The restaurant sits in a prime location with a beautiful view of the frozen lake. It’s an eclectic combination of knotty pine, chrome, vintage décor, and neon. A massive carved wooden statue of a chickaree squirrel, also known as a Douglas squirrel—Huckleberry Hill’s beloved mascot—guards the entrance. The locals call him Gus, and his tail is worn smooth from decades of visitors rubbing it for good luck.
I feel like it’s staring at me. Taunting me. Daring me to go inside.
Alright, squirrel. It’s on!
I give it a quick pat as I pass. Can’t hurt.
Inside, the tables are packed. Seems like half the town showed up for Taco Tuesday. I spot my grandmother Joyce at a corner table with Judy Waples—they’re Huckleberry Hill’s most legendary frenemies. They dub themselves the “Golden Grandmas” while bickering about their longtime baking rivalry and gossiping about everyone within a five-mile radius.Grandma waves enthusiastically when she sees me. I wave back, worried she’s going to make a public declaration that I’m single. She’s been not-so-subtly hinting that I should find a nice man and settle down in town permanently.
That’s not part of my life plan. It’s help her with the house, send money home to Reno, prove myself professionally, and eventually move back to the city where I belong.
That’s the plan, and I’m sticking to it!
“Winnie! Over here!” Mindy pops out of her seat at a table near the center of the room. Next to her sits Austin James, smiling as usual. He’s on his phone as if sending a text.
Across from him, wearing a plaid flannel shirt and jeans, along with an expression like he just got sentenced to swim across the lake in the bitter cold, sits Patton Cross.
No!
Oh no, no, no. This can’t be the friend Austin brought. He must make the connection because he stares at me with burning, murderous fire in his eyes.
Naturally, I offer a friendly wave.
He lifts his drink in a mock salute and then turns away like the grouch he is.
My stomach swoops as if I just crested the top of a roller coaster.
I’m stuck like a buffering computer or television screen in the narrow passageway between tables. Peggy, a server, approaches with a tray topped with drinks. I consider fleeing, but Grandma is watching along with Mayor Barbara Johnson, aka “Mayor Barbie,” who just walked in and spotted me.
Retreat is not an option.
I blame the squirrel!
And Mindy!
I should’ve asked her who Austin was bringing. Of course, itwould be someone from the fire department. Should I be surprised or just accept it?
Plastering on a smile, I slide into the empty seat across from Patton. His jaw tightens. I’m getting good at reading his arrogant micro-expressions, mostly because they’re the only expressions he has other than stone-cold serious.
“Hi,” I say brightly. “Fancy meeting you here. Small world.”
“Austin dragged me here,” he replies, as if that explains why he looks like he’d rather be fighting a wildfire.
“Mindy invited me. What a coincidence.”
Meanwhile, she’s beaming at Austin. They’re both oblivious to the timer ticking down on the TNT wired up between Patton and me.
Peggy appears with menus and a basket of chips. I order a water and the a la carte bean tacos because my bank account is crying.
Patton orders the loaded nachos. I didn’t peg him as someone who’d share, but maybe there’s hope for him yet. Sidebar: I would’ve ordered them for the table if I could afford it. The plate is huge—big enough to feed a horse. Not that I’d do that. I think horses prefer hay and apples, but still.
Mindy and Austin talk about a television show that his best friend recommended—why couldn’t that be the person he brought on this “double date?!”
I reach for conversation the way a drowning person grapples for a life preserver and ask Patton, “So, how’s the bakery renovation going?”
“Fine.”
“Have you come up with a name? Made a sign?”
