Tastes Like Winter (6 page)

“Sure thing.” He looks relieved. “I snagged one out of the fridge
inside. I’ll show you.”

As soon as I stand, I bend and lend him a hand to help pull him up
from his position on the ground. He thanks me, and when our skin touches, I am
greeted again by that tingly sensation that is brought on by any contact with
him. He brushes his backside to remove any dirt, and we head inside.

I see Genna hasn’t moved from the spot on the porch where I left her
at the beginning of the night. She is engaged in conversation with an older guy
I don’t recognize. Jake steps past the sliding glass door I spotted earlier,
reaching for the handle of a smaller door that leads directly into the kitchen.
Once we’re inside, I notice him relax. He grabs me a bottle from the fridge as
if this is his own home, and I wonder if he knows the
Micklesons
personally or if he is usually this at ease. However, his confidence now
contrasts with how nervous he was before we left the fire, and it sparks
additional curiosity inside of me.

I take small sips of my drink as we chat, and before I know it, the
crowd has pushed us into a corner where the marble kitchen countertops
converge. I lean back against the sink with Jake in front of me, caging me in.
He’s standing close enough that each jostle of the crowd bumps him forward
slightly and into me. I’ve never been so happy for confined spaces. When a
particularly hard shove comes from behind, he braces himself with his hands on
the counter on either side of me, in a protective stance. The closeness allows
me to smell his cologne, and my head swims.

“So tell me more about yourself, Emma. What makes you tick?”

I usually hate questions so vague, but the way Jake asks makes me
think he actually wants to know.

I decide to give him a quick summary of my life to date. “High Beach
born and raised. An only child.” My life has been rather boring and basic.

“How old are you?” he asks.

“Seventeen.”

“Senior?”

“Nope. Junior.”

He considers my response. “You’re old for a junior.”

“Well, my birthday is in August, and my parents decided not to force
the school to move me up into the older class.”

“Making you older and wiser than all of your classmates?” he teases.

“Something like that… How old are you?”

“Nineteen. Too old for you?” His eyes twinkle mischievously.

 
“Considering how old and
wise you say I am, I don’t think so.”

I’m flirting with Jake! Eek!

We move on from surface topics, and he probes me further. He begins to
ask about my favorites in what I guess is an attempt to fish more out of me. He
starts off easy. “Favorite color?”

“Purple.”

“Favorite food?”

“Ice cream.”

“What flavor?”

“Mint chocolate chip.”

He nods as if that was the correct answer.

“Favorite band?”

I have to think on that question for a moment because there are too many
to choose from. I decide on the
Lumineers
, and he
nods again.

“They’re good. Great lyrics, and I like the chick cello player.”

I think he tries to throw me for a loop by asking what my favorite
book is next, one of the hardest questions you can ask a reader. I have to
think on that one even longer.

“A Separate Peace?” My response is a question because I’m not entirely
sure.

“Why?”

And with one word, I am stripped bare. Intimidated, I struggle to answer.
“Well, Gene and Finny remind me of me and my best friend… minus the rivalry, I
guess.”

“You guess? You don’t take me as someone that’s so uncertain, Emma.”

Spurred on by his challenge, I add, “I like that Gene is an introvert.
I like that he acts impulsively for one second and spends the rest of the book,
the rest of his life, questioning that one moment, that one-minute decision.
Well, I don’t like it, but I get it.”

He narrows his eyes. “Does that remind you of someone?”

I shrug. I don’t like how easily he can read me. “What about you,
Jake? What’s your favorite book?”

“We aren’t talking about me. This is get-to-know-Emma hour, not get-to-know-Jake.”

The curiosity is killing me, but he carries on.

“Dream travel destination?”

“New Zealand,” I answer begrudgingly. “You know, I am not sure I like
being grilled like this.”

“Trust me, you like it.” He smirks, and maybe he’s right. Maybe I do.
“Dream job?”

“Is professional reader a real thing?”

That makes him chuckle. “If so, sign me up.”

When he asks what my biggest fear is, I
push back.

“You first,” I demand.

He refuses to answer, staring me down
with a devilish and sexy grin, trying to get me to cave.

“No way! Emma hour is over. You, sir, are up,” I insist.

Instead, he looks down at his watch and
decides it’s time for him to leave.

“Boo! You’re no fun!” I bump him with
my shoulder. All my previous nerves about being around him have faded. I’m
still aware of the way his smile warms my cheeks, his eyes pierce my soul,
and…well… everything about him makes my heart speed up. But he is so easy to
talk to, and I don’t want our night together to come to an end.

