Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Ari
“It’s freezing out here. How do you stand it?” I ask with a friendly smile as Jared swipes my debit card and hands it back to me along with my coffee.
Suddenly, a weight bears down on my shoulders. Startled, I drop my debit card and turn toward the possible assailant, ready to toss hot coffee at an unknown target.
I come face-to-face with a human brick wall covered in soft, thick, stretchy cotton. Stepping back, I look up into the bearded face of Foster Hale, and it looks at first like he’s coming in for a hug.
As I struggle to get away, I realize he’s not hugging me, he’s trying to dress me.
“What are you doing?!” I ask.
Foster’s reply is icy and dark. “What you should have done before you left your house this morning.”
Who does this guy think he is?
“It’s a two-minute walk from my house to work. I think I’ll survive.”
Instead of leaving me alone, Foster takes my coffee cup away from me.
“Fasten it.”
Foster has the charm of a mafia enforcer.
I do as he says, because although I don’t appreciate his tone, I do appreciate the gesture.
Giving him my best petulant grin, I ask, “Happy now?” It is a wonderfully warm coat.
“Happy? No. Satisfied that you’re not going to get fucking frostbite while you dance around in front of my store window? Yes.”
Well, he has a point. No one in Songbird Ridge would describe this man as happy.
This is the Northern transplant who almost endangered the art guild's funding last month with his complaints to the downtown association. Since my sister, Riley, depends on that base income to support her painting livelihood, I’m no fan of anyone threatening to take that away.
I’m also a member of the guild. I don’t take the base income because I only make paper and do paper quilling as a fun hobby on weekends. On weekdays, I work the front desk at the local pediatrician’s office.
As far as I’m concerned, Foster Hale can kick rocks. But I’ll be polite out of love for my sister, since her new beau, Rowdy, is Foster’s best friend. Probably his only friend.
Although I can’t help but wonder why this hypocrite in front of me isn’t wearing a coat himself and yet found it necessary to actively correct my personal shortcomings when it comes to weather preparations, I soften my face and give a polite, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, staring. What is he looking at? Do I have something in my teeth?
“And now we’re standing here awkwardly in each other’s presence. Do you go around town handing out coats as a hobby, or…?”
“No.”
“That was a joke.”
“Oh.”
What a strange man.
I remember when he sat at my and Maddie’s table at the gala and auction last month. He didn’t say much then either. He and Rowdy gave each other shit once or twice in an oddly familiar type of way.
“Why’d you decide to be nice to me instead of half a dozen other people on the street not dressed for the weather?” I ask. Foster doesn’t answer right away. He stares. As staring contests go, he has lovely eyes to gaze into. They’re a kind of hazel, but more on the blue side.
“You were the only person I saw.”
I laugh and look around us at the dozens of people downtown this morning—shopping or walking to their law offices or stopping to pet dogs. Weirdo.
He hands me my cup. “I’ll return the coat on the way home. Gratefully, I take a sip of my cinnamon dulce latte and make an appreciative noise as it hits my tummy.
Foster’s beard twitches, and he squats to pick up something off the ground.
“Don’t forget this,” he says.
When he stands up straight again, he holds my debit card. I get a whiff of Foster’s personal scent, a faintly piney aftershave that I like. The man himself is a mountain, and smells like one.
“Thanks.”
His fingers brush against mine as he hands me the card. Heat rushes to my neck, and I quickly stuff the card into my bag, not bothering to take a moment to pull out my wallet and be meticulous about it.
And because I was raised to speak my mind, I just can’t let him go without saying something.
“Hey,” I add, “didn’t I sit at your table at the gala a few weeks ago?”
Foster gives a slight nod. “You did.”
“Well, I appreciate you changing your tune for the sake of the arts in Songbird Ridge.”
He looks at me strangely. “What do you mean by ‘change my tune’?”
I blink. “Oh, come on. Everybody knows you wanted to pull public funding away from the arts guild. It’s all anybody was talking about the week before the gala. But it’s nice that you’ve turned a corner and decided to be a team player.”
For good measure, I reach out to squeeze his bicep. I don’t miss the fact that he isn’t wearing a winter coat himself, and I can feel every ridge of hard muscle beneath the sleeve of his waffle-knit Henley.
“I didn’t…I wasn’t…why would you think…” He’s starting to shiver.
