Artificial Sweethearts (North Pole, Minnesota)

by Julie Hammerle

  “Then they’ve got their priorities screwed up,” Sam said. “You should stick it to them by refusing to work on any other room in the house until the kitchen’s done.”

  “You’re totally right. I should do that.” Except her parents didn’t even know how much baking meant to her. Even though she’d loved reading cookbooks and watching cooking shows since she was a kid, baking wasn’t something she did in their presence—only while away at school or when she used to hang out at Karen’s house back in Minneapolis. Her mom hadn’t been big on letting Tinka play around with the oven and other appliances. Too unsafe. Too much opportunity for injury. Too much sugar.

  “You know you’re welcome to bake anything here any time. We have a fantastic kitchen no one uses,” Sam said,

  “I might take you up on that,” she said.

  “I mean it. Come over whenever. Door’s open.” He nodded toward the house.

  Without warning, Jane wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck and pulled him close. “It was so nice to meet you.”

  He patted her back, but his eyes bugged out at Tinka, like, What is going on?

  Tinka shrugged. “Jane’s a hugger.” And Tinka was not, no matter how huggable someone’s arms appeared to be. She folded her arms across her chest.

  Sam did the same after Jane let him go. “See you around, neighbor?”

  Tinka nodded, sneaking one last glimpse of Sam’s delicious forearms. “See you around.”

  …

  Tinka’s mom met the girls at the door as soon as they returned home. Tinka caught the smell of paint and sweat mixed with her mom’s perfume. “Jane!” Her mom seized Jane’s arm. “I need you.”

  Yanking off her stinky running shoes, Tinka hopped into the front hallway, basically unnoticed.

  “I finished painting the upstairs bathroom. We need to go find a shower curtain. Immediately.” Breathless, Tinka’s mom grabbed her purse and her keys.

  “You want me to come?” Tinka asked. She’d never seen anyone so frazzled over a guest suite before.

  “No. Just Jane. You’re…” Her mom paused and took a moment to look at Tinka. “It’s a surprise.” Goodie. Another surprise. “Dad’s working at the coffee shop in town.” Tinka’s mom and Jane dashed out the front door.

  “I’ll take a shower and…” She trailed off. No one was around to hear her. Back in Minneapolis, she would’ve killed for some alone time. Her parents usually had her entire life scheduled. But there was absolutely nothing to do in this house, no way to relax, nothing to take her mind off the fact that her family and roommate had abandoned her this afternoon without a moment’s hesitation. She couldn’t bake. She couldn’t mess around online. She couldn’t watch TV. She hadn’t even brought any books with her because she’d had no idea they were coming here and not going to Minneapolis. There was a bookshelf packed with old Sidney Sheldon paperbacks in the basement, but Tinka wasn’t in the mood for sexy intrigue.

  The dilapidated kitchen caught her eye. Dust-covered and neglected, it was full of tools and supplies for other parts of the house. The plan was to demolish the whole thing, break it down to the studs after every other room had been finished. But at this rate, with the ancient cabinets still stuck to the walls and the grotesque, mustard yellow vinyl tile still clutching the floor, that wouldn’t happen until Tinka was back in South Carolina.

  Unless…

  Glancing around casually as if to make sure she was alone in the house, Tinka stepped into the kitchen. Groaning, she hoisted up a sledgehammer that was propped against the sink. She sucked in a breath, then rammed the hammer into one of the cabinets above the counter. Tinka smiled to herself as the ringing in her ears subsided. Then she wound up and hit the cabinet again. And again. She dropped the hammer with a thud and reached up, grabbing a handful of wood, which she tore down with her bare hand. A large splinter dug into her palm, ripping her skin from one end to the other.

  “Ow!” Tinka clutched her hand, stinging eyes darting around for a rag. She dashed into the powder room and grabbed one of her mom’s new hand towels, which wouldn’t buy her any friends, but these were desperate times. Tinka pressed hard on the wound for a full minute, then lifted up the towel. The blood wasn’t stopping. She needed stitches. The cut was no joke.

