Not My Type (12 page)

“Yeah, I’ll snag them,” he said and wandered over to the antique hutch in the giant television’s lair to find some.

“Sorry about my brother,” Courtney said loudly, meaning for Tanner to hear. “His sense of humor is as bizarre as Rhett warned you it is.”

“Don’t worry about Pepper,” he said, digging through a stack of games. “I don’t think she needs any protection.”

“Protection?” Sister Graham echoed, walking out from the giant pantry she had disappeared into moments before, her hair now mussed. Brother Graham followed, looking pleased. Courtney’s face flushed pink. “You guys are so embarrassing,” she said. “Sorry, Pepper.”

“Everyone’s parents are embarrassing,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Do yours make out in the pantry when you have company over?”

“No,” I admitted. “But my mom has chased me around and wrestled me to the ground to steal back some M&Ms when I had company.”

“We weren’t making out,” Sister Graham said with a sniff. “We were—”

“We were definitely making out,” Brother Graham said. “You’re just so cute in an apron.”

“My dad is a marriage and family therapist,” I said. “Even though it embarrasses you, Courtney, I’ve listened to him long enough to know that you should probably just slap your parents a high five and not worry about it.”

“Thank you, Pepper,” Sister Graham said, arranging her hair and smoothing her apron in an attempt to restore her equanimity.

“No problem, Sister Graham.”

“Call us Donna and Glen,” she said as she passed me to help Tanner at the cabinet, where he was growling over a lack of cards. She paused for a moment to give me a quick squeeze and to whisper, “We owe you.”

Confused, I watched her reach around Tanner and pull out a Phase 10 deck.

“I hope you’re better at dealing cards than you are at finding them,” Courtney teased Tanner.

“I can’t stay,” he said, stopping behind her chair to drop a kiss on her head. “I need to go. Deadline tomorrow.”

Donna sighed, and I could tell it wasn’t the first time Tanner had cut an evening short with them. “At least you made it to dinner. Drive home safely, okay?”

He hugged her and his dad good-bye and then paused in the doorway. “Bye, Pepper. I’ll see you around.”

“See you,” I said. I breathed a little easier when I heard the door close behind him, glad once more that he hadn’t exposed me or my pathetic job interview to his family. He was still a jerk professionally, but tonight, I had to admit . . . Tanner Graham wasn’t all bad.

Dear Josh,

I know you were only doing your job when you came out and fixed the fridge yesterday, but I have to thank you for saving my bacon, both literally and figuratively. A free meal isn’t enough of a thank you for jumping us ahead of other customers every time the Rust Bucket breaks down, but I hope this note communicates to you how grateful we are for making us a priority when you have no real reason to, except that you’re so nice. I know five times to repair that dumb freezer in six months must be a new record for you, but until I can convince Mr. Handy that a new one is worth the investment, I’m glad we’ve got you to take care of us.

Sincerely,

Pepper Spicer

P.S. Come in for a free lunch anytime, not just broken-down-freezer days. You’re awesome!

Chapter 9

The next week flew by in a blur. Ellie liked the reader feedback on my Sonic Machine review. The article didn’t get a ton of hits, but the dozen or so comments that people posted backed up my opinion. One reader went so far as to write, “Finally! An honest critic that sees past the Emperor’s lame new clothes with this group. It would take them playing naked to make them halfway interesting!” As a result, Ellie had asked me to cover another band on Thursday night.

Elsewhere in
Real Salt Lake,
my second “Single in the City” column about Justin received a mixed review. Ellie loved it, as did the handful of readers who commented on it, but my dad hated it again. Of course, he would never say “hate.” It came out more like, “I don’t think you needed to describe him as having ‘a solar panel for a kitsch machine.’ People can’t help having bald spots.”

I had an argument for that. “I don’t care that he was bald. I care that he was so pretentious about it that he hid it under his stupid hipster hat and checked his reflection all night.”

