by Hunter King
And throughout it all, we have an insanely fun time just hanging out and talking about life.
Josh had booked two more days at Awtenbush than I had. On the morning of my check-out, we exchange numbers and we finally learn each other’s last names.
Josh Temsik. It has a nice ring to it.
I tell him I’d love to have him visit me in Boston, and I mean it with all my heart. Josh tells me to come down to Manhattan for a weekend and sounds sincere when he says it. It’s a bittersweet moment, for sure.
“Have you changed your mind about the holidays now?” I ask.
“There was definitely something magical about what happened here,” he replies. “I hope you get everything you want for Christmas, Sarah.”
“I already have,” I tell him. And I mean it.
We share one last passionate kiss before I climb in my car and drive off. My heart is both heavy and light as I drive along, thinking about everything that happened at the resort.
When I reach Snowdon, I decide to stop in and see that Santa guy again. I want to know what his deal is, because something tells me there’s more to him than meets the eye. I pull into the parking lot and can’t find the North Pole Coffee Shop. Looking around, I get confused because I’m positive this is the same place. The shop was right here at the end of this strip center, next to Aladdin’s Pet Store.
Now there’s only a space with a big “for lease” sign in the window.
I park the Pinto and peer through the shop’s dirty window. The interior is dusty and there are construction materials strewn about. It looks as if it’s been like this for months, but I know I was inside just a few days ago.
Thinking maybe the pet store owner will know something about it, I go into the shop and ask the woman there.
“A coffee shop?” she asks. “No, there used to be a bait shop there, but they moved out months ago. It’s been vacant ever since; the guy who owns the building has trouble renting that place because it’s so tiny.”
“No, this was last Wednesday, just four days ago. The guy had a fluffy white beard and a big belly. Kind eyes.”
The woman is frowning at me. “I think I would remember if Santa Claus was working next door to me last week.”
Her tone is snotty enough that I know she won’t be any help. I think her and leave, stopping one more time to look inside the vacant shop. Amidst all the debris scattered around the floor, my attention is draw to one item: a crumpled blue paper cup with white glitter stars on it. I’m confused and more than a little sad when I resume my drive back to Boston.
When I woke up this morning, this time in his bed and cabin, I lay at Josh’s side and studied his handsome face in the dim light of dawn as he slept. I had to remind myself that as much as I’d loved what happened between the two of us over the last few days, it was a total fluke. It was nothing more than a wonderful three-night stand that helped me create some much-needed separation from my last boyfriend.
And Josh did that in spectacular fashion. As I drive through the snow-white countryside, I have a distinct feeling I’ll never see him again.
The thought saddens me, but I can live with it. What happened at Awtenbush this weekend was a magical thing that appeared out of nowhere at a time in my life when I most needed it. Josh was a gift, sent to me by the universe to even out my bad luck, and asking for it to be something more would be ungrateful of me.
One day, when I’m old and gray, I’ll remember him and what the two of us had at the resort, and my heart will grow as warm as my cabin was cold that night.
Josh
No, I didn’t let her get away! Are you fucking nuts?
Seriously, when you find the love of your life, you do everything you can to lock her before someone else shows up and snatches her.
I didn’t even stay at the resort those last two days. A couple of hours after Sarah left, I checked out myself and drove home. I called her that night and asked her to come to Manhattan for New Year’s Eve. We rang in 1977 together in Times Square, then proceeded to spend nearly every weekend together, either in New York City or in Boston. She was pleasantly surprised when I made reservations for two at Awtenbush for Valentine’s Day weekend. And she was shocked when I proposed to her.
“We would be stupid to think our both showing up alone here that week was just a cosmic coincidence,” I told her in our cabin on Valentine’s Day. “Some force bigger than the two of us made sure to get us both here. Even more obviously, it led us into that number three pool, where our lack of clothing made sure we couldn’t ignore each other. Serendipity of that magnitude shouldn’t be ignored.”
I pulled the little black box out of my weekender. Dropping to one knee, I presented it to her and said, “I want us to spend the rest of our lives together, Sarah. I want us to have children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren. I want to have you by my side every possible moment from now until forever, and then some.”
I opened the box and presented the ring I’d had custom-made for her. The largest, best diamond I could possibly afford reflected the light into her eyes as I said, “Sarah, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
Sarah was speechless. I mean, literally speechless. She was unable to make any sounds other than noises associated with crying for a solid minute before she gathered herself long enough to accept.
She gave notice at her job the following Monday and moved in with me in Manhattan two weeks later.
That was forty-two years ago, and I doubt there have been a dozen days in that span where I wasn’t blessed to look into her beautiful face. Not once in all that time have I ever doubted that she was the perfect woman for me, and I marvel that she’s still thrilled to be spending her time with an old guy like me.
Over the years we managed to have four wonderful kids who’ve blessed us with seven grandkids and counting. Life is about as perfect as can be.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot…
Sarah’s comments over our first breakfast together sparked me to begin looking into the then-nascent microcomputer technology. I recruited an engineer friend and we came up with a design for a computer that could be used in homes and small businesses and cost a fraction of the mini-computers I’d been selling. Sarah soon joined us as our Director of Finance and Operations, and Pegasus Computers was born. It was rough going for a few years, but in the mid-eighties, things took off and we never looked back.
Pegasus now employees nearly a hundred thousand people worldwide, and we have a gorgeous home on the shore of Lake Washington in the Seattle area. There’s also a private jet and a yacht, as well as another home in Manhattan and smaller vacation homes in four countries.
These days, I’m removed from the day-to-day operations of Pegasus, and Sarah helps me oversee our charitable foundation.
As I said, our life together is pretty damned perfect.
Sarah and I have talked many, many times about the mystery of the North Pole Coffee Shop in Snowdon, MA. We still have no answers, but both of us are certain there was something quite strange about what we experienced there.
I doubt we’ll ever know the truth, but some things are better left unexamined.
“Could you use some company?” I turn to see the love of my life walking across the lawn holding two tumblers. “And maybe a little bourbon?” The bourbon is courtesy of our oldest son, Zachary, whose craft bourbon distillery has become a success of its own.
Sarah arrives at the dock and hands me a glass, then sits next to me. At age sixty-seven, she remains the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“What are you staring at?” she asks. “Wait a minute… I know that look. You want to get in the hot tub, don’t you?”
I grin as I reply. “Anything to get you naked, my love.”
Also by Hunter King
Baby, It’s Cold Inside
is the debut story from romance author Hunter King.
Stay tuned for much more from Hunter in 2020.
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Copyright © 2019 by Hunter King
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for brief quotations used in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual living persons is purely coincidental.
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