Page 190 of Game Night: Truth or Dare

There’s no way Mrs. Green, who is older than Jesus’s sandals, has noticed my obsession—okay, my crush. It’s not that bad. I thought she had vision issues anyway.

“Ask the man out, Malcolm. I’m old, not stupid…or blind.”

Okay, I stand corrected on the vision issue.

She places a romance novel on the cash with a loud smack. “I come here three times a week, Malcolm. Every time I do, you’re staring out the window at the ass that won’t quit.”

My eyes widen as she leans closer and I lean in too, heart pounding like a race horse down the home stretch and wondering why it feels like we’re about to share a mammoth secret.

“You’re not wrong.” I blurt, and she nods with the enthusiasm of a wise woman who knows she’s always right.

“I know.” She nods sagely. “So, when are you going to put me out of my misery? Do an old woman a favour and ask the man on a date. I need to know romance isn’t dead with young people these days.”

She snaps her head back, more agile than I gave her credit for. I already got the vision problem wrong, so it shouldn’t surprise me that I misjudged her mobility, too. She opens her purse, pulling out a bank card as I ring up her purchase.

“Is it considered romance to just simply ask someone on a date, Mrs. Green?”

“Well, it’s better than all these dating sites and apps and what not. Grindr? Tinder? Just showing each other your jewels and being all up-in-your-face about it. A good, sweaty, come-to-Jesus, skin slap session is all well and good, but an in-person invitation most definitely counts as romance these days, Malcolm.”

Not gonna lie, I’m still stuck on the phrase, ‘a skin slap session’ coming from my eighty-year-old customer’s mouth.

She pays for her book, a real historical bodice ripper, and I slide it into her reusable shopping bag with the phrase, ‘Romantic heart palpitations keep me alive.’

“I’ll think about it. Thank you for your…advice.”

“You have a good day, Malcolm.”

The door bells jingle as she leaves and I resume my lusty staring out the window. He does have a nice ass, though. And those arms, god damn. I bet he’s some kind of weekend gym rat. You don’t build that kind of definition from slinging coffee and patio chairs around.

Why does he even put those chairs out when there’s still snow on the ground?

The bells on the front door jingle again signalling another customer. With one more glance at great-ass guy to last me through the day, I get back to work.

“Oh, Malcom! Did you get the next book in that series I’m reading yet?”

One of my favourite customers, Sasha, arrives with a bright smile. He’s still fairly new to our town and used to be a model. It’s not hard to see why. Those cheekbones and lips are a dream.

But I’m not only drawn to him for his looks. I appreciate them, don’t get me wrong, but the reason he’s my favourite is his bubbly personality and his I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude if anyone were to raise an eyebrow over his romance reading obsession.

I’m also a wee bit jealous that he snagged the lumberjack of Maple Mountain Lodge as a partner.

“Not yet, sorry. Today’s shipment hasn’t arrived, but I’ll call you asap once it’s here.”

He stuffs his toque in his pocket with a resigned shrug.

“Probably for the best. I’d just want to read it all night, and we have so much to do with the reopening of Leaf’s sugar shack. Are you coming to the party?”

He’s wandered into the bookstore and speaks from behind the shelves as he browses. Some people might find it annoying that he just talks and doesn’t care who hears, but I think it’s cute. Plus, it lets me keep working while he shops.

“Ah, I don’t know. I’m not much into the party scene. Probably outgrew that after university.” I finish rearranging books on maple syrup production. It’s that time of year when everyone with a maple tree in their yard wants to give it a go. “Besides, the tickets are likely all gone by now, anyway. It’s been the talk of the town for months.”

“You say that like you don’t know me at all, Malcolm.”

Sasha returns with a stack of three books and a contented smile.

“You take care of my reading habits, so I’ll take care of you.” Reaching into his inside coat pocket, he produces an envelope and plops it in on the counter. “Two tickets to the party on Saturday.”

“Oh, I can’t accept these, Sasha. But thank you for the offer.”

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