It didn’t appease my dad, but he said nothing else, and once again, readers pointed to that line as a favorite. Mixing my blog voice with a little more snark was turning into a winning formula. Only four days after the column posted, it had a few hundred more hits than the one the week before. That was a whopping three dollars and fifty-nine cents. Shoot, at this rate, I could buy myself a Happy Meal and make change. If I ate Happy Meals. Which I don’t. I find them more depressing than happy.

Still, it was growth. And for the first time, I crossed my fingers that my date on Saturday would be a total disaster. I needed Wade, aka Mountain_(Bike)_Man, to be a letdown. The worse the date, the better. It made my column much easier to write. Even if Wade turned out to be okay, I could at least hope that I was a terrible mountain biker. I needed
something
for column fodder. I’d rather make fun of myself anyway. At least I wouldn’t get a guilt trip from my dad.

At the moment, I didn’t have the brain cells to spend on worrying or planning for the date and column because I had a concert to get to. Hiring a new assistant opened up room in my schedule, but he couldn’t make it in early because he had a class on Thursday nights. I almost never work nights anyway, so I couldn’t complain, but it meant I would have to stick around the store until eight and then do a speed change in the office to get to the club in Sugarhouse by nine. It was a local group called the Krunk Lunkers. This time I had done a little Internet research so I could ask semi-intelligent questions afterward and had a fresh palm-sized notebook nestled in my purse so I could take notes and not just work from memory. Maybe I’d work up to buying myself a cool little voice recorder gadget, but I would kick it old school for the time being with a trusty Bic pen.

The clock ticked toward closing time. Katie, looking bored during the slow dinner shift, had already taken it upon herself to organize the condiments and paper goods, and each table now had a flower-shaped collection of mustard packets on top. Taking pity on her, I sent her home. Only a half hour remained until closing time anyway. I puttered around, restocking the supplies under the sandwich bar, but it didn’t keep me too busy to wonder if the
Bee
would send Tanner to cover tonight’s concert. Everything with his byline this week had been straight news again, no arts stuff, but it didn’t stop me from taking extra care with my outfit for later—not because I wanted to impress him. I wanted to look like I had as much business reporting on the show as he did. You know, if he happened to be there. Not that I cared if he was.

The bell tinkled over the front door to announce a customer. I popped up and almost fell over when I saw Tanner on the other side of the sandwich bar, Courtney by his side, both of them waiting to order. He looked startled. Courtney’s expression reflected pleasant surprise.

Ah, how silly of me to think my humiliation at his hands had been complete when I’d limped out of the
Bee
three weeks before. No,
now
it was complete as I stood there in my mustard-stained shirt and Handy’s baseball cap.

“I didn’t know you work here,” Courtney said. “I thought you wrote for that website.”

“Only part time,” I said, feeling the flames in my cheeks burn brighter by the second. “This pays the bills.”

“We come here all the time,” she said. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I rarely work the dinner shift.” I willed my stupid cheeks to cool down, but they didn’t oblige. Lovely. How could I go from never laying eyes on Tanner to not being able to escape him? I stole a glance at him, bracing myself for his mockery, maybe even a snide remark about how this must be the “artisanal café” I had referenced on my blasted résumé.

Instead, his expression was neutral. “We only come in on Thursdays,” he said. “My dad has stake meetings, and my mom has a card-making class, so I come down and hang out with Courtney.”

She flushed. “He’s babysitting me,” she said. “They all do.”

“I’m not babysitting you,” he said. “I like hanging out with you. Thursday night fits my schedule, that’s all.”

Behind them, the clock crept closer to eight. I needed to get their sandwiches made and send them on their way if I wanted to clean up and make it to see the Krunk Lunkers in time. “It’s good to see you guys,” I said, and by “guys,” I meant Courtney. I could tell by the glimmer of amusement in Tanner’s eyes that he knew it too. “What can I get for you?”

