by Holly Rayner
The moment that has just passed between us still has my heart fluttering. I reach for my mug, just for something to hold on to. The tea is now room temperature. How long have we been talking for?
I nod towards his hand. “The closest thing to an object like that in my family is a ring that’s been in the family for four generations; since my great-great-grandmother came over from Sweden.”
“Could I see it?”
“Oh…no. It’s an engagement ring. My mother wears it. When I…” I blush here, fumbling along. “When I get engaged—which, who knows when that will be…around here—then maybe I’ll…” My voice dies off and I swallow.
He chuckles. “So, you’re not seeing anyone, then?”
I shake my head no. A blush is hot on my cheeks.
“What do you mean, ‘around here’?” he asks. “Is there a problem with living here, in terms of your dating life?”
“My dating life? Oh…that’s a good one! I don’t exactly have one. Lots of my friends had to move out of town so that they could meet more people; you know, get into relationships and start families. Then, they might come back here, or they might not. My friend Janine keeps saying that I should spend a year or two in Melrose, like Amanda did. That’s a city up north, about an hour and a half away.”
“Do you want to?”
“No! How could I possibly leave New Hampstead? I love it here.”
“I can tell,” he says. “Please, tell me more about it. What was it like growing up here?”
I settle into my chair, and as the fire dies down I share some of my fondest memories with Jabir: town-wide water balloon fights in front of the general store, back before it was a pizza place; hours spent carving cross-country ski trails through acres of wood; all of the times I’d helped birth calves with Marge and Jim on their horse farm. Growing up riding bikes for miles with Janine and Amanda; diving for white quartz rocks in the Wakanaki River with my dad; painting wildflowers in tall August meadows with my mom.
As the last logs turn black and grey, edged with cracks of glowing red, I finally pause. How long have I been talking for? I turn in my chair, and look out over the lobby.
At some point, Dawn must have turned out the lights. I can imagine her smiling to herself when she saw Jabir and I talking, and staying quiet so she wouldn’t interrupt our conversation. Only one lamp spills out soft yellow light near the door.
I don’t wear a watch, so I pull out my cellphone. “I’ve been talking your ear off!” I can’t hide the embarrassment in my voice, as I see that it’s almost midnight.
He holds his hand up to one ear, then the other, as if checking that they’re still attached. “I still have both,” he notes.
I can’t help but laugh.
I stand and open up the grate guarding the fire. With a heavy iron poker, I spread the remaining embers out so that they can cool. From the corner of my eye, I see Jabir stand up and stretch his arms up towards the ceiling.
Oh hello! Is he handsome! This is the first time I see him standing. He must be six feet tall! And I was right about his athletic build. Seeing him now, all stretched out, allows me to take in just how well built he is. He swings his arms down just as I’m returning the grate.
“What time is it?” he asks.
“Almost twelve.”
“No! Really? I better be getting up to bed. Hassan’s probably already asleep. We have an important meeting first thing in the morning.” He lifts his mug, and then looks behind him, towards the dining area, as if he’s wondering if he needs to return the mug.
I step forward and offer my outstretched hand. “I’ll take that,” I say. “I’m going to bring mine back to the kitchen anyways.”
“Thank you.” As he places the mug in my hand, our fingers touch again. A jolt of energy passes through me. That same fluttering sensation starts up in my chest.
I bend down to grab my purse, hiding my face so that he doesn’t see how he’s affecting me. I busily gather my hat and mittens in one hand, and the two mug handles in the other as I give my goodbyes. “Well, it was a nice talking to you,” I say.
“And you.”
We both stand there, like there’s more to be said. Like neither of us want to leave, which I certainly don’t. But it is midnight, and I should have left the inn three hours ago. I still have a drive ahead of me, and I’m sure the snow’s still coming down outside.
I nod and walk away from him as he stands there, though my whole body protests the entire time.
Soon, I’ve deposited the cups in the dark kitchen, and have made my way back to the front door. The walkway has long ago filled back up with snow, though it indents down off of the banks in the places where Neville shoveled.
My truck is piled high with almost a foot of the fluffy stuff, and it’s still coming down heavy and fast. Looks like we’re going to get more than they called for. I do a rushed job at cleaning off the truck, and then head out onto the road.
The truck barrels through the snow, riding high over the white-blanketed roads and surfing through windblown drifts like a champ.
I whisper thanks to Grandpa in heaven as I pull into my cabin. He loved that truck, and I still can’t believe he thought to leave it to me in his will.
I turn off the whirring engine and the headlights, and the world becomes quiet and dark. It’s so silent, I can imagine that I hear the snowflakes softly landing with miniature thuds on the glass of my windshield.
My spirits are high, and it’s not just because I’ve arrived home without going off the road. It’s because of my talk with Jabir.
I let my mind wander over our conversation, flitting over the comments he made, the smiles he cast my way. Such a handsome, smart, sensitive man! And he likes art, too. But now reality starts to fill me up, like water in a leaking boat. He’s here to evaluate the transmission plant. He’s part of a royal family, and holds the power in his hands to put my father out of a job.
