Snowman

by AC Netzel

Yeah. No.

  “I’d love to,” I lie, “but I’m heading out.”

  “Where are you off to?” Mrs. Rainbow Stardust Hippie Dippie Do-dah, or whatever her name is, asks.

  “Dinner,” I say politely. “I’m so sorry, but I’m… meeting someone. And I’m already running late. Maybe another time?”

  “Aww, shame. Well, be safe and enjoy your meal.”

  “Thank you. Have a good night.” I walk into the small lobby, grab my coat off the hook, and rush out before Winter bursts into song.

  “There’s got to be someplace to eat in this town,” I say to myself as I listen to the fifth Christmas only radio station I could find. “There. That place looks like a diner.” Slowly, I drive up to the brick building and roll my eyes when I read the sign.

  Peas on Earth Diner

  Seriously?

  I park my muddy rental, impressed that I only hit the curb three times when I parallel parked. The front door jingles as I enter the brick building.

  The rich aroma of coffee and the unmistakable scent of grilled burgers fill the air. My stomach growls again as these delicious aromas have awoken my senses and increased my appetite.

  The diner itself is a throwback to the fifties—small and narrow, nostalgic with wall to wall black and white checked linoleum floors. It’s a dash of doo-wop in a truly genuine way. This place is not at all like the stainless-steel exterior and smoky mirrored interior diners back home. Six booths are in a line, three of them filled with customers, each with a mini jukebox attached to the wall. A long white Formica counter with six stools bolted to the floor is on the opposite side.

  A tall brunette with a piled-high wispy beehive hairdo, wearing a pink dress uniform, and a frilly white apron approaches me with a sizeable laminated menu in hand.

  “Hi, my name is Merry.” Of course it is. “Just you, Sweetie?” she asks.

  “Yup, just me.”

  “Is a counter seat okay?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “This way, darlin’.” She escorts me to a stool and hands the menu to me after I sit. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, a cold beverage?”

  “Unsweetened iced tea if you have it.”

  “Sure do. Today’s specials are listed on top of the menu. The meatloaf supreme is my granny’s secret recipe. I highly recommend it. I’ll give you a minute to look it over while I get your drink.”

  “Thanks.”

  I read over the extensive food options, debating if I should go for a stack of pancakes, a greasy cheeseburger and fries, or stick with a more traditional dinner choice. I don’t know if it’s because I’m starving, but everything sounds delicious. This place smells like heaven. I glance up at a glass dome covered cake plate sitting on the counter.

  Yum. The apple pie under that dome could easily replace dinner. And it’s quick. If I add a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side, the Commissioner of the FDA would raise my arm in victory, declare it an outstanding choice, and add it to the food pyramid.

  Merry returns with my drink. “Ready to order?”

  “Is that pie homemade?”

  “Sure is. Baked it myself this morning.”

  “It looks incredible. Can I have a slice… one on the larger side… and two scoops of vanilla ice cream with it?”

  She lifts a brow and smiles.

  I shrug a shoulder. “Sometimes you need a little something/something.”

  Walking behind the counter, she lifts the glass cover, slices an overly generous piece, and plates it. “No judging here, darlin’.” She slides the dish in front of me. “I’ll be right back with your ice cream.”

  I grab my fork and dig right into the flaky golden-brown crust and apple perfection. Taking my cell phone out of my handbag, I swipe it awake and glance through my newsfeed, catching up on the latest social media happenings.

  As I’m reading an article about the best moisturizers for winter skin, gleefully stuffing my face with the golden edge of the lattice pie crust, the front door swings open. I take a glance over my shoulder and hold a breath.

  It’s Nick—and some supermodel-like person standing next to him.

  My heart squeezes, and my stomach sinks at the sight of them. Must be indigestion. Quickly, I stare down at my phone and pray they don’t notice me.

  “Nicky,” Supermodel girl squeals, with a tone in her voice that would make a dog’s head tilt sideways. “There’s a booth open over there. Come on.” She grabs his hand and drags him behind her.