They gave me their orders, and I flew through the sandwich bar. When I rang them up, it embarrassed me to take Tanner’s money. I don’t know why. Maybe because it reinforced that this was my job, and I couldn’t pretend we were all hanging out in a sandwich shop by choice. Only two of us were.

“Can you sit with us, or do you have to sit back there?” Courtney asked.

“I can sit with you,” I said. Part of the massive perks package at Handy’s was soda whenever we wanted, so I poured myself a Coke and took a seat, feeling more uncomfortable than ever. Now I could sit in my nifty food-stained work shirt and watch them eat. Oh joy.

“How long have you worked here?” Courtney asked.

“Since last August,” I said.

“Do you like it?”

I shrugged. “It pays the bills. I’ve been able to cut back my hours a little since I started writing for
Real Salt Lake
. I’m hoping I can quit here soon.”

Tanner nodded and finished his bite of pastrami. Such a guy sandwich. “If Ellie is smart, she’ll start sending you out on more stories.”

I stared at him, surprised. “You’ve been reading my work?”

“I read everything I can find that’s reported in Salt Lake. Part of my job.”

Oh. Right. He didn’t stalk my articles like I stalked his. I cleared my throat. “She’s sending me to cover another band tonight.”

“Which one?” Courtney asked.

“Krunk Lunkers,” I answered. “They’re from Salt Lake.”

“That sounds fun,” she said. “Tanner always complains when they make him cover arts and culture because he’s the youngest guy on staff, but I think it’s cool because he gets into all kinds of stuff for free.”

I was about to drop a casual hint about how the show started in a little more than an hour, maybe help nudge them on their way, when the front door bell tinkled again. I turned around to find Josh, our fridge repairman, standing there. He had been in on Monday to repair the commercial refrigerator we dubbed the Rust Bucket. I’d seen him at least once a month for repairs on that thing since I was hired, and I couldn’t believe it wasn’t just cheaper to buy a new fridge. He was a quiet guy in his mid-twenties, and I was so used to seeing him in his service uniform that it took me a second to realize it was him.

He wore a Western-cut shirt and Wranglers. His Nelson and Sons baseball cap was gone, and his slightly damp hair showed fresh comb marks. He held a small bouquet of red roses and shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“Hi, Josh,” I said, heading toward the sandwich bar. “Are you here to take me up on my free-sandwiches-for-life offer?” It was the least I could do for all the times he’d put us first on his repair route when he had much bigger clients to service. I had told him as much in my thank you note earlier in the week.

He shot a nervous glance at Tanner and Courtney seated at the table nearest the counter before making his way over. “Hi, Pepper.” He watched me reach for the honey wheat bread he usually requested before he gave himself a little shake. “Uh, I’m not here for a sandwich.”

“Oh.” Puzzled, I put the bread back. “Did I forget to sign something?”

I heard a muffled choke and glanced up to catch Tanner stifling a laugh with his napkin. What was wrong with him?

“No, ma’am. I mean, no, Pepper,” Josh said, even more flustered. Wait. Was he trying to—

“I came to see you,” he stammered and thrust the roses at me over the top of the glass sneeze guard that shielded the sandwich fixings. Bewildered, I took them and stared down at them, then back at him.

“Thanks?” I said, unsure how to react. What had brought this on? And why did I have to have witnesses? I made a point of ignoring Tanner.

“I wondered if you might like to go do something?” he asked.

“Right now?”

His cheeks pinkened. “Oh, sorry. No, I mean sometime. Like any time that’s good for you.”

“Oh.” I had never given any thought to Josh as a date, mainly because I’d sworn off guys indefinitely after Landon and I broke up. Even without his cowboy clothes, I would have guessed he wasn’t my type. I go for outgoing guys, guys with a little bit of edge and maybe the teensiest bit of broodiness about them. Josh was not . . . that. He was cute but shy and simple, and he deserved someone much, much nicer than me. Time to let him down easy. “I know we’ve only seen each other in here, so it’s probably hard to tell, but I have a feeling I’m not really your type. I like weird bands and wear strange jewelry, and I don’t listen to country music.”