I brighten my smile. “I’m off to work. Thank you so much. I’ll come by and return. It’s so nice! This is quite a marketing strategy you have,” I say, running my hand up and down the opposite sleeve.
He glares at me as I wink, then head down the street to the clinic, feeling his eyes on me the entire way.
Later that day, I join Maddie and Riley at the Bluejay Café for some of Bianca’s delicious breakfast casserole and croissants.
Maddie has brought along a huge three-ring binder containing my completed dating profile. She has it spread out on the table and is flipping through the pages while Riley watches on, nibbling on her croissant.
“Okay, so you’re an ENFP on the Myers-Briggs. You’re a Pisces on the cusp of Aquarius. And an Enneagram three-wing-four. Your love languages are touch and acts of service.”
“Awesome,” I say through a mouthful of eggy goodness. “What’s that mean for the Prince Charming I inevitably get to scare away?”
Maddie is really getting into this matchmaking thing. I’ve dutifully completed all the questionnaires and interviews after bidding on her donation to the art gala silent auction.
“You’re not going to scare anyone,” Maddie placates.
“You jinx yourself every time,” Riley says to me.
I sigh at my half-sister. She and Rowdy began dating last month, and now that she’s come out of her shell a bit, she’s determined to critique my dismal dating record.
Maddie talks a mile a minute, and I worry this meetup will only add to her caffeine intake.
“You’ll do fine. You just have to go with the flow.
” Maddie says. “If you enjoy this process and have a successful first date, then you can truthfully recommend my services to other people. So, let’s talk about your first blind date. I’ve scheduled it for February 14.”
Riley and I exchange confused looks. “That’s in three days. That's the Valentine’s Day mixer,” Riley correctly points out.
“Yeah, that’s a lot of pressure for a first date,” I say. "Plus, I don't have any time to prepare myself."
"Prepare yourself for what? You are already perfect!" Maddie exclaims.
While I appreciate her compliment, this is worrisome.
"Slow down," I tell her. "You're doing too much all at once."
Maddie pleads with me. “I know, and I understand if you want me to move the date. It’s just that my company is the majority sponsor of the event, and my brand will be out there. Having people there on a date set up by Swan Matchmaking Services is the perfect synthesis."
Riley and I look at each other. "Corporate speak. How romantic," Riley comments, her eyes wide as she gives me a knowing look over the rim of her coffee mug.
"You're right," Maddie says, sighing. "That's not the best choice of words. I'm tired, you guys. But think about it. What if you end up marrying the guy? It’s an auspicious beginning, isn’t it?”
I stare at my friend, and I want to tell her the truth about herself.
I’m worried that she’s taking on too much just because it's Valentine's Day. On the outside, Maddie is living her best life. She just started a new business, she’s in the best shape of her life, her hair is on point.
She just bought a new house. Maddie has it together.
But every once in a while, I know she still thinks about Ewan.
We don’t talk about Ewan, though. Not while she’s around.
“Okay,” I say. “I will make the best of it. Besides, I do always enjoy the dancing and the food and the games, even when I don’t have a date to the dance. Have you narrowed down who my date’s going to be?”
Maddie taps her pen on her lips. “No, and I’m still waiting for a few guys in my pool of candidates to finish up some of the background work. But”—she gives me a wicked grin—“all data aside, my sixth sense is telling me who it should be.”
Riley leans in. “Who?”
Maddie folds her lips between her teeth and shakes her head.
“Not even a clue?” I ask.
It’s clear the answer is no. We’re not getting anything out of Maddie today about my potential date. She’s really going to do this to me blind.
“Hey,” Riley says, changing the subject. “When did you get a new coat?”
I almost forgot I was wearing it. I tug at the collar of the soft, down-filled material. “It was so weird. I was waiting for my coffee, and then Foster from the sporting goods store came out and just put it on me.”
Riley and Maddie exchange a look. “That is very weird,” Riley says.
“I saw him this morning, and he was such a grumpy bastard,” Maddie says. “He bolted out of the store with that coat. I didn’t even realize who he was giving it to.”
I shrug. “I can’t decide if he’s nice or just wants to boss me around because I wasn’t wearing proper outerwear.”
Dismissing the subject of Foster, we continue with our brunch.
We have more important things to discuss, like what the heck I’m going to wear to this date, and how the heck I’m not going to scare said date away with my chatterbox ways and tendency to overshare.
I have a lot of work to do on myself before Valentine’s Day.