Chapter 6: Can I Buy You Some Peanuts and Cracker Jack?
“There aren’t many weeks left in the ski season, you know,” Scarlet said and lifted her steaming mug of chai tea to her glossy red lips.
“I know, you’re right. I haven’t been skiing all winter. Maybe this weekend, if you’re up for it?” asked Kirby.
Bud had given Kirby the morning off because he was not opening the hardware store until later that day, in the afternoon, due to a routine financial audit he was having done that morning. Unaccustomed to having a morning off, Kirby thought it was as good a time as any to get together with Scarlet for coffee. Tucked into a quiet corner of the coffee shop next to the hardware store, LuLu’s, Kirby was starting to wonder if calling Scarlet had been a good idea or not. As soon as the two sat down, Scarlet started in with all the things that were deficient in Kirby’s social life.
“I can’t ski this weekend. A few of us are going to Denver for the John Legend concert at Red Rocks. It should be pretty fun. Maybe next weekend?” Scarlet said.
“Sure. Maybe.”
“Oh, hey, I heard some gossip. Apparently we have a new celebrity in town. Did you hear? Dave Kensington moved here a week or so ago.”
At the mention of Dave’s name, that quivering feeling in Kirby’s belly came rushing back, and she quickly suppressed it before looking up from her coffee mug to meet Scarlet’s eyes.
“Oh? Where’d you hear that?” she asked, with a tone of indifference.
“My friend Christy works at the country club. She saw him there the other night having drinks with Trevor. Can you believe it? I didn’t even know they knew each other!” said Scarlet.
“Oh, you know how Trevor is,” Kirby replied, not without first having to swallow the bile that rose up in her throat at the mention of Trevor’s name. “He makes it his business to know everyone around town, you know that. Especially the people that might be able to do something for him, or help his image, or make him some money.”
Scarlet nodded. Though she wished the circumstances surrounding Kirby’s break up with Trevor had not been so ugly, she was glad they weren’t together anymore. Trevor was a creep, and in no way did he deserve her beautiful friend Kirby.
“Anyway, I already knew he was here,” continued Kirby. “He came into the hardware store and left me a complete puddle of melted goo. The man is seriously hot.”
“Oh my God! Why didn’t you tell me?” Scarlet demanded. “What’s he like? I imagine he gets followed around all over the place by the press and all his groupies…”
“Actually, I didn’t even know it was him until Bud told me later on, and then I was really embarrassed because I worried I hadn’t rolled out the red carpet for him, like he expects maybe.”
“Yeah, guys like that get annoyed if you don’t stroke their ego,” said Scarlet.
“Well, now that I know he’s hanging out with the likes of Trevor, I don’t really mind that I didn’t give him celebrity treatment,” said Kirby, laughing. “If he comes in the store again, I’ll just treat him like any normal guy. That’s the way to get under the skin of those celebrity types, the ones that care so much about their precious image.”
“I don’t know, Kirby. Maybe you should give me a call the next time he comes in and I can pop over and buy some paint or a new hammer, or some other tool I have no idea how to use. I mean, I know you’ve had your fill of guys that only care about their society status, but I haven’t had that opportunity yet. I wouldn’t mind hanging on the arm of some famous ball player!”
Kirby looked at Scarlet then, all traces of humor gone from her face. “I would never be part of setting you up like that, Scarlet. You don’t know what you’re getting into dating people with a reputation in the community, and I imagine ballplayers and any sports figure are probably a hundred times worse. Your life stops being your own. You become an extension of their reputation. They expect you to show up certain places, act a certain way, look and dress the way they need you to in order to help them get the attention they think they need and deserve… Scarlet, it’s like prison. It’s not a relationship, it’s an arrangement. And arrangements are expendable. You don’t want that.”
“Well, if you say so. I guess you’d be the one to know about such things. No, for me I guess it’s just a steady string of nobody ski bums,” laughed Scarlet. “Anyway, I gotta fly. I have a meeting in a few minutes. Thanks for coffee!”
After a big hug, Scarlet left Kirby in the coffee shop in a sour mood. She sat at the table sipping her coffee and wondering why romance these days had to be this way: you have your choice of a ski bum with no future or drive or motivation for anything other than finding newer, fresher powder, or a career man with tons of motivation and drive who doesn’t know how to love anyone but his own career. Was there any other kind of man out there? What about the literary characters in the books she read? Where does a girl find something like that, someone kind and chivalrous like Anne’s Gilbert in Anne of Green Gables, someone passionate like Romeo, or someone like Christian Grey who knew all fifty shades of how to sweep a woman off her feet?