“Do you like heavy metal?” he asked hopefully, and I heard choking again. I was about to scowl at Tanner when I caught the slight smile on Josh’s face. He was teasing me about the heavy metal. Well, well. Maybe he had hidden depths.

“I hate it,” I said, smiling back.

“Then I guess we can find something nonmuscial to do. And nonsandwich,” he added with another smile.

“All right,” I said. “I’d love to. Do you text?”

He pulled a cell phone from his back pocket. “I’m a hick, not a caveman.”

Laughing, I gave him my number. “Weekends are bad,” I warned, “but another night would be fun.”

He nodded and headed toward the door with a quiet good night.

I had a date.
Another
date, I amended, thinking about my Saturday plans to cheat death on my first mountain-biking trip with Mountain_(Biking)_Man. And although I knew with instinctive certainty that Josh and I weren’t a good long-term fit, at least I didn’t dread the idea of a date with him like I did my online matches. If worse came to worst and the date with Josh tanked, I’d have to switch our refrigerator repair service to a different company. I suspected with his mellow nature that, second date or not, it wouldn’t be an issue. Still, I made a mental note to be more careful about the thank you notes I wrote to single guys. Apparently, while my average looks were not enough to make men fall at my feet, my notes had the power to move them to heroic acts, like bringing me flowers and randomly asking me out.

Ha.

When the door closed behind him, I checked the clock. Tanner was on his phone, and Courtney shoved the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth. Good. It was five minutes past closing, but when did a rock-and-roll band ever take the stage on time? If I rushed, I could make it.

I hurried around to their table. “Thanks for coming in, you guys. I’ll walk you out. I have to change for the show.”

“We’re not leaving,” Tanner said, done with his phone call.

I scowled at him. Was this some sort of distraction technique to keep the competition from doing her reporting job? Courtney caught my expression and laughed. “Yeah, we’re going to the concert with you.”

“I called my editor, and he switched the assignment to me,” Tanner said in confirmation.

“Isn’t that kind of rude to whoever was supposed to be covering it?” I asked.

“No. It was Linda from the city desk, and she’s glad to hand it off. Not her scene.”

“So why are you picking up work when you’re supposed to be off?”

“Because it will be fun,” Courtney said. “This is what I mean about him using his press credentials to get into cool stuff. This is way better than letting him beat me at Mario Kart forty times tonight.”

I stared at him. Buttoned up Tanner played Mario Kart? It didn’t compute.

“Concert reviews are easy,” he said. “If Courtney wants to go, it’s no big deal to get us in, and it’ll take me all of thirty minutes to write it up. If you don’t mind, could you give her a ride back?”

“I can do that,” I said.

“Cool,” she said. “Go change. I’ll wipe down everything out here.”

I shook my head but handed her the bleach-soaked rag so she could disinfect their table and headed to the office where my clothes waited. Courtney wasn’t the reserved girl I’d assumed her to be for the last several months at church, and I liked her fun personality. I could put up with Tanner if it meant having Courtney to hang out with at the show instead of standing around bored like Tanner had done at Spackles.

Fewer than ten minutes later, I was out of the office in a pair of skinny jeans, purple ballet flats, and a couple of layered T-shirts under my favorite black fitted pea coat.

I pulled the cash register drawer out and walked it back to my office, where I locked it in the supply closet and secured it with a chain and padlock. That’s what passed for high-tech around here. I’d come in early to count it out and deposit it in the morning. Tanner and Courtney waited for me at the front door, and I locked up behind us then turned to face the parking lot. The Zuke sat on the far side, waiting for me, and a newer-looking Accord occupied the space directly in front of Handy’s. I guess someone driving a Camry couldn’t make fun of a Honda driver for his conservative choice of car . . . even if I didn’t exactly have a choice in mine.