  Hunching my shoulders, I angle my head down until my chin is practically touching the countertop as they march toward the table. The long-legged supermodel strides past me in about three steps, and Nick follows close behind.

  I continue to keep my head down, scarfing down my dinner pie, barely enjoying the exquisite flavor.

  “Here you go.” Merry snaps me out of my eating frenzy as she places a ceramic bowl of vanilla ice cream in my view. She spots the newly occupied table and grins. “I’ll be right with you, Nick.”

  “Take your time, Merry,” he answers back.

  And I feel it… that weirdness in the air.

  “Summer?”

  I close my eyes and cringe. Turning slightly, I wave the flimsiest of flimsy waves. He says something to Giselle, Gigi, Kardi O’Jenner, or whatever her name is and walks over to me.

  “Hey,” I say with a tight smile.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks.

  I look at the pie, then back at him. “Eating.”

  “You got your car back?”

  “Yup.”

  “Is it working all right?”

  “Yup.”

  “No problems with the back end?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Sure am.” Thanks for pointing that out.

  He glances back at his table, then at me. “Why don’t you join us?” he offers.

  His date glares at me from across the room. Her eyes narrow as she sizes me up. She looks like one of those haunted dolls on the verge of coming to life, jumping off the bed, and stabbing me. I want to flip her the bird, just because, but I keep my middle finger’s urges at bay.

  “I’m good. Besides, I don’t want to intrude.” On your date.

  “Don’t be silly. Sit with us.”

  “Thanks. But no thanks,” I snap. Third-wheeling isn’t my thing.

  And don’t call me silly.

  You jerk.

  “Are you mad at me about something?” he asks, sensing my unexpected hostility.

  I don’t know what I am, but seeing him with that leggy, raven-haired beauty, flicked some switch inside me.

  “Of course not.” I purse my lips together and regroup. “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m almost done with my dessert.”

  Dinner dessert, but that’s between my waitress and me… kind of like HIPAA regulations.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply quietly. “Enjoy your night with your friend over there.” I point my chin in her direction.

  He nods. “Have a good night, Summer.”

  “You too, Nick.”

  He walks back to the table and sits across from Legs for Miles McStunning.

  I release a long, silent sigh and swallow a spoonful of ice cream. I’ve known the guy for a day. A day. But seeing him here with a woman after spending the morning with me… kind of hurts my feelings.

  I lift my cell phone, click on the camera, and flip the image, positioning it just over my shoulder so I can watch them on the sly. They’re whispering—both smiling, friendly, and definitely familiar.

  She places her hand on top of his. Something inside me wishes he’d pull it away, but he doesn’t. He leans across the table and tells her something.

  “Oh, Nicky!” she says, dramatically flicking her head back and laughing. “You’re so funny.”

  “Oh, Nicky. Ha, ha, ha. You’re so funny,” I mimic her under my breath, rolling my eyes.

  “Why don’t
we share something to eat,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear. She’s doing this on purpose, to send a message—to me.

  Don’t mess with me, sweetheart. I’m tired, I’m overstuffed with pie, and I invented this game. Besides, I don’t want your boyfriend.

  I just want to look at him.

  I slant my phone to watch his response, but I can’t angle it right without looking obvious.

  She says something else I can’t quite make out, but I’m sure the coyotes in the mountains are howling from the shrill of her voice.

  “Handsome, isn’t he?” My spying is cut short by a Merry waitress.

  “Umm, I guess,” I tell her, faking disinterest by dropping my phone on the counter and staring at my nails. “Hadn’t noticed.”

  “Yes, you did. That’s why you’re snooping.”

  “I… I…” Heat spreads across my cheeks, which I’m sure are now a brilliant shade of red.

  She chuckles. “He’s a good man too.”

  “Yeah, I get that feeling.”

  She juts her chin toward their table. “She’s never going to stop trying to lasso him in.”

  “Looks to me like she’s succeeding.”

