Surprise skitters through me when he chuckles. He looks away, shaking his head, but I don’t miss the faint tinge of rosiness that appears in his cheeks. “Clearly you haven’t properly flirted with someone if you thinkthisis me hitting on you.”
I smile sweetly just because I know it irritates him. “Humor me, then.”
Oh my God, am I actually flirting with this guy?
When he flicks his gaze my way, I wonder what he’s seeing. I’m an open book – the exact opposite of him. Does he notice that the intensity of his curious appraisal makes me feel like I’m standing under the summery, beaming sun?
“Keys?” he asks again, this time in a whisper like it’s meant just for me. I have to admit I’m slightly disappointed that he’s moved on, but his next words feel like balm to a wound. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
“Look at you being sweet and caring,” I chastise, which earns me a dry laugh. Moving to reach into my pocket, I realize my hands are full.
Before I can even ask if he can hold the cups and the pastry bags, he steps toward me, crowding my space and letting his cologne swirl into my consciousness. “They’re in your pocket?”
I nod, my mouth suddenly feeling dry. “Right one.”
“Is it okay if I touch you?”
The simple request, the roughness of his voice, the sheer proximity – they all cause my cheeks to tingle with unsolicited warmth.
“Uh, yes.” I blink multiple times, unable to comprehend what is happening.
“Are you sure? You hesitated there for a second.”
“No, I’m sure. Do what you have to do.”
When Diego reaches into the pocket of my coat to retrieve the keychain, I observe the way his throat works up and down. Once he’s in possession of the keys, his gaze finds mine, and everything around us fades away. All I see is him. All I smell is him.
Oh, no. That’s not a good sign.
I feel it slowly, deliberately, the way he glances at my parted mouth, then back up into my eyes.
I clear my throat then, looking behind his shoulder. “Blue key.”
“Got it.”
As soon as we’re safely inside, he flicks the lights on, throws my keychain on the front desk, and ruffles the snow out of his hair.
Then he pivots, all while I’m desperately trying to stay cool and composed, and grabs the cup with his name scribbled on the side.
“Thanks.”
He disappears into the staff room without so much as looking at me, and I feel like I might combust.
This is going to be a long, excruciating day.
The morning is busy and, fortunately, goes quicker than anticipated. Customers walk around the aisles, ask for advice and information about our renting service. Diego is nowhere to be seen, but I think he’s busy working with my dad in the back of the store.
I’m impressed by the influence Diego has had since he started working with us, as Rock Snow has boomed in popularity. Our sales have never been higher. Our stock is selling out so quickly that I can’t keep up with orders. Dad has already asked me to pick up extra shifts to help them during peak hours. And yet Diego’s only been here for less than a week.
Quite a few customers clearly come here with the sole purpose of engaging with Diego, but he’s not interested in the least. He avoids everyone asking for a picture or an autograph, and cuts the conversations short when someone tries to pry too much into his personal life. Sometimes he isolates himself in the locker room for a breather, but his fists are constantly curled like he’s silently trying to rein in his frustration.
It saddens me to see him like this – as though his general optimism has faded away – but I know I shouldn’t feel this way. I don’t know him. I know nothingabouthim, so allowing myself to be affected by his story – well, the minuscule pieces I’ve cobbled together – is ridiculous.
By the time the end of the day creeps up on me, the store is nearly empty. It’s the slowest time of the afternoon, as most patrons are either at the lodge or simply enjoying the setting sun. The view is lovely if you walk around town and watch how the sky fades from blue to mauve, with filaments of tangerine weaving through. With the icicle lights hanging overhead, thesnow-covered mountains, and the crisp cold, it’s evident we’re nearing Christmas, which happens to be my favorite time of the year.
A blur of black catches my eye as Diego strolls toward the front of the store, hands lazily tucked in his pockets. His nonchalance is infuriating.
“Are you here for your lesson?” I ask, as he rounds the desk to sit beside me at the register.