  This right here was why she always followed her parents’ rules, because when she didn’t, she got hurt. And then she had to string together a web of lies, like the time she burned herself trying to make caramel, even though she’d been expressly forbidden to use the stove. She’d run upstairs to her bathroom—her hand radiating pain up and down her arm—and straightened half her hair, just so she could tell the lie that she’d burned herself on the straightening iron.

  She had no clue how she was going to explain away a bashed-in kitchen cabinet, something she would’ve had to justify anyway even if she hadn’t hurt herself. She had not thought this through. Not one bit, which was so not like her.

  Tinka tied the towel around her palm as best she could, then, with her other hand, she reached into her pocket and extracted her phone. “Damn it.” Her battery was dead, and both parents were at least a half hour away. She couldn’t stand here bleeding for that long.

  Turning toward the window, she caught sight of the Andersons’ house. She knew at least one person who was home right now.

  With a deep breath, she marched back over to Sam’s.

  …

  “This is all your fault anyway.” Tinka strapped herself into the front seat of Sam’s ancient pickup truck, which he wished he’d had time to clean out before she got in it. There were empty Santabucks cups all over the cab and it smelled faintly of sour milk. Tinka hadn’t seemed to notice though. She was too focused on her hand, which she had wrapped in a lacy white towel, through which a growing patch of blood had soaked.

  Sam backed out of the driveway without resting his arm across the back of the passenger’s seat, which is what he normally would’ve done. He didn’t want to give Tinka the impression he was hitting on her right now. Especially not after he’d recently used her—before he’d ever met her, assuming he’d never meet her—as his excuse not to hook up with Dottie. “How’s your injury my fault? I wasn’t in the room when you decided to become a one-woman wrecking crew.”

  She wrapped the towel tighter around her hand. Sam winced. He should’ve given her a bandage or something when she’d showed up at his door. Too late now. Way to be a hero, Sam. “But it was your idea. You said I should refuse to work on any other part of the house until the kitchen was finished. You said I should take my future into my own hands.”

  “I didn’t mean literally,” Sam said. “I meant maybe you should talk to your parents about moving the kitchen timetable up a bit.”

  “Well, then you should’ve been more specific.”

  Tinka was the most beautiful girl who’d ever been in his car; that was not even up for debate. She had these deep violet eyes and long, curly blond hair. Even in her still-sweaty running clothes, she was perfect, a Disney princess in human form. And he was Sam. “Are you okay? Like, are you in pain?”

  “I’m good.” She held up her towel-wrapped hand. “I’m a total chicken—always worried about what might happen—but then when something actually does go wrong, I can usually handle myself.”

  “You’re Walter,” Sam said.

  “I’m who?”

  “Walter, from The Big Lebowski. He’s a mess about little meaningless stuff, but he’s great in a crisis.”

  “I’m Walter.” Tinka nodded in satisfaction. “I like that. How long have you lived here, Sam?”

  “Six years? We moved from the Twin Cities.”

  Her cheeks flushed with a hint of pink as she put pressure on her wound. “I’m from Minneapolis,” she said. “Or, well, I was. Do you miss it?”

  Sam shrugged. “Not really. I still keep in touch with people I was friends with back then, but we have our own lives now. I was in junior high when we moved. North Pole is home.”

  She snorte
d. “This place. Home.”

  “Do you miss the cities?” He turned right out of the resort.

  She groaned, and Sam sensed his question was a loaded one. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t know. I miss my house and…normal life. I’m off-kilter here, you know? My mom and dad are happy, and I love seeing that, but I’m rootless right now. I don’t have a home.”

  “By the end of the summer you’ll be calling North Pole home,” Sam said.

  “If you say so.” She tightened her towel on her hand and glanced out the window, like she was searching for some proof of what he’d just said.

  “Seriously. This is a great place, and there’s always stuff to do. We live in a beautiful resort. How many people can say that? And in town you’ve got the arcade and the indoor hockey rink.” He paused for drama. “Or if you’re in the mood for danger, there’s always Jingle Falls.”

