Next!

I could feel him staring at me from behind. But is the stare friendly, appreciative, leering?

The promise of an answer starts with an “Excuse me?” I turn around and come face to face with soulful blue eyes shining forth from a very handsome face. Wavy black hair, tanned face, and toned physique complete a most welcome picture.

“I don’t mean to seem forward,” he says, “but I noticed the Big Paul's Resort logo on your jacket and wondered if you’d been there or maybe it was a gift.” Ah geez, add in a deep baritone voice.

“Yes, I go every year, never found a better place for nighttime skiing,” I reply. “Especially the Bunyan Run.”

“Brave girl, good for you. That’s my favorite too. I've done the Lookout at Stowe and the Limelight at Sun Valley and I swear this run is even scarier."

We turn a little in place to make it easier to chat. "I'm Jeff," he tells me, offering his hand. I slide my hand into his firm grip and say, "Christy," adding, "and today's blizzard is already giving the mountain a beautiful base."

"I just love the way they illuminate the slopes with all those colored lights. Makes it seem like a party even before you go into the lodge afterward.”

“And when you do go inside, the party just gets even better. There are always those sing-alongs and everyone joins in.”

“And the drinking games!”

“And for sure everyone joins in!”

As we share a laugh I can’t help but feel something is happening here. Really, this soon? I move a little sideways and he follows.

“It’s a good thing the rooms are just down the hall there. Though as an alternative, you can also soak up some of the alcohol in their Fireside Room. Great chef, great food.”

“Great food, yes! Oh my gosh Jeff, have you tried their bison burger with bleu cheese? Or the babybacks with the smoky sauce”

“Sure have, love both of them, but my favorite is the Cowboy Steak which looks like something Fred Flintstone would have on his plate. And next to it that mountain of fries that you could almost ski down.”

Another shared laugh. And now I have to add a sense of humor into this bundle.

“And the desserts! Oh my gosh, that brownie sundae with both hot fudge and marshmallow topping must have a bazillion calories, but I manage to do it total justice.”

“I don’t see any brownie sundaes sticking to you. Oh, ahhh, I’m sorry, that was probably inappropriate. I just meant it looks like you probably work out.”

Is my face as red as it feels? I should be offended or maybe even worried, but the fact is I am neither, and my composure makes a quick comeback.

“It’s OK, I do work out. At least three days a week you can find me at Town & Country Fitness. Wait, I didn’t mean you should find me. Ummm, just that’s where I go to exercise and . . . “

“My turn to say it’s OK. I know what you meant.”

The fates intervene. We’re distracted by furious yelling.

"HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN! ARE YOU ALL IMBECILES HERE! AND YOU MUST BE THE HEAD IMBECILE, BECAUSE CLEARLY YOU CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO FIX IT. NO, I'M NOT FILLING OUT THE DAMN FORM, YOU KNOW WHAT YOU CAN DO WITH THAT! I'M GOING STRAIGHT TO MY LAWYER AND YOU CAN EXPECT TO HEAR FROM HIM IN SHORT ORDER."

Fortunately, at this point the man storms out. I scan the other people, trying to see if anyone else looks ready to share a piece of their mind.

“Wow,” I say, “that could have gone bad. And it wouldn’t be the first time in one of these places.”

“You got that right. But tell me, Christy, any plans yet to head for the resort when it opens next month?”

“Not opening week, always so crowded. Usually the following weekend. I probably should get going on reservations.”

"Do you go alone, or with girlfriends, or . . . boyfriends?"

"Usually by myself and actually, Jeff, I like it that way. Sometimes, though, some of my girlfriends go too and then we rent a condo and all stay there together, and that's nice too."

“Maybe we could stay there together. No, I mean be there together. Wait, be there at the same time. Well, this just seems to be my day for spinning right into awkward territory.”

“Like the Tasmanian Devil?” I say, trying to lighten things up. Meanwhile, I notice that people around us are starting to pay attention to our conversation. Are they cheering us on or just nosy?

“The who?”

“Oh, from the Bugs Bunny cartoons. I thought maybe since you like the Flintstones . . . probably just made myself look like an idiot because I still watch that kind of stuff."

”Oh no, not an idiot, I haven’t outgrown cartoons either. So much funnier than a lot of the other tv shows.”

"Good. Glad to hear it."

“Look, umm, I’m probably about to get myself into even more trouble here, but we seem to have at least some things in common. Do you think we might get together for coffee some time?”

Does he really like these things or is he just saying that to cozy up? I want to take the chance.

“You know what, I’d like that. Since we’re both here, guessing you live in the neighborhood too. I usually like to go to the Cuppa Café. Do you know where that is?"

“Sure do, right next to the library. I often stop into the café after I’ve picked up a load of books.” A reader too, he’s saying, yay!

“Well I look forward to chats about good book finds.” Chats, plural, now I'm wading into those rushing waters.