Sighing, she rose from her table, thanked the barista, and bundled up before heading back out into the cold to walk to work. There were still a few minutes left before Bud would be opening, but the weather was cold and windy and she didn’t feel like killing time walking the streets and looking in the shops. So she let herself into the hardware store early and stayed quiet so as not to disturb Bud’s meeting.
Maybe Scarlet was right. She should probably make some time to ski soon, if for no other reason than that it made her happy. She booted up her laptop on the cashier’s counter and opened the website of her favorite ski apparel company, Western Slope. She loved the colors and styles of their trendy apparel and for a moment held onto a twinge of looking back and missing those years of her life when what she wore was noticed by people and she took pride in her appearance. Looking down at her brown leggings and cream leather Uggs, she realized how plain and dowdy she was dressing lately. It’s not like anyone notices, she thought. But maybe some colorful new ski clothes would be fun for a change.
She was about to press submit order on the webpage to place her order for some pomegranate-red ski pants and a matching paisley ski jacket when she heard the door. We aren’t open yet, and I thought I locked the door behind me when I came in. I must have forgotten.
She looked up at the door and prepared to let her first customer of the day know that they would be closed for another twenty minutes, but she choked on the words when she saw who it was. Dave. He looked amazing in another pair of jeans that seemed molded to his body like they were custom-cut for him, hanging loose in all the right places but hugging his muscular thighs and butt, and a black ski jacket. She stared at him because she could not have averted her eyes if she wanted to. It would have been impossible and required herculean strength she simply did not have where this man was concerned, apparently. Her heart thudded in her chest, warning her it would implode if she did not take her eyes off the hot man in front of her, and her legs grew so weak she had to recline back on the stool behind the counter to keep from falling over.
“Good morning,” Dave said, casually. His voice was like melted caramel, smooth and warm, but there was a hint of strength and dominance in its undertones. Her mouth opened to reply, but no words came out.
And then she remembered what Scarlet had told her, about Dave having drinks with Trevor. Something about realizing what type of guy he hung out with was an immediate turn off, and in that instant, she found her words again. They were devoid of attraction for him, completely controlled, and she even managed to add in a little iciness and distance just to drive home the point that he was not her kind of guy.
“Good morning to you, Mr. Kensington. I am glad you came in so that I could apologize in person for… mishandling your order the other day. We’re so pleased you’ve brought your business to us, and I’ll do my best to meet your every expectation in the future.”
Dave walked up to the counter, and probably sauntered would be a better way to describe his stride. His hands were shoved in his pockets and Kirby could see the outline and definition of his quads through his jeans as he moved slowly towards her. She looked at his face, finally drawing her attention away from everything about him below his neck, and their eyes met. He held her gaze and his lips curved into a crooked, teasing grin.
“I liked you better when you didn’t know who I am, Kirby,” he said. She loved the way her name sounded on his lips and she felt her resolve to be cool and distant fading away. How did he know her name? Oh, right, it’s on my laptop lid.
“Oh, and why is that?” she asked, saucily.
He paused before replying, and Kirby took this to mean he was trying to think of the best way to phrase his response so that she would not suspect him of being what he was – an egocentric celebrity. “I’m just a guy. I happen to play baseball for a living, which makes me lucky, not special. I have found that being in the public eye is a lonely place to be, and I’d rather be surrounded by people that think of me as just Dave, not Big Dave of the White Sox. I’m just Dave.”
The way he spoke the words “just Dave” slayed her, and her heart leapt at the thought of him being lonely in the spotlight. And then she caught herself and reeled her heart back in. “And I, ‘just Dave,’ am just a girl who happens to live here and work in a hardware store. I have found that those in the public eye who come to a celebrity oasis like Breckenridge and have drinks at the country club with people like Trevor von Stoup are generally not too eager to stay out of the public eye, and so I doubt your loneliness and wonder if it is really a case of ego starvation. And so, Big Dave, just so you know, I don’t even like baseball and I don’t plan on asking for your autograph. So, please tell me how I can help you. What’ll it be today? A new hammer? Some nails? How about some duct tape?”
Kirby was flushed from releasing her torrent of words, but it couldn’t be helped. This tall, strong, beautiful man infuriated her. She saw right through his false modesty, and she was not going to fall in line with the millions of other eager women who were just waiting for Big Dave to give them a glance. She wasn’t like that, and she refused to give him the satisfaction. She even wondered briefly if Trevor had put him up to this, told him where to find her if he was looking for a girl to mess with.