  Her eyes widened. Sam couldn’t tell if that was from fear or excitement. Maybe both. “What’s that?”

  “A ski lodge, north of town. They have these concrete slides they open up in the summer. You take the ski lift up to the top of the mountain, then you ride a plastic sled all the way down. It’s horribly unsafe, and it’s amazing the place stays open. The owner must be connected as hell.” Sam showed her his arm. “See that scar on my elbow? From a wipeout at Jingle Falls. My entire family is covered in these burns. Badges of honor.”

  Tinka’s eyes lingered on his scar a few seconds longer than normal, and Sam thought maybe the pain was finally getting to her. Then she shook her head. “You’re suggesting I injure myself for the thrill of it? I’ve already tried that.” She raised her bleeding hand. “Not a fan.”

  “Well, if that’s too edgy for you, there’s always the video store,” Sam said. “It’s my favorite place in town. We show classic movies every Saturday night. Five bucks gets you admission, popcorn, and pop. All the locals our age go. It’s kind of the date spot.” He blushed, thinking of last Saturday, when he’d told Dottie he already had a girlfriend—a girl he’d never met who was now sitting in his passenger’s seat.

  Tinka laughed, the lilt of her voice resonating through the car. “Dating, yikes. That is definitely not on my agenda this summer. Had a little too much of that at boarding school this year.”

  “Yeah?” Sam asked, not sure why he was even slightly deflated. Tinka was well out of his league, and he knew it. What did it matter if she was also out of the game? Especially when he was in the same boat.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I kind of need some time to myself, to get my head right. You know?”

  He nodded. “I get it. I’m leaving for college at the end of the summer.”

  “Where you going?”

  “USC,” he said. “I’m leaving in August. I want to enjoy my family and friends and the town for as long as I have them. I just wish my siblings would stop trying to set me up with random people I have no interest in. Why bother starting something that’s doomed to end?” He’d thought his brother and sister would give up on teasing him about his lack of a romantic life once they left town, but it had only gotten worse. They’d sensed, correctly, that Sam was upset, and they kept ribbing him and ribbing him. The three of them had a text chain that was supposed to be about the wedding, but it had evolved into a plan to make Sam more attractive to women.

  “You, too? My parents are trying to foist their friends’ son on me. I start yammering about golf whenever one of them broaches the subject, but that’s only a temporary solution.” Tinka grinned as she lifted the towel and checked out her wound. “Still bleeding.” She wrapped her hand again. “You’ve got the right idea, I think. No romance, just friends. Friends are my focus right now.” She chuffed Sam’s arm with her non-bleeding hand and a spark shot up his spine. “Speaking of, thank you so much for driving me.”

  “Like you told me before, it was basically my fault.”

  “Still. I owe you.” Tinka’s eyes lit up. “I know! Maybe I can make a batch of your favorite cookies one day, to thank you for driving me to urgent care and saving me from mortal peril.” She frowned. “I’d have to use your kitchen, though.”

  “Not a problem.” This girl could use any room in his house she wanted.

  “What are your favorite cookies? I can bake anything.”

  “Alfajores,” he said without hesitation. He could almost taste them. Even now, after five years, the smell of caramel took him right to September and the first day of school, with his mom in the kitchen wearing the Wonder Woman apron he’d gotten her for Mother’s Day back when he was six.

  “Ooh. What are those? I’ve never even heard of them.”

  “They’re Peruvian. My grandma used to make them for my mom when she was a kid. Shortbread sandwich cookies with dulce de leche in the middle. Like, melt-in-your-mouth amazing.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to make you those cookies, Sam Anderson.” She readjusted her towel. “And I will make them so perfectly that no other baker in your life will be able to live up to the impossible standard I have set.”

  “That sounds almost like a threat.”

  “Well, I’m incredibly talented.”

  Sam shivered. She was talking about baking, and that was it. She wanted a friend, nothing more. This wasn’t the start of a great romance. It could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but that’s as far as it would go, which was fine. Friendship was all Sam was in the market for, as well.