I rest my head back, against the headrest, and let out a giant, frustrated sigh. My father’s words float into my mind. “It’s not up to you to do anything.”
Something about those words just doesn’t feel right. I’m one of the only people in town with an inkling of what is about to happen tomorrow. I am aware of the razor’s edge New Hampstead is positioned on: depending on Jabir and his brother’s decision, our town could begin to thrive like never before, or we would finally be put off of the map. Without the plant, I’m sure there would be a mass exodus. Families like Janine’s would find places closer to Melrose, and the few businesses in town would go under without regular customers.
Now my boat’s flooded, and I’m awash with anxiety. But I start scooping the water out, one bucket full at a time. I’m not going to sit here and just let this happen. Dad says it’s not up to me to do anything, but what if it is? What if I could convince Jabir that our town needs that factory? What if I could sway his decision?
Now that’s more like it. I don’t feel so hopeless anymore. I hop out of the truck and begin trudging through the sea of snow towards my cottage door. By the time I reach it, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to do whatever I can to convince Jabir to keep the factory open.
It’s not until I’m in my pajamas and under three layers of quilts that the thought strikes me. That means I’m going to have to spend time with Jabir. More conversations, like the one we had this evening. The thought warms me up, as if I’m still sitting in the inn in front of the fire, looking into his dark eyes.
As cold and drafty as my cabin is that night, I fall asleep as warm as if I’m lying in a beach under Dalai’s hot sun.
Chapter 5
Jabir
“Whoa!” It’s Hassan’s turn to hold onto the roll bar as I take the corner into the Mountain Laurel’s driveway. The roads have been plowed, but are still slick with a layer of packed snow. Snow continues to beat down against the windshield.
I steer into the slide, like Hassan’s told me to do, and after a few hair-raising seconds, the car stra
ightens out.
“I’m learning!” I say proudly.
Hassan’s still gripping the handle above the passenger window.
“You can let go,” I say, parking the car in the same spot we occupied the night before. “We’re here.”
I hear him mutter a prayer under his breath.
I laugh. “Oh, it wasn’t so bad.”
“Not so bad?! I’m driving next time.”
“Whatever you say, Brother.” I’m smiling as I unbuckle and step out of the car.
“You’re in a good mood,” Hassan notes.
It’s true. I am. Though I’d sooner not admit it to Hassan, I know that my happiness has something to do with the time I spent with the pretty waitress the night before. I glance towards the inn, wondering if she’ll be inside, sitting at the front desk, maybe.
We make our way up the front walk. Even though I can tell it was recently cleared, the few inches of fresh snow stick to my loafers, and icy-cold wetness seeps into my thin dress socks.
Wind whips snowflakes against my cheeks, and by the time we step through the doors to the inn, I feel like a human icicle. I shake my bare hands, flicking my fingers through the fire-warmed air to get my blood circulating.
“You boys need some hats!”
I look up to the desk, and see the elderly woman that greeted us the night before. She’s wearing her glasses again today, and has a pink knit scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders.
Though she’s a pleasant enough woman, I’m disappointed by the sight of her. I was hoping Teresa would be working.
“I’m sure Neville has some spare one’s kicking around,” she says. “Would you like me to ask him? You shouldn’t be out in this weather without one. It’s not comfortable—or safe. What with the roads like they are, you never know when you’ll be stuck waiting for a tow.”
Hassan approaches her and engages in conversation. I hear him asking about the possibility of renting the room for two more nights. We’ve heard many weather reports, and all of them have forecasted that the precipitation will not clear out until Saturday at the earliest.
I drift towards the seating area, drawn in by the roaring fire and the memory of my conversation the night before. Part of me hopes, as I near the tall armchairs, that Teresa will be sitting in one. I round the chairs and once again, I’m disappointed. But the warm fire feels nice, and I take a seat as I wait for Hassan to reserve our rooms.
He wanders over a few minutes later.
“Dawn’s going to bring two hats to the front desk for us,” he says, somewhat bewildered.
“She doesn’t have to do that!”
“I know, but she insists.”
“The people are very friendly here,” I say, thinking of Teresa.
He nods, and leans against the back of the armchair. “They are, aren’t they? And they seem to be hard workers, too. I’ve never seen a factory so well maintained. So clean.”
I switch my focus to the factory we’ve just visited, and compare it in my mind to the inn. “Just like this place,” I say, motioning around the Mountain Laurel’s lobby. “The locals seem to take pride in keeping things clean.”
“Yes,” he says. “But those numbers, whew.” He shakes his head. “They tell a story of lots of missed deadlines.”
“But why?” I ask. We’ve covered this once, in the car ride home, but didn’t come to any clear answers. Now, staring into the fire, some fresh thoughts come to me.
“The manager said that they’ve had a hard time with recruitment. That makes sense, given that the town only has a population of two hundred. Half of them must be children and elderly. That plant could easily employ two hundred—maybe two hundred and fifty workers. It has the space for it. Yet they’re scraping by with seventy-five—and some of those are part time.”
Hassan tsks. “Sorely understaffed,” he says.
