by Kelsey King
“There’s still time left. You don’t have to give up on it.”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem realistic anymore,” she admits. I want to ask her to sit down and have breakfast with me so we can talk about everything, so I can get to know her better.
Brianna looks sad for a moment, and I don’t like it.
“You don’t know. Sometimes life can surprise you,” I say.
“Brianna!” the manager calls, interrupting our moment together.
“ I’ll be right there,” she sweetly calls over her shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she tells me before walking off with her coffee pot.
Shark looks back at me then places his head on the cold cement. I can’t put my finger on why I find her so attractive, but there’s something about her that gets me going. She lights a fire inside of me, one that I want to explore. I catch glimpses of Brianna from time to time as the café fills up and she helps people. When she smiles really big, her dimples show, and I love the freckles that scattered across her nose. She’s beautiful, in a way where she doesn’t try too hard and looks confident but isn’t afraid to say what she means. Women like this are few and far between.
About ten minutes go by before my sandwich arrives and gets delivered by a food runner. I’m somewhat disappointed because I was hoping the two of us could finish our small talk.
“Rueben,” he says, placing it in front of me.
“Thanks,” I reply.
The Reuben is just as good as it was the first time and I’m glad I didn’t order anything else. The sandwich disappears quickly, and only a few fries remain. I feed a few of them to Shark then move my plate out of the way. Brianna notices I’m done and makes her way over to my table. The restaurant has somewhat cleared out, and I’m hoping this’ll give us the opportunity to chat more.
“So, how long have you lived here?” she asks with a cheeky grin on her face. It was thrilling. She didn’t want to make small talk about coffee or refilling my water; she was diving right in.
“Not too long. Almost two years now,” I reply, placing my napkin on my plate. She notices, grabbing my dish and holding it.
“I’m just surprised I’ve never seen you,” she sheepishly admits, and I’m thinking the same thing.
“I don’t come into town much. I’ve also been spending a lot of time working on the place.”
“I see,” she says. “So where are you from?”
Her questions keep coming, and I gladly welcome them.
“I was born and raised in Chicago.”
“You left Chicago to come to Whitefish?” She eyes me, and I can tell she wants to know more.
“What’s so surprising about that? Whitefish is a beautiful place. With beautiful people.” My eyes meet her, and I see blush hit her cheeks. I’m happy she got the hint.
“Yes but—” she says, looking from side to side. “There’s nothing to do here!”
Our conversation moves to a more playful one. “You can’t be serious. There’s a ton to do here. I find the days aren’t even long enough for me to do everything I want.” It’s the truth. Between working on my house and the surrounding property, fishing, hiking, skiing during the winter, I find that there’s more than enough to do.
“Okay. I get your point,” Brianna says, “but still, you must miss city life.”
“Not a bit,” I answer her too quickly.
She narrows her eyes at me.
“Have you ever been to Chicago?” I ask her.
“No,” she replies.
“Then how would you know?” I ask, teasing her. I can tell that she likes the teasing because she places a hand on her hip in protest and tries to think of a response.
“I don’t know,” she replies. “I watch a lot of TV, I guess. Seems busy and fun.”
“Really, that’s the best you got? You watch a lot of TV?” I say, knowing that I’ve won the argument.
“I’m not talking to you anymore,” she says playfully crosses her arms over her breasts and gives me a wink before she walks away.
Instantly I miss her company and wish she’d come back, but I notice she’s tending to another table. I watch the way she speaks the guy and wonders if she treats all of her guests the same way she’s treated me. Is she naturally flirty and am I reading too much into this?
As I watch the patio fill up with people, I don’t want to bother her by asking for the bill, so I place some cash on the table and get ready to leave. I put a generous amount of money on the table, and I worry she might be offended, but it feels good to help her out, plus she’s made me a happy man. She deserves to get a big tip for putting a smile on my face.
“Come on, Shark,” I say, taking him by the leash. He seems sad to go, and I can understand the feeling. I could probably stay all afternoon and flirt with Brianna.
On the other side of the patio Brianna is feverishly writing down orders in her notepad, and she looks up and finds me leaving. I wave to her, and she waves back. Maybe she’s disappointed as well that I’m leaving? I could only hope.
I walk past the blonde hostess, and she’s as perky as the first time.
“Goodbye, Tate,” she says with a grin.
“See ya,” I say, walking toward my truck.
So, the hostess knows my name. Brianna must’ve told her. I’m trying to figure out the meaning of that. Girls like to talk to one another, so maybe Brianna was gossiping with her or something? Or maybe she told me all about the tip I left the last time.
I shake it off and decide not to analyze it. I’m not good at analyzing women anyway. At least, not anymore. I used to try to understand them, but the one woman I spent the most time trying to understand was the one that ripped my heart out of my chest. As the years passed, I’ve slowly recovered, but I spent a lot of time trying to understand my ex, Eden.
When the woman I loved, the one I choose to spend the rest of my life with decided to sleep with my best friend, that’s when I stopped trying to understand women. Actually, she’s the reason I gave up everything, especially my former life.
4
Brianna
“He came to the café again,” I say to Callie while placing my grocery items on the conveyor belt.