  It hit him then that he and Tinka had essentially made plans to hang out again, at least one more time. They were joking easily, enjoying each other’s company. She’d come to him when she’d hurt herself. He couldn’t keep what he’d told Dottie a secret from her. If she found out from Dottie or someone else, she’d never speak to him again. He had to rip this secret off like the bandage he should’ve given Tinka back at his house.

  “Um…can I tell you something completely embarrassing?”

  “Sure.” Sam felt Tinka’s eyes on him, but he kept his on the road as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

  “So…I don’t know if you remember, but I waved to you the other night when you were on your balcony?”

  “That was you?”

  “Yeah, so, Saturday night I was at the video store to watch a movie, and this girl, Dottie, well, she kind of likes me and maybe I gave her the wrong impression about how I felt. Okay. I definitely did. I texted her, and it was a whole thing. Anyway. She ended up coming on kind of strong, and I had to come up with a quick excuse to brush her off. I told her I already had a girlfriend.”

  Sam paused, waiting for Tinka to fill in the gaps for him. She didn’t. He was going to have to say the words. The awful, mortifying words.

  “So, uh…since I’d just seen you on the balcony, you were the first person who came to mind. I told Dottie that you and I were…together…” He let that trail off.

  Tinka was silent.

  “I’m sorry.” She must think he was such a loser. What kind of guy had to make up a fake girlfriend? “It was a stupid thing to say. I panicked, and I never thought we’d ever meet anyway. It was an innocent little lie. I wanted to tell you, in case word got back to you—”

  He glanced over at her. She was staring hard out the window, turned completely away from him. He’d blown it. He’d completely screwed this up.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. She had no idea how sorry.

  “Just drive,” she said.

  Chapter Four

  “Whose cars are those?” There were two unfamiliar vehicles parked beside the new “liquid platinum” SUV in Tinka’s parents’ driveway. Dread and annoyance dampened the pain radiating from her freshly stitched hand wound. “I bet at least one belongs to Mark and Trish.”

  “Mark and Trish?” Sam asked.

  “My future in-laws.” They were probably inside planning the wedding right now, sketching out a monogram entwining Tinka and Dylan’s names.

  This was why her mom hadn’t come running to urgent care. When Tinka ha
d called her from the waiting room and relayed what had happened, her mom had overreacted at first, which was great. It was the reaction Tinka had been banking on. Nervous Mom was normal Mom. But once Tinka had convinced her she was okay, her mom had said they’d meet at home, apparently because their friends were coming over. Mark and Trish trumped Tinka.

  “Tinka, again, I’m really sorry.” Sam had been saying that ever since he admitted he’d used her as a way to deflect the unwanted advances of some Dottie girl.

  At least he’d been honest about it. She had to give him credit for that. “You want to make it up to me?”

  “Anything.”

  Tinka tried to see into the house, to get some preview of what she was about to walk into. The not knowing was the worst part. She was about to head into an ambush unprepared. “Want to come in and act as my buffer? Your presence might keep Mom and Dad from going full-bore with this Dylan thing.”

  “Dylan?” Sam’s hands kneaded the steering wheel, making the muscles in his forearm twitch. Yes, he’d told another girl Tinka was his girlfriend, but those tanned, strong arms almost made up for it. Almost.

  “Greene,” Tinka said. “You know him?”

  Sam frowned. He was trying to see inside the house, too. “Literally the only thing I know about Dylan Greene is that he broke up with his girlfriend a week before senior prom so he could go with someone else.”

  “Ah, so he’s a real winner then,” Tinka said.

  “A total prince.” Sam grinned and there was that dimple again.

  Sam and Tinka’s entrance made no impact on her parents. Her mom and dad bustled about the living room, carrying paper plates, plastic forks, and napkins. Jane and the Greenes—Dylan included—were perched on the floor around the coffee table, passing containers of garlicky Chinese food. But there was one other person in the room, someone Tinka could never have even imagined would be there. Karen. Tinka’s ex-best friend from Minneapolis, the one she’d ghosted after moving to South Carolina.