“We’re here,” Jay says as we park.
I look through the windshield. “Puddy’s House of Pancakes and Oddities?”
He grins as we get out and stand at the door, bright retro lights of the sign lighting our faces. He looks exactly like himself—tattered jeans, frayed-edge jacket, tousled head of hair, and mustache trimmed to Jay-perfection—but hotter by at least nineteen degrees. Maybe it’s the anticipation of what’s yet tocome or what line we’re crossing by being at wherever we are just the two of us, but he’s mouthwatering.
“I thought you might like to know what kind of place has odditiesandpancake batter on hand,” he says, bumping my shoulder with his. “A peddling paradox.”
My words from the wagon ride.
I swoon; it’s stupid.
“But before we go in—” He reaches into his coat and pulls out—is that a poinsettia corsage?“I got you something.” At my confused look, he explains, “It’s tradition. Every time I take you on our first official date, I get you a corsage. Didn’t you know?”
As I bite my cheek to keep from smiling, he pinches his tongue between his lips and slips the ghastly corsage onto my wrist. The bright red flower and the flashy gold sprigs sticking out around it are absolutely hideous.
Again, I swoon; again, it’s stupid.
“Have I told you I like traditions?” I ask with feigned surprise.
He strokes his mustache in mock contemplation. “I wondered if you might.”
We both smile like we can’t not, and he takes my hand in his, pulling me inside the restaurant.
It’s cluttered chaos. True to its name, oddities are everywhere, shelves upon shelves lining every wall surrounding an open area filled with tables where a few people are eating. Polka Christmas music plays a little too loudly, and the whole place smells like pancakes and syrup. In every corner, Christmas trees covered in vintage ornaments are shoved. In between, there are cases of glass bottles, creepy dolls, nutcrackers, and snow globes. One entire section is dedicated to top hats. And fishing lures. And puppets.
“How did you find this place?” I whisper, clinging to his arm as a hostess wearing a top hat adorned with candy canes leads us to a table in the corner.
“I get my nieces and nephews their Christmas gifts from here every year,” he says, sliding into the same side of the booth as me instead of across the table. My shoulders tense at the silliness of it. Like us sitting so close will translate to everyone thinking we’re bragging about being here together. But when Jay looks at me playfully, the tension dissolves. Because it is silly, and we are here together, and dammit I love both of those things.
The atmosphere is like a Christmas-themed circus. It’s utterly wild, makes absolutely no sense, and is completely perfect.
“What on earth do you buy here?”
He chuckles, eyeing the red paper lantern painted with gold bells hanging over our table. “Oddities and pancakes, of course.”
I snort a laugh, perusing the menu. The waitress arrives and we both order pancakes, bacon, and hot chocolate.
When she’s gone, I angle my position so I’m facing him in our singular booth, and he drapes an arm over the back. Every look, laugh, and touch reads like a big fat flirt.
“You like me,” he says, fingering the hair around my face.
“Hm.” I gesture with my corsage-adorned wrist. “You’re the one showering me in gifts, I could say the same.”
“I do like you,” he says easily, eyes not leaving mine. “I really liked you on Thanksgiving.”
I slap him on the arm making him grunt. “That,” I say, flustered as the waitress delivers our hot chocolates, “was not what you think.”
Jay pulls out a flask and pours whiskey into each of our mugs.
“I think a lot of things,” he says, smiling wolfishly over the top of his mug. Hot chocolate clings to his mustache, and I reach out and wipe it with my thumb.
He grabs my hand at his face and kisses my palm.
It’s sweet.
And.
I swoon, not even caring if it’s stupid.