“Eager for me to stay, huh? Don’t fret, my pet, I’m sure I’ll see you
around the shop soon enough. You can get your Jake fill in then. Besides, your
friend has been staring us down through the window for a while now, and I think
she might be missing you.”

I look to the glass where he is gesturing, and sure enough, Genna is
there, giving me an “Oh really now, you little ho bag?” look.

I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I should probably go check on her.”

“You do that. I’ll see you around. If you see Sam, tell her to text me
if she needs a ride home.”

“Will do.”

He pulls me into a hug, but it’s too short and his closeness has me
fumbling, so I don’t even collect myself long enough to hug him back. As soon
as I can no longer make out his backside through the crowd—his very nice
backside, at that—I head outside to face Genna.

“So that’s why you were asking about Sam Addler, you sneaky little
girl, you!”

“It’s nothing. We work together.” I try
to hide my grin, but it’s no use. I check my cell for the time and am surprised
to see hours have passed since Jake and I started talking.

“You ready to go?” I ask, hopeful that she has fulfilled her needs.
Now that Jake is gone, I have no reason to be excited about hanging around any
longer.

“Sure. Let me make another round and say good-bye.”

Ugh. I hope this “round” goes quicker than the last one; she never
made it off the porch. Leaning against the railing, I see Sam, but before I
have the chance to pass on Jake’s message, she gives me a less than friendly
look. What’s her problem? Genna said she can be a bitch, but she shouldn’t have
any issues with me. I decide to let her find her own way home and follow after
Genna to speed her good-byes along.

As soon as we are back in the car and driving home, Genna adjusts her
position in the passenger seat so that she is facing me. “Spill! Now!”

“Spill what?” I try to act innocent.

“Oh, no way! You are not getting off that easy. I saw you getting all
chummy with Jake Addler in Ryan’s kitchen. What was that about?”

”I told you we work together.”

Tonight was amazing, but it’s still too soon to share my feelings with
Genna. Her face tells me that she doesn’t believe that bullshit for a second,
and I can’t help but giggle in response.

“Ha! I knew it! You like him!” She is positively delighted by the idea
that I might be interested in something other than books. “
Oooh
,
and a bad boy at that! I can’t believe it. You dog, you.”

I keep quiet and stick to smiling as I navigate the side streets back
to Genna’s house.

NOVEMBER

 
“If you had to pick, what
circle would you spend eternity in?” I ask Jake.

It’s pouring outside, the raindrops
smack across the window with a constant hammering. My legs are kicked up on the
counter beside the register, folded neatly one over the other. Dante’s Inferno
is open in my lap, and my head, cocked gently to the side, rests on the seat
back. Jake is slouched in the seat beside me with his own copy of the poem open
before him. His feet are propped up, resting comfortably on the side of my
chair.

It’s a ghost town today. The heavy downpour has caused customers to
stay away, and the store has seen no activity as of yet. My day’s assignment
was to set up the Thanksgiving displays, but with Jake’s help, I finished in a
few hours.

As promised, I’ve seen him around more often, mostly in passing as we
change shifts, but our easiness from the party has continued. This afternoon,
after sitting together watching the seconds on the clock tick by in silence, I
told Jake he should take off, insisting that he must have something better to
do. He assured me that he did not and instead took up next to me, reading.

He is much further along in the book than I am, and I guess he must be
at their ninth and final destination by now. My slower pace is due to our class
schedule. I don’t like getting ahead in school-assigned books because by the
time we discuss them in class, the material is no longer fresh in my head.

“The seventh circle—violence,” he answers without missing a
beat.

“It’s obvious you’ve thought about that answer already. Why the seventh?”
I ask curiously.

Instead of answering, he asks, “What about you?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Not the second circle with the other carnal sinners, you lusty little
girl?” he kids in a low and seductive voice, playing the tempter.

“What?” My cheeks redden, and to conceal
my fluster, I grab his unsuspecting foot. I pull the laces tight so his shoe
constricts around him and a loop forms at the front.

“Hey!”

“Hay is for horses,” I say because I’m unsure of how else to respond.

He laughs good-heartedly and pulls at his shoe to loosen the string.
He defiantly puts his foot back up on my chair. I cover it with my hand,
taunting him, and he gives me a warning look.

“Don’t even think about it!”

I smile but don’t move. My hand continues to rest on his foot as I
return to my book. I flip a page, momentarily breaking my concentration, and
realize I’ve been picking at the lace, my hand dancing lightly across the toe
as I read. I pull my hand back and rest it stiffly on my stomach.