“What?” she asks, her eyes widening. “Really?”
“Yeah, that Tate guy. He came back to the café,” I repeat, thinking maybe she didn’t understand the first time. “And he paid with a hundred dollar bill, leaving me a giant tip, again.”
There’s a pause.
“Did you get his number?” Callie asks, ringing up my items without looking at them. She’s been working at the supermarket since she was sixteen and can do this job in her sleep.
“No. I’m not going to ask for his number, Callie. I’m not desperate, and it never came up.”
“I’m never speaking to you again,” she says with a laugh.
“Callie, you’ve had to have seen him before. This is the only place where he can buy food.”
“Describe him to me,” she says, taking her time checking me out so we can continue this conversation regardless of the line forming behind me. I look over my shoulder to see how many people are waiting and the woman directly behind gives me an annoyed humph that we’re having this conversation while Callie is at work. I could’ve waited till later that night, but I was too excited and needed someone to talk to as soon as I got off. Also, I finally put my tips in the bank and needed to buy some more groceries, so confiding in Callie was inevitable.
“Tall, built, brown hair, beard, bright green eyes,” I begin to explain. “White shirt, your typical looking mountain man.”
Callie stops ringing up my items and looks up toward the ceiling like a thought is coming to her.
“Wait a minute,” she says.
“Could you please hurry up.” The angry lady behind me scowls.
Callie rolls her eyes and continues checking out the few remaining items.
“I think I might know who you’re talking about,” Callie says, h
ushed. “Does he have broad shoulders and a tattoo on the inside of his arm? And messy hair that parts to one side?”
I try to think back to him at the café and remember seeing something on his arm, but I didn’t get a close look, but I’m pretty sure that’s him. I nod, and recognition flashes in her eyes as she searches her memory and I smile.
“Adonis cannot be trusted,” she states.
“What the heck does that mean?” I ask.
“Adonis. We call him Adonis, this Tate friend of yours. Every time he comes in, Muriel comes over the loudspeaker and says ‘Adonis, aisle 6.’ Or ‘Adonis in the dairy department.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding. That guy is a legend. And now you’re totally going to start dating the hottie.”
Callie seems disappointed or sad or something. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“You’ve just scored the sexiest guy to ever come through those doors,” Callie taunts, nodding toward the automatic doors at the front of the supermarket. “But Adonis can’t be trusted.”
“Why can’t he be trusted?” I say, swiping my debit card.
“Insert, don’t swipe,” Callie says, correcting me.
“When did he come in last?” I ask.
“Just today,” she admits. “He was wearing a clean white shirt and jeans that hugged him in all the right places.”
I insert my debit card, and Callie starts to bag my items. “Yes, that’s him!”
“Men that look like that cannot be trusted. That’s a certified heart-breaker, Brianna. He’s probably living up there in his bachelor pad and luring tourists in on a frequent basis.”
“Callie, you’re ridiculous,” I say, removing my debit card and putting it back in my wallet. “Who is there to lure?” I say looking around. I meet eyes with the angry woman behind me and hope she isn’t one of Tate’s conquests. Callie’s absurd.
“My mom always taught me that a guy who looks like that couldn’t be trusted.”
“Well, clearly you have some baggage that I don’t have.” I pick up the plastic bags and move out of the way so that Callie can start swiping the impatient lady’s groceries.
“I’m just looking out for you, that’s all. But you better snag him before I do,” she jokes.
“I’m sure I won’t see him again,” I tell her, but I hope I’m not right.
“You need to go find Adonis and have amazingly hot sex and make beautiful babies,” Callie says matter-of-factly. Everyone in line has a different reaction to this statement. Some roll their eyes, some snicker, and others pretend like they didn’t hear her. And in her typical fashion, she’s being loud as hell and doesn’t care who hears her.
I roll my eyes at her and smile. “Whatever. Make sure to bring Pringles to my place tonight. They’re buy one get one free.”
“As if I didn’t know,” Callie says with a laugh. “I’ve already stocked up!”
I make my way out of the supermarket, and for a fleeting moment, I wish that ‘Adonis aisle 6’ would come over the loudspeaker. I would love to see him again, but outside of work, without all the interruptions. There were only a few questions that I could get in that afternoon, but there was no time to ask more. I want to unlock his secrets. I need to know everything about him.
I drive to my dad’s house. The sun is shining brightly, and Whitefish is alive with beauty. It’s days like this where I understand why I never left this town. I guess that Tate had a point. There is a ton of stuff to do. I probably don’t take advantage of it all enough. All that I do is work, and when I’m not working, I want to relax or run errands for dad. It seems like such a simple, boring life, but there’s so much magic around me that I should explore.
I pull up in front of dad’s house and take out one bag of groceries. Dad has very little energy and finds it difficult to cook, so he ends up eating a lot of frozen meals or stuff that I bring him from the café. Since I have the rest of the afternoon off, I’m going to make him some lasagna that he can eat for the week.
Walking up to the house, I cringe a little. It looks worse during the day.
