That’s true. Perhaps I should ask the Lord to bless her with better eating habits,” Pete replied, looking over at Gilda and giggling over Della’s attempts to finagle another broken cookie.
“I keep thinking that I’ve seen Anders’ last name somewhere before, his face too possibly, but for the life of me I keep coming up blank. ”
“It’s not an uncommon name.” I sprinkled a little more pepper into the chili. We liked it with some kick.
“No, it’s not. Becken seems a rather common name, yet there’s something familiar about him.
Oh well, it will come to me or not.” He smiled sweetly just as Anders arrived with empty boxes from the shop.
We packaged up all the cookies as well as a thermos of chili for the good pastor and sent him on his way to Marsha’s while we sat down amid cooling racks, dirty bowls, and spatulas to enjoy our zippy meal.
It was lovely, really. Eating around the table together felt as if we were a family.
That was a dangerous thought. Anders was a nomad from another land.
He would move on eventually, and it would be just Gilda and me here.
I had to hang on to reality despite how dearly my heart wanted to live in a romantic fantasy.
***
We arrived late at the bazaar but at least our hair was free of flour so that was a win.
The basement of the church was packed with locals—and quite a few out-of-towners—buying last-minute gifts for their loved ones.
Gilda disappeared the moment we entered, dashing to the hot chocolate table to help Kimmie and her other drama club friends raise funds.
“Oh my,” Anders said softly as Veronica Long played her violin in the corner, filling the room with Victorian-themed holiday tunes. She was quite the local talent and enjoyed dressing the part of a dignified Victorian lady every year for the bazaar. “I’d not expected this many people.”
He seemed almost shy. Something that was appealing but unusual. Perhaps it was just the number of curious eyes now locked onto him as we stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“It’s a big draw. We can leave if you want. Maybe go get some coffee at the diner or—”
“No, no, this is perfectly fine. I should mingle with the locals more.”
I was about to tease him about being allowed to rub shoulders with the common folk when Alfred and Arne arrived, pulling curious stares from Anders to them. Neither seemed concerned about the scrutiny. They stepped to either side of us, as silent as cats, and stood there.
“Okay then, let’s go support Grouse Falls,” I stated as I bravely extended my hand to the man at my side.
The man with dark curls that I fancied, not the man who looked like a jacked-up version of Agent Smith from The Matrix sans the dark shades.
Those were tucked into the pocket of a suit with a neatly folded white pocket square.
Hopefully no one made a sudden move at Anders or we’d be seeing some slow-motion martial arts ass-kickery up close and personal.
“Thank you,” Anders whispered, sliding his hand into mine.
I clutched his tightly, my own nerves over this public display making my palms a bit damp.
Which was fine as his was as well. After our fingers meshed, he seemed to relax.
That charming sophistication he exuded reappeared, and we spent the next two hours chatting, shopping, and sipping cocoa all while my daughter and her friends cheered us on silently with fist pumps.
I’d come to this event every year since I was in middle school like Gilda.
This year was the first in many, many moons that I was enjoying it wholly.
Nothing made a heart feel fuller than holding the hand of someone you were crazy about.
So much for not allowing myself to slip into a Hallmark holiday romance frame of mind…