Page 85 of My Merry Mistake
She sees straight through me. Most people don’t even bother to look that hard.
I walk around and meet her on the street. “So this is your town.”
“You’ve been here before,” she says.
“Yeah, but I haven’t been downtown.” I look around as we cross the street. It’s the kind of town you might see in one of those cheesy Christmas movies. Buildings line both sides of the quaint little main street—businesses and restaurants, most with awnings and decorated windows.
“After Thanksgiving, there’s a big Christmas kickoff. All the businesses down here will be decked out for the holidays. There’s a carnival and a Gingerbread Walk—the official start tothe Christmas season.” She avoids looking my way. “Not the kind of place you’re used to, I’m sure.”
“Youreallyhave to stop assuming things about me,” I say. “You don’t actually know that much.”
She stops moving. “You’re right. Sorry about that.”
“Two apologies in one day? Look to the east! Is Jesus coming back on a cloud?”
“You bring out the worst in me.” She bites back a smile and starts walking again.
“I actually prefer this sort of small-town Christmas celebration,” I say.
She looks at me. “And you live in Chicago?”
“Only because of the team.” I stuff my hands in my pockets. I move around her so I’m on the street side as we stroll down the sidewalk. “When hockey’s done with me, I’m pretty sure I’ll end up back in a small town. I’m not built for city life.”
“I love the city,” she says.
“But you bought a house in Loveland.” I look at her. “Why?”
She pulls a pair of gloves from her pocket and puts them on. “To be close to my family. In case they need me.” She quickens her pace, and I have to jog a few steps to catch up to her.
I put a hand on her arm.
She looks at it, then at me.
“We’re not in a hurry,” I say, dropping my hand.
She looks a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I’m used to?—”
“Yeah, I know. But today we’re taking it easy.”Thisis how I can help her, right? Help her slow down?
“I don’t need to?—”
“It’s for me,” I lie. “My body is a perfect specimen that requires a full nine hours of sleep each night, and I didn’t get it.”
Her eyes go wide. “Nine hours? That’s insane! I usually shoot for four.” She starts walking again, toward the end of the block.
“Four? What are you, a giraffe?”
She half-laughs, “I have no idea what that means or if I should be insulted.”
“Giraffes sleep like five hours a day, sometimes standing up.” I shrug. “I’m not sure how I know that, but it’s true.”
“You’re so weird.” She stops under the sign for Poppy’s Kitchen. “Whoa, it’s busy,” Raya says as she pulls open the door.
We step inside, and I look around the space. Every table is full, and people wait in a small alcove by the door.
A young woman at the hostess stand looks up and smiles. Her expression quickly turns confused. “Raya? Poppy didn’t say you were coming in! We never see you on weekdays.”
Raya looks unsure. “Hi, Bella. Yeah, I’m, uh—taking the day off.”