“Dad,” I call out, wedging my way into the screen door. I hear nothing. “Dad,” I call out again, my heart begins to flutter, and I instantly start to worry.
“In here,” he finally replies. Dad’s in the living room, of course, in front of the TV. It seems like that’s all he has the energy to do these days.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, standing at the entrance to the living room, clutching the plastic bag.
“Fine. The usual.”
He prefers to not talk about his illness, or how he’s feeling. He’s the kind of man that likes to tough it out, or at the least, not show any weakness.
“Okay,” I reply with a small smile, not pushing him but wishing he’d say more. “I’m going to make you your favorite for dinner, and then you can have leftovers during the week.”
“Lasagna?”
I give him a big smile, and he knows the answer to that question.
He put his attention back to the television where he’s watching some show about vintage cars. Dad loves to watch TV shows about cars, and I wish I could afford to buy him an old hot rod like he’s always dreamed of owning. I need to win the lottery, like yesterday.
I walk into the kitchen and find a total mess. There are dishes on the counter and in the sink, unwashed. At least there are dishes, I think to myself. It means that he’s eating, and that’s a good thing.
I take out the ingredients and start piecing them together, layering the noodles, cheese, and sauce. I like cooking. It’s meditative for me, but in the silence all I can think of is Tate. I wish I could say the thoughts are innocent but I begin to fantasize about his lips being on mine, his hard body pressed against my sensitive parts. This afternoon, I wanted him, every bit of him and it felt odd to feel that way about someone while I was at work. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this attracted to someone. But damn, Tate has stirred me in the right way. Here I am, making lasagna and lusting over someone who didn’t even tell me his last name.
I start having straight-up fantasies while I’m setting the temperature for the oven. It feels good to daydream like this. I think of Tate’s hands on my body. I imagine him with his shirt off, undressing me from head to toe.
“How was work?” Dad asks, suddenly appearing in the kitchen. He startles me, and I drop the knife on the counter. I was chopping lettuce for us a salad. “Whoa.”
“I didn’t see you there,” I say, my heart pounding.
“Be careful with that knife,” he tells me.
“Work was fine, I guess. Was busy as usual.”
“You done for the day?” Dad asks, seating himself on a kitchen stool. He knows I’ve been working double shifts lately, so it’s not a question entirely out of the realm.
“Yes, they didn’t need me tonight, thankfully. I’ve worked three doubles this week.” I continue chopping the lettuce into small pieces, composing myself again.
“You work too hard, honey,” Dad says softly.
“I have to.”
“I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault,” he says, and I hate to hear him speak like this.
I stop chopping and place the knife down on the cutting board. I turn toward him.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.”
“Well, when you get healthy again, I’ll stop taking double shifts.”
“Or when I’m dead,” Dad says this humorously, but I don’t think there’s anything funny about it.
“Don’t talk like that, Dad. Seriously. It hurts my heart,” I admit.
He gives me a nod. “Would be nice to see you get some rest. Settle down and live your life. Meet a nice man who can take care of you.”
“Come on, dad. You know that I’m not like that. I don’t want to marry some guy just so he can take care of me.”
“I know. You’ve always been headstrong like that. But still, it would nice to see
you happy with someone.”
I sit on the stool in front of him and place my hands on his. “Dad, you’re not holding me back, okay? I want to be here for you. And I’m happy.” I smile at him.
He blinks slowly, and I see the guilt on his face, and I wish he’d stop feeling this way.
Maybe I’m not happy, but I try to be. I’ve had relationships here and there, but nothing serious. And besides, they always end up moving away from Whitefish, and I’m left behind. I just always assumed that maybe this was the way my life would be.
Tate pops back into my mind, and for a moment I consider telling dad I somewhat met someone, but then I think how stupid that is. I don’t know why I want to talk about a guy I’ve only met twice. Maybe it’s because he’s already made a significant impact on my life.
5
Tate
I don’t get mail that much. My mom occasionally tries to call me, but I usually don’t pick up the phone. Hell, I don’t even carry that thing around with me. So it comes as a surprise when I see the letter addressed to me in fancy handwriting.
I consider opening it while I’m standing in front of the mailbox, but I decide to wait. I also sense that it’s something that I don’t want to read based on the quality of the envelope.
“Come on, Shark,” I say, and he follows me up the path to the cabin. I have to admit the exterior looks perfect. I did a ton of work on it after the winter, and in the bright light of summer, I get to admire my skill. The wood has been re-primed, and it’s glossy in the sunshine.
Stepping through the front door, I feel a sense of accomplishment of what I’ve built. It stays cool inside the cabin, even when it’s hot outside. It’s the perfect home for me, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else; especially in a dark Chicago high-rise.
When I think of the weather back in Illinois, I shudder. Those winters were nothing like the winters here in Montana. In my memory, they seem colder and more oppressive. The snow here actually makes me want to go outside and enjoy it.
I place the letter on the kitchen counter and look out the window. Brianna has filled my mind again. It must be obvious at this point that I’m interested. I’ve been to the café twice, and she has to know I’m flirting with her. Hopefully, it isn’t uninvited, but she seems like she’s open to it. Hell, I don’t know. I’m not good at these things.