3. Maggie
THREE
MAGGIE
I don’t know what it is about today, but I’m all kinds of off. Having Hope get engaged in front of the store in one of the cutest ways possible, and then Duke drill me about my ice cream personality tests before asking if Hope will leave once she gets married, well, it all has me off kilter.
I don’t know what it is about Duke that drives me bananas, but he’s been like that since I met him the first summer I’d come to stay with Hope. It didn’t help that he grew up in the house behind hers, meaning I had to see him all the time. He and his friends would pull pranks on us, which we would sometimes return.
The guy is confident, which could be seen as a good thing, but he manages a timeshare business. I can’t get behind something like that.
My grandma bought a timeshare that was way more than she could afford on her limited income. Maybe that has tainted my view of Duke, that he could even try to swindle old people out of their money. He must be a good salesman, because every time I have to walk by, there are a handful of people inside.
The rest of the afternoon is slower. To be honest, that we had as many customers on a Wednesday is a miracle. Our biggest days tend to be Thursday through Saturday, and sometimes on Monday, depending on the holidays or town celebrations.
I get everything put away and lock up the shop. There’s a beef jerky store just across the way and it’s one of my favorites. I get a small bag from him and walk down to Kingston’s Bakery. They make the best macarons ever. Especially being from out of town, I’d put money on them against any other competitor along the east coast.
Once I pay for my cookie, I bump into Duke, who’s coming into the bakery. I don’t know why his presence here irritates me. Maybe it’s the fact that I like my space and it seems like he’s all up in it right now. But that’s a little overdramatic.
“Sorry about that,” Duke says, giving me a lazy smile. I groan and wait as the gal that helps goes in back to get another box for my order.
“Hey, Georgie,” Duke says.
“Hey, Duke,” Georgie says. It’s been nice to have her back in town to run the bakery. She would hang out with us every once in a while when I came to stay in the summers, but her passion had always been baking, and she spent most of it there. “What are you up to today?”
He turns slightly to give me a little smile and says, “Just out here looking for some adventure. Do you have something with nuts in it?”
Is he trying to use my ice cream theory for other things to tease me?
“I don’t have much more than banana nut muffins today, but I can put something on the menu if you’re craving it.”
“That would be great,” Duke says. “Brownies with nuts would be great.”
The girl brings the box out and packages up the macarons and I have to stare at something over her shoulder to avoid rolling my eyes. What a schmoozer.
After paying for my treats, I escape. I pull out one of the cookies, a strawberry-lemon one, and take a bite. The flavors all blend together so well.
I pat my pocket for my phone to call Hope. I’d told her to go enjoy the day with her new fiancé, since he would be heading out for a military assignment next week.
No phone. I must’ve left it at the shop. I thought I’d gotten everything I needed before heading out for the night.
I hurry back, unlocking the door and grabbing my phone from the counter by the cash register. Once I lock the door again, I turn to see a sign in the window next door.
My stomach drops as I read the large words that are so familiar to me. “Get your next vacation for free.” Down below, in the smallest print known to man, it says something about attending a presentation or something like that.
I know those words. It’s a business of swindling people out of their retirement fund.
Yes, it’s just like it sounds. My grandma lost everything to one of these companies. They made it sound like it would be the perfect “investment” and that it would help her children and family be closer together. Something about memories made and lives cherished had been added to the conversation because my grandma constantly quoted it.
What did it actually do? Drove her to an early grave.
Okay, that’s an exaggeration. It put the burden on her family to help her the last two years of her life, since the fees ended up being higher than she originally thought. And her heart eventually gave out. Probably for several reasons, but my brain seems to latch onto the timeshare people as being the downfall of her health.
I already knew this is what Duke does for his job, but maybe it’s the build up from today that makes me want to throw eggs at his window or something.
I feel lame having admitted my ice cream personality theory to him. He probably thinks I’m such a dork, but now I have to avoid him until the end of time. Mostly on principle, a fraction on embarrassment.
And, as if thoughts about him seem to summon him, Duke is coming my way. I should probably just go home at this point. If he shows up there, then I’ll know he’s a creeper.
Where can I hide? I can’t have another conversation with this man. Grandma Dean would roll in her grave. Actually, no. She was the sweetest person alive and would probably sign up for her timeshare points all over again just to help the sales agent.
There’s a medium-sized planter next to my store and I hurry to duck behind it, hoping he just walks on by.
I’m not sure if I’m just breathing too loudly or he walked away, but I can’t hear anything. Did he just stop walking altogether?
“Are you hiding from me?” he says, from way closer than I thought he’d be.
Instead of being able to dissolve into the mist, I jump, hitting my head against the rock on the outside of the building.
“No,” I say, trying to come up with an excuse why I had to hide and then injure myself.
“I’m pretty sure you saw me and then darted for the tree. Op,” he says, looking up at my forehead. The sun has mostly set and I can’t see him clearly, but his smile drops to a frown. The guy is attractive. But I won’t entertain any thoughts of that. I’m just on some sappy dose of wishing I had romance because of Hope’s proposal this morning. That’s all it is.
And of all people to think that about? Duke is not the one I’d pick.
Zander had a similar salesman-type personality and was a different person at work and then when we went out. I’ve been through enough drama to know I need to steer clear of anyone who reminds me of him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I think you’re bleeding.”
Panic seizes my stomach. I don’t do well with blood. We are definitely not simpático. I saw someone’s bloody nose and practically fainted when I was in high school, which produced my own injured nose. It takes everything in me to survive Aunt Flow.
I search my small purse for the package of tissues I usually carry with me. Nothing.
“Here,” he says, handing me a handkerchief that’s real and monogrammed. DKJ.
“I don’t want to ruin it,” I say, pushing his hand away.
He shakes his head. “You won’t. I know how to get blood out of it.”
I don’t know if I should ask the story behind why he’s had to get blood out of his handkerchief before or how he learned. And why he carries one when most people just have a paper ones that can be thrown away. I’m slightly impressed with both. But not… because, sales guy..
After taking a deep breath, I press the handkerchief to my forehead. “So, are you sixty years old, trapped in a younger man’s body?” Humor is my coping mechanism.
He chuckles and says, “No, just an old habit I picked up as a kid.”
I smile, remembering Duke when he was younger. He’d been short and awkward. Too bad he couldn’t have stayed that way. The guy before me is a lot more handsome than I’ve noticed in the couple of months since I moved here. Has he always looked that good in a t-shirt?
Then I remember he’s the one selling timeshares. It’s hard, but I do my best to make my voice void of any kind of laughter and say, “Well, I’ve got to get home. I’ll get this back to you,” I say, gesturing to the handkerchief.
“Are you sure you know how to clean it?” I can’t read his expression well, but there’s some worry along with the teasing.
“What’s the internet for if I don’t have to look up random cleaning tips? I don’t think I’ll have to worry about it shrinking after drying, either.”
He chuckles and says, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. An ice cube works. Just hold it on there for a bit and then wash it like normal.”
Nodding, I say, “I’ll give that a try. Good night.”
As I walk away, I try to puzzle out my feelings. It’s really hard to figure out how I should feel about this guy. I should think he’s the ultimate enemy because he’s cheating people out of money, but I’m holding his handkerchief. Like, what guy in this century carries around one of those?
I shouldn’t think it’s cute. I should just work to get home and on with my nighttime skin routine. Because that’s the only action I’ll be getting these days.