  “We’ll see. This isn’t their first rodeo. And I don’t think he’s interested in visiting that particular rodeo,” subtly she points at the redhead, “again.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, those two have a history. Nick broke things off a few months ago.”

  My eyes widen. “That’s Ever?”

  Chapter 13

  “Son of a bitch,” I growl.

  Ebenezer, the soon-to-be-murdered rooster, cock-a-doodle-doo’d me awake again. I stretch my arm across the bed, grab my cell phone off the nightstand, and check the time.

  It’s not even six o’clock. The motherclucker is crowing earlier than yesterday.

  God, I hate this place.

  I sit up and draw in a deep breath, slowly releasing it. I had a lot of time to think after I left the diner last night.

  There’s nothing like an ice-cold splash of reality to uncloud your thoughts. Clarity. That’s what I’m swimming in now.

  A crystal-clear sea of clarity.

  Nick Snow isn’t all he seems. Yeah, he’s unexplainably magnetic and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a liar. I’m not sure why Nick felt he had to lie to me about his ‘ex’ girlfriend and their dating status, but it’s definitely not what he represented. He even lies to his niece. She thinks they split up. Holding hands and laughing together over dinner aren’t exactly “ex” actions.

  Then again, the waitress said they weren’t together.

  Maybe he’s a player who strings her along, looking for a quickie. She obviously wants him back. That makes her an easy target. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe they have some sort of Exes-with-benefits arrangement.

  Yet he invited me to join them at their booth.

  Oh, he’s a swinger. Or into threesomes. Or both.

  Sorry buddy, not my lane—no matter how attractive you and your ‘exhausting ex’ are.

  Or how hard up I am.

  I laugh to myself at the absurdity of my inner ramblings. This place is waaaay too wholesome and moral. Wearing white after Labor Day offends them. They sure as hell aren’t going to drop their keys in a community jar.

  Amused, I envision him with Ever Beautiful swapping partners and bong hits—with the hippies. Talk about Far-Out.

  Whatever his deal is, it’s none of my concern. It’s his life to live, and here’s where he lives it. His private life has nothing to do with me or my goals. My only interest is in his land. This twenty-four-hour mini crush is as stale as day-old bread.

  Time to get what I came here for.

  A long, hot shower washes away all my doubts and second-guessing. My head is back in the game.

  Soon I’ll be sitting pretty in a corner office, looking down from twenty floors above Sixth Avenue. This time as an executive. This snail’s pace of a place isn’t good for movers and shakers like me.

  I choose my lucky business suit —black trousers, black blazer, and a crisp white cotton shirt. Classic. Professional. Serious businesswoman. I slip on my Jimmy Choo black pumps. I’ve had these for a few years, and they’ve always brought me good luck. I’ve nicknamed them my Lucky Choos. Gathering my hair, I twist it up into a neat bun with a few loose tendrils of my blond hair framing my face. I dab on a little makeup, careful not to overdo it.

  Opening the door to my suite, I exit without my usual pre-peek and head downstairs. I walk into the dining room and inhale the welcoming scent of freshly brewed coffee. I’m poised, capable, commanding. No man, woman, or Lumberjerk is going to knock me off balance.

  “Good morning,” I say with confidence to my already seated co-guests. The two sisters, wearing identical obnoxious Christmas sweaters, zealously wave at me—like I can’t see them literally five feet away from where I’m standing. I point my chin in their direction, the New York version of “Yo.”

  Grabbing an empty plate off the credenza, I load up on breakfast from the steaming silver chafing dishes. Scrambled eggs, breakfast sausage, and French toast. Nothing to complain about here. I take a seat at the large farmhouse table next to Sweater Sister A.

  For the life of me, I can’t remember their names. I keep thinking it’s Jingle and Belle, but I know that’s not right.

  There’s a large silver tray piled high with freshly baked muffins in the center of the table. “Excuse me.” I reach across the table and grab a blueberry muffin. Breaking off a big chunk, I pop it in my mouth. As expected, it’s beyond delicious.

  I better seal this deal soon, or my ass is going to triple in size before I get out of here.

