CHAPTER FOUR ALARA #2
Before I can even ask if he can hold the cups and the pastry bags, he steps toward me, crowding my space and letting his cologne swirl into my consciousness. “They’re in your pocket?”
I nod, my mouth suddenly feeling dry. “Right one.”
“Is it okay if I touch you?”
The simple request, the roughness of his voice, the sheer proximity – they all cause my cheeks to tingle with unsolicited warmth.
“Uh, yes.” I blink multiple times, unable to comprehend what is happening.
“Are you sure? You hesitated there for a second.”
“No, I’m sure. Do what you have to do.”
When Diego reaches into the pocket of my coat to retrieve the keychain, I observe the way his throat works up and down. Once he’s in possession of the keys, his gaze finds mine, and everything around us fades away. All I see is him. All I smell is him.
Oh, no. That’s not a good sign.
I feel it slowly, deliberately, the way he glances at my parted mouth, then back up into my eyes.
I clear my throat then, looking behind his shoulder. “Blue key.”
“Got it.”
As soon as we’re safely inside, he flicks the lights on, throws my keychain on the front desk, and ruffles the snow out of his hair.
Then he pivots, all while I’m desperately trying to stay cool and composed, and grabs the cup with his name scribbled on the side.
“Thanks.”
He disappears into the staff room without so much as looking at me, and I feel like I might combust.
This is going to be a long, excruciating day.
The morning is busy and, fortunately, goes quicker than anticipated. Customers walk around the aisles, ask for advice and information about our renting service. Diego is nowhere to be seen, but I think he’s busy working with my dad in the back of the store.
I’m impressed by the influence Diego has had since he started working with us, as Rock Snow has boomed in popularity.
Our sales have never been higher. Our stock is selling out so quickly that I can’t keep up with orders.
Dad has already asked me to pick up extra shifts to help them during peak hours.
And yet Diego’s only been here for less than a week.
Quite a few customers clearly come here with the sole purpose of engaging with Diego, but he’s not interested in the least. He avoids everyone asking for a picture or an autograph, and cuts the conversations short when someone tries to pry too much into his personal life.
Sometimes he isolates himself in the locker room for a breather, but his fists are constantly curled like he’s silently trying to rein in his frustration.
It saddens me to see him like this – as though his general optimism has faded away – but I know I shouldn’t feel this way. I don’t know him. I know nothing about him, so allowing myself to be affected by his story – well, the minuscule pieces I’ve cobbled together – is ridiculous.
By the time the end of the day creeps up on me, the store is nearly empty.
It’s the slowest time of the afternoon, as most patrons are either at the lodge or simply enjoying the setting sun.
The view is lovely if you walk around town and watch how the sky fades from blue to mauve, with filaments of tangerine weaving through.
With the icicle lights hanging overhead, the snow-covered mountains, and the crisp cold, it’s evident we’re nearing Christmas, which happens to be my favorite time of the year.
A blur of black catches my eye as Diego strolls toward the front of the store, hands lazily tucked in his pockets. His nonchalance is infuriating.
“Are you here for your lesson?” I ask, as he rounds the desk to sit beside me at the register.
He exhales heavily. “Can we just get to it and be done?”
“Aren’t you a delight?” I mumble, pulling out the spare stool from beneath the countertop for him.
“You said something similar this morning.”
“Says a lot about you, don’t you think?”
The glare he throws my way only makes me chuckle. Being indifferent to his rudeness is my favorite pastime, because, to be honest, it doesn’t affect me. I know he’s just hiding behind his mask. I know the guy I had a crush on years ago is still dormant underneath the ice.
Until now, Diego hasn’t been fully trained on the register. He needs to familiarize himself with the computer, and since it’s slow and we’re almost closing, I’ve decided now is the perfect time to teach him.
His shoulder presses into mine as he scoots his stool closer, the warmth radiating off his body enveloping me like a blanket, and neither of us move.
“I don’t remember you being this feisty,” he comments, as my hand clutches the mouse to direct us back to the main menu.
“I’m pretty sure you don’t even remember me.” The words slip out before I can even think about how they might sound. Immature? Petty? That’s not my intention, but the damage is done.
Diego is one of the best athletes in the winter sports industry.
He’s arrogant, but his confidence isn’t overpowered by his cockiness.
He knows he’s good, and, sometimes, I feel like he has let all those wins and medals get to his head.
I wish he could’ve shown up more for Gaby and Valentina when they needed him.
He acts as though he was better off living elsewhere.
He acts as though he’s entitled to look down on people because he has the privilege of traveling and competing all around the world.
He acts as though he never grew up here in the first place.
But those are opinions I keep safely tucked in the corner of my mind. Who am I to judge him?
I’m happy for him, though. I’m happy he got to fulfill his dreams and do what he’s always dreamed of doing.
When I glance his way, he’s already looking at me, a deep furrow between his eyebrows. “I do, Alara. Of course, I remember you.”
Here we go. I’m blushing so furiously it becomes embarrassing. “Oh.”
“You should feel flattered.” Is he trying to lighten the mood by teasing me?
Turning back toward the register, I roll my eyes. “So honored,” I jest back.
I take a breath in, inhaling serenity and expelling misplaced bitterness. This week has been exhausting, and I’m too tired to spar with him – even if it’s to mock each other.
“Okay, focus, Diego.”
Despite his sigh, which tells me he wants to be anywhere but here, he complies. “Yes, ma’am.”
As I go over the basics with him, I switch between showing him and letting him maneuver the software on his own.
He’s silent the entire time, utter annoyance and boredom rolling off him, but he still does what is asked of him.
When I decide he’s good enough to be left to his own devices, I leave to help a customer who’s indecisive about mid-layers.
While the customer is in the fitting room, an irritated grunt catches my attention. Diego is scowling at the computer like it has personally offended him before passing his fingers through his hair, frustratedly tugging at the roots.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, once I reach the front desk.
“Nothing.” His jaw tightens, his gaze hard as he stares at the screen, which casts a soft light on his face. ?Qué chingados es esto? This register is stupid.”
“You’ll get the hang of it once you’re used to it. It takes a bit of practice.” I round the counter and stand behind him, watching the screen where he has opened multiple tabs. I have no clue how he’s ended up here, but I know being a trainee isn’t fun. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can help.”
The tension pulls his shoulders taut. “Just go away, Alara. I can figure this out on my own.”
“And let you be frustrated?” I step forward, reaching over to take hold of the mouse. My front grazes his arm, and I feel him going still. “Okay, what’s up? I can—”
He stands so abruptly that the words die on the tip of my tongue. I stumble backward, catching myself on the other stool as he pivots and walks past me, his arm bumping into my shoulder. “I don’t fucking need your help. Leave me alone.”
“Diego . . .”
He doesn’t turn around, but his voice is as clear as water. “This job is stupid. Don’t expect to see me again.”
Diego exits the store, leaving me standing there, confused and shocked by his reaction. I can’t fathom what I did wrong, what I said to anger him, but what’s certain is that I won’t be the one apologizing this time.