To her complete surprise, Dave threw back his head and started laughing. He didn’t stop for several minutes, and to Kirby’s complete disappointment, she found that he had a wonderful laugh – melodious and light – and she was tempted to join right in just to share his joy in whatever it was he was laughing at. The man was contagious, and she was struggling to fight that.
“What in God’s name are you laughing at?” she demanded, angrily.
He finally stopped laughing long enough to reply, before being consumed once again in a fit of mirth. “I had forgotten how fast news travels in a little town like this,” he said. “It’s been awhile since I lived here, but it’s all coming back to me now. Let me guess – you have a friend who has a friend who knows somebody who works for someone who works at the county club?”
“It’s something like that, yes. But I don’t see what’s so funny about it. And I didn’t know you used to live here.”
His face got serious then and he leaned over and put his elbows on the counter so he was eye level with her. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Kirby. And yes, I used to live here. Breckenridge High class of 1990. What I’m really laughing at is this: we aren’t so different, you and I.”
Kirby thought about this for a moment. “I’m not sure what that means, I guess.”
“What I mean is, for whatever reason, you can’t stand Trevor. And guess what? I can’t either! Yes, I had drinks with him. One drink. Because you’re a lady, I won’t even tell you the things he said to me that made me want to punch him. We’re the same, you and I. I don’t know what he did to you – I can guess – but the fact remains, neither of us care for the man, and that makes me like you even more,” he said.
“Even more?”
“Yeah.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means… I don’t have a mouse problem or a squeaky door. I was going to tell you today that I need some paint, or some varnish, or something, anything, but all I really wanted was to see you again. There’s something about you… I need to know what it is. Could I call you sometime? Maybe we could have dinner, or… I don’t, maybe we could…”
Dave was floundering, flushed and shy suddenly. Kirby could not help but smile at him as it was perfectly charming how nervous he was, trying to ask her out. She hated seeing him suffer like this, and a glance at her laptop gave her an idea on how to help him out of the verbal mess he was drowning in.
“Skiing. Do you ski? I was going to hit the slopes this weekend. Want me to keep me company?” she asked, smiling brightly at him.
“I’d like that,” he said. “I’d like that very much.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling. “See you Saturday then. 10am at the lift. Will the paparazzi be joining us?”
“I hope not. So far, you and I and Trevor, and your friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, are the only people who know I’m here, and I’d sort of like to keep it that way. Can you keep a secret, Kirby?”
“Absolutely. I’ve had my fill of the media for one lifetime,” she said.
Afterwards, she regretted saying such a thing. Discussing her past was not something she was interested in getting into with Dave, and she hoped he had not heard her slip-up that referred to her years of living on Trevor’s arm, smiling for cameras and being talked about in the society pages. She wondered if he had heard or not.
As soon as he left the store, she texted Scarlet.
I’m going skiing this weekend, she said.
Good, said Scarlet.
I’m not going alone, she clarified.
Even better, said Scarlet. Who’s the lucky ski bum you found to go with you?
He’s not a ski bum. He’s a baseball player, she said.
Shut up! Big Dave? Are you skiing with Big Dave? Kirby could hear Scarlet’s voice yelling through her text messages, and she imagined Scarlet sitting at her desk getting way too excited, jumping around, waving her phone, and inches away from running through the snow and ice over to the hardware store to hear the news in person.
Yes. I think it’s a date.
With that, she threw her phone in her bag and let it buzz away with incoming messages from Scarlet, no doubt pumping her for details and asking what she was going to wear. Kirby smiled to herself, enjoying having some news to share for a change, and replaying everything Dave had said to her in her mind for the umpteenth time. That he seemed as put off by Trevor as she did had been magic words to her. They had that in common, and that was enough for her, for now.
She reopened her order from the Western Slope and clicked on Edit. She added a few more items – a matching headband and gloves, a new set of thermal shirt and pants to wear under her ski pants, and then expedited shipment. Her new ski outfit in pomegranate red to accent her dark hair would arrive well in advance of her ski date on Saturday. She could hardly wait.
The afternoon was quiet in the store as the storm working its way through the valley was cold and bitterly windy, and most customers were apparently staying home and keeping warm. So she spent the rest of the afternoon Googling Dave Kensington. It was not a bad way to spend a cold, snowy day stuck in a hardware store. And she was relieved to learn that at least Google didn’t have any dirt to share with her on Dave. She liked men who didn’t have any dirt in their pasts.
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