“What if…” I’m starting to have an idea. “What if there was a way to get people excited about moving here, to work at the factory? What if we made up some kind of recruitment package?”
He bites his lip. “But is it worth it?” he says. “All those late deliveries…”
“It’s not due to lack of effort,” I say. “You saw how hard the employees were working. How clean and efficient everything was.”
“Yes, but…” I can see Hassan’s still hung up on the numbers.
“And then there’s the road in,” I say. “It seems to me that there’s only one way into this box canyon, and that’s the steep, winding road we came in on. And the manager said it himself: the town hasn’t had a good road crew for over a decade, so they’re way behind on upkeep. No wonder the deliveries get delayed. It wouldn’t take much money on our part to fix some of the issues there, and make the roads more reliable.”
Hassan’s eyes twitch in that way they do when he’s thinking hard. I can see that the human calculator is off and running. I’m sure he can’t wait to get his hands on his laptop so that he can start crunching the numbers.
He straightens up. “I’ll go upstairs and call Father,” he says. He glances down at his watch. “It’s almost noon and I’m sure he’s waiting to hear from us.”
“Okay.” I settle back in my chair. My shoes are almost dry from the fire’s heat, but not quite. “I’m going to stay here.”
He pats my shoulder a few times before departing.
I pick up a magazine and begin to read, and the glossy pages filled with desserts make my stomach grumble with hunger. Does the inn’s restaurant serve lunch? I stand up, and wander towards the dining area to find out.
I’m reading a sign that says the dining area opens at 4:30 when I hear her voice.
“Jabir?”
I whirl around. I feel my face light up with a smile. “Teresa! What are you doing here?”
She holds up an envelope. “Picking up my tips from last night,” she says. “I see you’ve found the sign. The dining room won’t open till dinner time.”
“I see that.” I motion to the sign, and then look back to Teresa. “I guess I’ll have to figure something else out.”
She tips back on her heels, and then rocks onto her toes again. I feel like she’s studying me. Silence hangs in the air.
“Do you…have any recommendations?” I ask.
She slides the envelope of tip money into her back pocket. She’s dressed casually, in jeans and a sweater, and her blond hair spills out from beneath a purple cap. Her lips, however, are covered with a shiny gloss, and I wonder if she’s put it on because she thought she might see me.
She’s quiet for a moment, and I can tell she’s thinking about something, though I don’t know what. Finally, she blurts out, “How did it go, your meeting?”
It takes me a minute to remember that I mentioned the meeting to her the night before, just before we parted. I smile.
“Oh! Thanks for asking. Yes, it went fine. We had an early start and I was a bit tired, but nothing that some tea couldn’t fix. We just got back, actually.”
She bites her lip, making her gloss sparkle. I sense that she wants to know more, so I keep on talking.
“We went up to the plant,” I say. “To have a look around.”
“What did you think?” she asks. I see a shadow of fear flit across her face, just briefly. In an instant, it’s gone.
“It was very efficient, very organized. Honestly, I was impressed.”
This seems to make her happy. She sighs. “That’s good. I… Oh, for lunch, let’s see… What are your options… There’s the New Hampstead Pizzeria, which is where the old general store used to be. You probably passed that this morning on the way to the plant. They serve lunch but it’s not as good as their dinners, because they don’t fire up the pizza ovens until four or five…
“Dutton’s has a few sandwich options and of course he does his pies and baked goods. Oh! Of course. You should go to Marge’s Diner. She’s got a great menu and the portions are nice and big. Good for a day like today when it feels like your burning so m
any calories just to stay warm.”
“That’s the one!” I say. “Marge’s it is. Would you mind pointing me in the right direction? Or…better yet, would you like to join me?”
She looks torn for a minute. A rosy pink color stains her pale cheeks, and I wonder if I’ve crossed some kind of line.
“No problem if you can’t.” I rush to add. “I understand you might be working.”
“No— I’m—” She bites her lip again, and meets my eye. Her blue-grey eyes search mine. I wonder if she feels nervous to accept an offer for a lunch date with a stranger. I give her time to think. As if she’s found what she was looking for in my eyes, she nods. “I have the day off, as it happens,” she finishes, “And I’d love to go to lunch with you, Jabir.”
A jolt of happiness passes through me as she says my name.
As we cross the lobby together, walking towards the front entrance, Dawn waves me over. She pulls a bright red hat from somewhere behind the desk, and hands it over. There’s a fluorescent yellow pompom on the top, and I feel it bouncing as I pull the cap over my ears.
When we step out into the fresh air, I feel much more protected against the wind. Teresa insists on driving, after seeing the way my white sports car hovers over the snowy driveway, more like a sled than a car. I’m amazed at the way her truck handles the snow, and I make a few mental notes to share with Hassan—Studded snow tires! Put the car into second gear!—on our way. Once in the restaurant, Teresa leads us to a booth.
“This is where I like to sit,” she says, as we slide into red, padded seats across from each other. “It’s far enough from the TV,” she motions to a large screen hanging from one corner of the diner, “which Marge keeps way too loud since her hearing started to go, and,” she motions across the room to the glass door, “you don’t get a draft every time the door opens.”