“And we can start over our coffee, even bring some of our favorites. So today is Tuesday, how about Friday?”

“10 am?”

It’s a date! Well you know, not exactly a date. Well I guess in kind of a way it is.”

I gave him my biggest smile. “I know what you mean, and I think we’re going to have a fine visit.”

“Absolutely, we’ll get to know each other a little better, and maybe stop having to apologize for just simply showing that we find each other interesting.”

Now I see that people who have finished at the counter are lingering a bit instead of leaving, maybe waiting for the snow to let up, or maybe to see where this story is headed. Folks just joining the line seem to sense that something is going on, hoping maybe for at least some diversion to pass the time for a change, and so their eyes and ears are on us too.

I take a few steps. And as he has all along, of course follows.

“And you know what? I think it would indeed be fun to be at the resort at the same time, and so you should know that I'll probably be making my reservations tomorrow.”

“Awesome, so then for the second weekend?”

I look at a calendar on my phone. Meanwhile another rant breaks out, and I'm hoping this guy also chooses to end it by just leaving. He does, but once again I'm reminded how passions sometimes seem a little closer to the surface here.

“Yes, and that would be the 23rd, through Monday.”

“Perfect, I’ll call tomorrow and book the same.”

“And then I just need to line up my friend Jessie who always takes care of my cats when I travel. She loves those kitties.”

“Oh, you have cats. I love them too, and one of these days I’m going to get my very own. That’s great of your friend, so you can go on trips like this.” And once again that little nagging question, if all this me-too-ism is for real. Be gone, naggy Q!

“Yes, it is, Jeff. And I’m really looking forward to it.”

“Me too Christy!”

Better tamp down the temp. “I mean, we’re just two friends enjoying our favorite sport at our favorite place.”

I sense skepticism in the folks who are now practically leaning into our space. While inside my head, where apparently I have zero control, is a picture captioned, "Your place or mine." Stop it!

"Of course! And I don't think the world will end if we get together for some races down Bunyan Run, the lodge parties, a meal or two.

"I'm all for it. Pretty sure the world will go on."

I cannot believe how much I'm looking forward to spending time with this man I've just met. But I've been through so many "frogs," I think I can't be blamed for getting pretty darn excited that I'm in the exact right place, at the exact right time, to finally find what just might turn out to be my "prince."

Meanwhile he's looking at his phone calendar. “Oh wait! Wait! Can you go a week later?

“Well maybe. Do you have a conflict for the weekend we were talking about?”

“Indeed I do! There’s a Trump rally here that Saturday.”

Internal brakes slamming, screeching, smoking. I swear I could feel my body freeze, my heart stop beating, my breath disappear. I manage to gasp out, “What?”

“You are a Trump fan, right? With everything else we have in common you must be.”

“Trump?” I could barely say the name. “That scumbag!”

“Scumb . . . wha . . . how. You can’t mean it. He’s the best president we’ve ever had.”

"Oh my God, Jeff!"

"Oh my God, Christy"

I'm off and running – my mouth that is. I unload a verbal torrent punctuated by liar, petty, misogynist, racist, scammer, fraud, narcissist, and more. He manages to wedge in the likes of patriot, leader, strongman, fights back, won’t be pushed around, tells it like it is, and more.

Wow. In a flash the crowd trades their rapt attention for raging engagement, with heated opinions now flying around the room, high-decibel rebuttals crashing into them in midair, applause breaking out in alternating waves. A few threats are also tossed into the chaos for good measure, and the guard is yelling into his phone, most assuredly on 911.

Some non-screaming patrons take off as if they've sprouted wings, task at hand relegated to lowest priority. Meanwhile the clerks are doing a great imitation of a small herd of deer in the headlights.

Jeff and I have to shout at each other to be heard. OK, we'd be shouting anyway.

Our conversation quickly evolves, or devolves as the case may be, into fervid assurances that there will be no coffee date, no meet-up at Big Paul's, nothing ever. That’s hotly overlaid with hopes of never ever crossing paths here, at the coffee shop, the library, or anywhere else in town.

He bellows that he's glad he knows my Big Paul's schedule so he can avoid it forever. I fire back, that's fine because you're not a prince after all. He momentarily looks a bit baffled by that, which I find oddly satisfying.

As sirens sound in the distance, the cacophony lessens a little. Then, once again, the fates come to my rescue. I’m finally at the head of the line and almost immediately called over, which actually quiets the crowd even more.

I hurry to the window, buy my stamps, and flee. Somewhere in the hazy jumble of my mind is an intent to find a different coffee shop and a different library. But more than anything - definitely, definitely - a different post office.

The cold blast in my face seems to blow some clarity into my mind. After all the whole thing was on and off in a flash and, hey, who knows what may await in those new places. That whimsical notion inspires the beginnings of a tiny smile.

And now, here comes the sun.

-- end --