  Holly walks into the dining room, decked out in another bedazzled crocheted Christmas vest and her colossal-sized pearls, stops in her tracks, and beams. “Summer, I’m so glad you made it to breakfast.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I lie.

  I totally would.

  But I’m making my presence known. I’m here to be seen. I’m a professional woman on a mission.

  Anyway, I’m starving.

  And I want to prove your nephew wrong.

  “Can I get you some coffee?” she asks as she grabs the coffee pot.

  “Absolutely, thank you.” I shove a forkful of scrambled eggs in my mouth.

  “So Summer, what brings you to Arid Falls?” Jingle asks.

  “I’m interested in some property in the area.” Still not lying.

  “How exciting! It’s a delightful place. Lived here my whole life.”

  “Really?” I tilt my head to the side. “Why are you staying at this inn?”

  “Holly’s baking.” She giggles. “I’m kidding, of course. The wood floors in our homes are being refinished. The mess and the odor are too much for our sensitive noses. Isn’t that right, sister dear?”

  “It was awful, sister,” the other one answers.

  Maybe they forgot each other’s names too.

  “So you stayed in town?” I ask.

  They drop their utensils in unison and stare at me.

  “Certainly. Why would anyone ever want to leave here?” she asks.

  Jingle, I could list a zillion reasons.

  “Of course. Arid Falls is lovely,” I tell them.

  Must not offend the townspeople.

  A satisfied smile spreads across her ruby-red lipsticked lips. “It most certainly is. Have you been to the lake yet? It’s exquisite. And a wonderful place to swim, fish or canoe. It’s the perfect spot for a romantic picnic any time of the year.”

  I peek out the window and stare at the inch and a half of fallen snow. A romantic picnic? In the tundra? What the hell is wrong with these people?

  “If you decide to purchase lakefront property,” Belle, the other whatever-her-name-is sister, wags her index finger in my direction, “beware of the sneaky land poachers.”

  “The what?” I ask, almost spitting out my coffee.

  Vigoro
usly, she goes all jazz-hands on me. “Thieves! Robber barons! Unwelcome intruders!”

  “Someone is actually stealing land? How is that even possible?”

  “Not exactly. Some big business real estate developer is buying up lakefront property. They invaded us with their expensive suits, Italian leather shoes, and fancy pens. These folks don’t understand us. They want us to practically give away our homes. Nick says they’ll ruin our perfect little town by building condominiums. Condominiums! Can you imagine? Nick told us not to sell. He said to hold strong, so we’re holding.”

  “You’re lakefront property owners?”

  “Sure are.” She puffs out her chest and grins. “My sister lives next door to Nick, and I live next to her. I’m the proprietor of a yarn store that’s on my first floor called ‘The Wooley Wreath.’ Four darling alpacas live in my yard. Nick helped build their shelter. Such a resourceful young man. My sister sells homemade jams, chutneys, and jellies at her fabulous little shop. It’s called ‘I’ll Be Home for Chutney.’ You must drop by sometime and give Wreaths a chance.”

  “You bet, I will. So you listen to everything Nick tells you?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” she asks.

  Because my job would be a whole lot easier if you didn’t.

  “There’s always two sides to every story. Have you heard these people out? Formed your own opinion?” I ask.

  “We have no interest in meeting with them.”

  “But…”

  “We’re so fortunate to have Nick looking out for us. We would have signed weeks ago without him cluing us in on what was really happening.”

  Nodding in agreement, I take a sip of coffee. I’m dropping this conversation. These people are a lost cause.

  Miranda was right.

  Nick Snow is key.

  Chapter 14

  “In one mile, make a left on Blitzen Boulevard.” I roll my eyes at another Christmas-themed street name as my GPS directs me downtown.

  Before my face to face with Nick, I’m picking up an ice breaker. I can’t show up empty-handed. Showy 3-D renderings of the new and improved Arid Falls aren’t going to cut it. Tapping into my newly acquired Arid Fallian brainwaves, I’ve figured out something that will.