Page 3 of The Holiday Grump
I kept my gaze on the book, but she shuffled closer, flashing a sunny smile. “Hey! Can I ask you something?”
I reluctantly lifted my eyes off the page. “What?”
“What’s the deal with the internet?” She raised her phone, turning it in her hand.
I lowered the book by an inch. “Bad signal.”
“Is it a satellite connection?”
“No. There’s a tower, but…” I sighed and lowered the book in defeat. “It’s not close enough, and we get some odd weather events, like temperature inversion. And if anyone tells you anything else, don’t believe them.”
Her eyebrows traveled up. “Like what?”
I cast a weary look at the ceiling. “Evil spirits. Government experiments. None of it’s true. The government doesn’t give a rat’s ass about us. There’s no conspiracy. Only gradual decay and entropy. And eventually, death.”
She nodded solemnly, her eyes exaggeratedly wide. “I can tell you’re fun.”
Better that she found out right away. And left.
Except she wasn’t leaving. Instead, she leaned forward.
“What do you do when you need to call someone?”
“Use the landline. Or go up Cellular Hill.” I picked up the book again, signaling the end of the conversation.
She let out a bubbly laugh like I’d cracked an exceptional joke. “Cellular?—”
“Yeah, hilarious.” I angled myself away from her and resumed my reading.
“I didn’t mean to make fun of… anything. It’s an odd name, that’s all.”
Clearly, she wasn’t going to leave me alone. I lowered the book again.
“The official name is Seller Hill. It used to be where the market was held, before they built the town square in 1862.”
She stared at me in awe. “Wow. You must be amazing at trivia nights.”
I pushed out a flashback from my old life.
“Trivia is useless,” I muttered, flipping a page I couldn’t focus on.
She scooted to the edge of her seat, her knees nearly touching my satchel. I used it as a barricade, making sure not even the densest idiot thought the seat beside me was vacant.
I heard the smile in her voice. “So… are you like a history buff or…?”
“Do you mind?” I nodded at the book.
“Ah, sorry.” She finally retreated to her table just as the bartender, Summer, arrived with her food.
“Thank you so much!” she beamed.
Summer threw me a reproachful glance. “I apologize for whatever Fredrik said.”
“Oh no!” The woman waved her hand. “He was very helpful?—”
“No, he wasn’t.” Summer glared at me. “He was an ass,and he’s sorry. This is not how we treat visitors in this town.”
I harrumphed behind my book.