He looks up and tilts his head. “That felt good. Don’t stop.”

I squint, pleased but slightly embarrassed at being acknowledged. I replace
my hand and continue kneading at the canvas, mindful now of the coarse material
under my soft fingertips.

We remain that way, quietly, deep in our divinely comedic study, when
the ring of the bell startles us alert.

Betsy pushes into the store in a huff as she struggles to collapse her
umbrella behind her. “It’s really coming down out there,” she says.

I drop my feet from the counter and straighten myself. Jake mirrors my
posture and adjusts to a more appropriate position.

“Oh! Hi, Jake. I didn’t think you’d still be here,” Betsy says.

He holds up his book. “Emma and I are reading the same thing, and I
stuck around to discuss it with her.” He lowers his eyes in my direction,
looking guilty.

“Which book?”

“Dante’s Inferno.”

“Oh. Heavy stuff, no? I guess it’s
fitting, in this weather.” She gestures to the window, where it looks like a
hurricane is blowing by.

“What circle is that?” she jokes without giving us time to answer. “Has
it been dead like this all day?”

I dip my head affirmatively.

“I guessed as much. I’ve got some paperwork to get through, so I
figured I’d do it here and relieve you. There is no point in having you sit
around for nothing.”

I want to say that I don’t mind but bite my tongue, not wanting Jake
to think me too eager. I remind myself to try to play it cool. “All right.
Thanks.”

I jump up and head to the back to grab my bag and coat. While walking
to the front, I remember that my mom dropped me off that morning. Her car is in
the shop getting new tires mounted, so she borrowed mine. We agreed she would
pick me up at five when my shift was over. I glance down at my phone. It was
three o’clock. Seeing my apprehension, Betsy asks what’s wrong.

“Oh nothing, my mom has my car. I need to call her to come pick me up
now.” I double-click the send button on my cell and pull up my contact list.

“I can drive you,” Jake suggests casually.

I force my face to remain calm but do a flip inside. “You don’t mind?
I live right off of Market Street. It’s not too far.”

“Nope. Market Street is on my way.” He tugs on the coat he had
abandoned earlier on the window ledge and tucks his book into the inner pocket
to shield it from the rain.

“Perfect. Thanks, Jake. Drive safe,” Betsy warns, and Jake ushers me
out the door.

He pulls out his keys as we run to the black sedan. After Jake hits
the unlock button and the car beeps, I open the door and jump inside. The rain
already drenched my hair, and it sticks awkwardly to my forehead. Jake runs a
hand across his own head and shakes out the drops from his hair, spraying them
like a dog.

I look around. The car smells faintly of smoke, but it is tidy. He
turns the key and cranks the defroster to clean the condensation from the
windshield. I take a chance and flip on the stereo and am delighted to see that
the CD that begins playing is one of my favorites. I hum quietly along, and he
joins in during the chorus.

After idling a few minutes, the front glass clears sufficiently, and
he eases out of the parking space. When he pulls up to the curb in front of my
house several minutes later, I am genuinely disappointed that our afternoon
together has come to an end. Drawing the moment out, I lean back, lay my cheek
against the headrest, and look at him. He mirrors my pose but doesn’t speak.

I sigh, making up an excuse for not wanting to leave yet. “It’s so
toasty warm in here and so cold and wet out there, I don’t want to get out.”

“I could drive you right up to your door, but I don’t think your mom
would appreciate me parking in her pansies.”

“Probably not,” I agree.

He reaches into his pocket, shifting in
his seat to pull his phone out of the denim. “Let me get your number before you
leave.”

I
don’t think a boy has ever asked me for my digits before, and having that boy
be Jake makes me ecstatic
.

I take a moment to calm myself before answering, and Jake must read
that as a sign to retreat because he adds, “You know I should probably have
it…for emergency purposes.”

I tell him the number, and he shoots me a text so I have his. I say good-bye,
leave the warmth of his car, and start walking up the front walkway. Before I
reach the door, my phone buzzes in my pocket, signaling another text.

Jake: I trust you made it to the door okay. I probably should have walked
you so you wouldn’t have to suffer alone.

I tease him back.

Me: I made it, no worries, though I’m not sure this counts as an
emergency.

Jake: Felt like one to me. Well, have a great night. Don’t miss me too
much.

Me: I’ll try. No promises. The same goes for you.

Jake: ; )

Text flirting with Jake is making me giddy. I throw a hello at my
mother, who is sitting at her work desk with the computer open in front of her,
as I pass and head upstairs.

“You’re home early. I thought I was supposed to get you later?” she
shouts around the corner.

