I push one of each of the filled glasses toward Kit, then pick up a shot glass and hold it above my beer. I encourage Kit to do the same. He looks unsure, but he follows. I drop the shot glass into the beer. It hits the bottom with a clunk and foam rises over the edge. I quickly bring it to my mouth and manage to swallow a few mouthfuls, foam dripping down my chin.
Kit throws his drink back. He puts the empty glass down with a thud. “Holy shit! That’s horrible.”
“Not a fan of the bomb shot?” I ask as I tip the rest of my drink down the sink and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
He rolls his eyes, but I notice his gaze drop to my mouth. I run my tongue along my bottom lip, tasting the hops and alcohol and wish I was tasting him instead.
Kit is the first to break the tension. He clears this throat. “Can I give you a hand with dinner?”
“Sure.”
Together we dish up the casserole and soon we’re seated opposite each other at the small table.
“This is really good,” Kit says after a few bites. “Where did you learn to cook this like?”
“My mom. You may have noticed there isn’t much in the way of home delivery here, so we ate a lot of home-cooked meals. She taught me most of her recipes. I think she secretly wanted a daughter but had to make do with me.”
“Perhaps she’s just equal opportunity?” Kit says.
I shrug. “Maybe, but my folks are pretty much set in their gender roles. Mom did most of the house stuff, and Dad took care of the outdoors.”
“Shawn said they’ve retired. To Florida?”
I finish my mouthful before answering. “Dad’s health was bad for a few years, then he had an injury to his back. It became too hard for him to do the repair work around here and manage chores like chopping firewood. Uncle Shawn had been away for ten years, but came back to lend a hand, then convinced them it was his turn to put in the hard work so they could retire to a warmer climate.”
“You weren’t tempted to follow in the family footsteps?” Kit asks.
“To Florida?”
Kit chuckles. “No, managing the cabins.”
I sigh and put down my fork. “Now that’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time,” he says. “If you want to tell it.”
“How about the short version?” I get up and grab us a couple of bottles of beer—no whiskey this time—and slide one across to Kit. “Growing up in Collier’s Creek was amazing. What kid wouldn’t want to be able to fish, and hike, and run wild through the mountains?”
He looks at me and nods. “Sounds idyllic.”
“It was.” I take a long sip of ale as I remember my teenage years. “Don’t get me wrong, it was hard work too. I was expected to do chores after school and study hard, but I couldn’t imagine a better life. I wanted nothing more than to work alongside Dad or maybe open a store. Not big plans, just enough, you know?”
Kit pushes his plate away and leans his forearms on the table. “I sense a but.”
“But Mom and Dad wanted more for me. I’m their only child. They both worked so hard to give me the opportunities they never had. They encouraged me to want to try new things, to have bigger dreams.”
“They didn’t want you to take over the family business?”
“Not exactly. They just wanted me to experience the world first, get an education, and make sure it was something I absolutely wanted to do.”
“And did you?”
“Did I experience the world?”
“Did you find your path in life?”
Now that’s the million-dollar question. I take a moment to think about my response. “At first I couldn’t wait to move away—I was going to conquer the world. I moved to the city, studied business administration at college, then started my career. I enjoyed what I was doing, but I don’t think my job was ever an all-consuming passion.” I take a sip of my drink. “To be honest, now that I’m home, I don’t even miss it.”Wow!I shock myself with that thought, suddenly feeling light as I acknowledge the truth of my feelings.
“Do you like working at the coffee shop?”