“Got a ride!” I shout in return and wave her off as I check my phone
again.

Grabbing a pair of yoga pants and a tee shirt from the top of the pile
next to my bed, I head for the shower. I emerge minutes later, scrubbed clean,
brushing out my now wet hair so it dries straight and tangle free. I check my
phone again, but there are no new messages, and I find myself momentarily
disappointed.

I turn off the overhead light, and
my room is shrouded in darkness as I slip into the comfort of down
feathers. The bed set is a brand new guilt purchase from my mom, and it feels
luxurious against my skin. I shift to the side and reach into the top drawer of
my nightstand, moving a paperback out of the way while searching for my mp3
player. After unraveling the ear buds, I shove them into my ears. I search for
the album I want to hear—the same one that was playing in the car on my
drive home with Jake.

My mouth turns up as the music fills my ears, and I lean back,
nestling myself deep into the new matching guilt pillow. I replay the day with
a beautiful soundtrack to accompany the memories and fall asleep with the movie
playing in my head on loop.

***

An hour later, I awake positively refreshed from my afternoon nap. I
look up to see Mom’s head poking around my doorframe. I guess that’s what woke
me.

“Hey, I wanted to check on you. You’ve been asleep for a while. Are
you feeling okay?”

I grunt and stretch, unprepared for conversation. Once I am alert
enough, I respond, “I’m fine. The weather must have made me sleepy. I’m
hungry.” My stomach grumbles noisily, as if on cue. “What’s for dinner?”

“I made tortellini soup. It’s ready whenever you are.”

“
Mmmm
. Sounds perfect.” I add, “Soup and a
movie?”

She beams at me. “I’ll go heat it up!”

She is out the door, her footsteps sounding noisily as she bounds down
the stairs. I stretch again and reach for the ear buds, which fell out of my
ears during my nap. I wrap them neatly around the machine and tuck the device
back in my drawer. Suddenly, I remember the texts from earlier and grin.

The smell of dinner is already wafting upstairs, a delicious aroma. I
throw an oversized sweatshirt over my tee shirt and head down after her.

We work side by side in the kitchen. Mom dishes up two oversized mugs
of soup while I pour us each a glass of ice water. I bring the glasses into the
living room and set them on the coffee table then move to the entertainment
unit to hunt for a movie from our collection. Mom enters, sets down the soup,
and slides a coaster under each glass—a pet peeve of hers.

“Comedy, drama, or romance?” I ask looking up.

“How about the new George Clooney flick? I think it’s On Demand.”

George is a favorite of ours, so I happily oblige. We dip into our
soup, and after scraping the last bits, I replace my mug on the table. I pull
the throw blanket down from the back of the couch and wrap us up, curling into
her for some much-needed maternal warmth. It’s nice spending time with her
without worrying about keeping up conversation. In general, she has been more
relaxed since Dad left, and it has been great to see.

Feeling sentimental, I look up and smile. “We'll be okay, Mom.”

She smiles back with tight lips and nods. We finish the movie in
silence.

As soon as it’s over, I excuse myself, citing schoolwork, and return
to my room to finish reading Dante. We still have a month left in the English
unit, but I make an exception and read ahead. I want to catch up to Jake so we can
talk more about it.

We haven’t worked many shifts together so far, but I’ve observed the
books he reads and the comments I make that catch his attention. When he speaks
about his course work or the literature he has read, he is direct and open.
However, when the conversation turns to him personally, he is closed off and
evasive—it intrigues me, and my puzzle-loving side considers it a
challenge. I find myself looking for meaning within the outspoken opinions,
reading between the lines to gain deeper insight into what makes him tick.
Maybe Dante holds a clue. He mentioned the Seventh Circle earlier today, so I
spend extra time studying those lines, looking for the meaning he wouldn’t
provide.

***

The following afternoon, I bound into High Street excited. Jake
mentioned that he would be working today, and since the storm has passed, I have
no reason to think Betsy would tell him to stay home. I am confident after
yesterday’s connection, and when I spot him in the self-help section, I immediately
approach.

“Hey, I couldn’t sleep much last night, so I stayed up finishing that
book. And, guess what? I’ve made my decision! I pick the Ninth Circle, right in
the center with the Devil himself. He sounds scary as hell, but seeing his
vulnerability trapped in the ice like that is too intriguing. I never
considered that even Satan might want to escape Hell. Besides, all that ice is
probably a lot like New England.” I chuckle at my own joke.

“I bet.” Jake smiles weakly and resumes stocking the shelf.