Short Order

might as well be living in the house alone. I loved it but kind of wanted to see him now and then without having to hang outside the Silver Star like some lovesick Romeo.
* * * *
The following week, I asked John to meet me at Stonewall Saloon for a beer a couple of times, but he repeatedly said no. He didn’t seem to be into making friends—at least with me—which I thought was weird since we had a connection in size, age, and the house. But whatever. He was my landlord, after all. Maybe he didn’t befriend tenants.
So instead of going to the saloon alone all the time, I’d put in overtime at the nursery making wreaths and pine swags, both of which were impossible to keep in stock. Beth was thrilled and called me a “real asset” to the store. I was fast and uncomplaining, and always upbeat. Mostly I let my mind drift while I did mundane tasks that tired me out enough that I slept soundly at night.
I also got my library card from the postage-stamp library located behind Blue Cottage, off the city park. A stroll through the aisles of the library told me I’d better ask my mom to send some of our old books so I could donate them.
I visited the farm and ranch supply store, the firehouse, and the Western wear shop. I saw a couple of movies. I lived it up, alone.
I was bored out of my skull as far as companionship went. Everyone was really nice, friendly, and weird. It was like I was some exotic specimen plucked from the rain forest and replanted in the drought-plagued foothills. Nobody seemed to know what to do with me. I couldn’t figure out how to break out of the hothouse they put me in and establish the tiniest foothold on their soil.
Still, I worked, interacted with customers, corralled the young kids who ran up and down the aisles, and was happy I could piss in my own home without getting smacked in the face by a wet bra.
Then one Sunday evening as I took out my trash, John asked me if I wanted to have that beer. Of course, I agreed.
We met at Stonewall on a Monday night.
The place was more or less empty—a couple of guys I didn’t recognize playing a card game in the corner, Stone behind the bar talking to his fiancé Jimmy, who sat on a barstool front and center. Jimmy’s hands were moving wildly, and I could hear his voice though it was too low-pitched to understand what he was saying. Whatever it was engaged Stone enough that he didn’t look away from Jimmy’s face when we stood next to the bar a few feet away.
I unzipped my ski jacket and unwound the hand-knit scarf from around my neck and face. The bitter cold from outside clung to me like a fungus, but the room’s heat was beating it back.
John, whose internal temperature seemed to run at tropical heat, unbuttoned his jean jacket and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
“Damn, it’s hot in here.” He rubbed the moisture from his face onto his sleeve. “I’m going to die any minute.”
“Why don’t you go get us a table, and I’ll get the drinks?” Before he could protest, I added, “You get the next round.”
“Total Eclipse Ale for me, then.” John turned and, taking off his jacket, walked away from the bar.
It took long enough to get Stone’s attention that I had a chance to look over the display bottles lining the shelf above the bar’s mirrored back. I’d been meaning to try one of the Hoppy beers, but opted for a Sudwerk lager because I missed going to the brewery in Davis and drinking there with my grad school friends.
I started to pay, but Stone cut me off.
“You guys thinking about more than one?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Okay, then, I’ll run a tab and keep a watch on your glasses. You can change the music at the box over there if you don’t like it. You don’t need change. I’ve got it on code tonight.” While he was talking, he’d opened the bottles and slung glasses over the long necks. “You need help with any of this?” He slid the two bottles toward me.
I shook my head, picked up the drinks, and turned, my eyes getting used to the bar darkness as I searched for John. He’d found us a two-person table in a back corner. After I plopped the beers on the table, I sat across from him.
“So how’s your week been?” I took a sip and figured he’d probably ignore the question, but I wasn’t going to let him. “Looks like you’ve been as busy as we have. You having a sale or something at the diner?”
His head shot up, and he glared at me.
“It’s not a diner.”
“That so?” Ha. I knew I could get a rise out of him.
Then he was off explaining how the Silver Star was a gourmet restaurant and how they were sure to get a great Michelin rating. That kicked into superchef Adam’s cooking credentials and how his cooking had been received throughout his career. He talked more about the place and his boss than he did about himself.
Still, it was nice to hear him talking about something he loved and to watch his face open like a crocus after a long winter. And, yes, I knew that everyone else would make fun of me describing him as a spring blossom since he had a five o’clock shadow and was roughly built, his face probably a little unremarkable to most people. But I see people in terms of plants and flowers sometimes, and he was blooming. He glowed as he jabbered.
His naturally ruddy complexion pinked a little more, the color smoothing out, not merely sticking to his cheeks. His brown eyes sparkled, twinkling at times as he told me something funny. He was irresistible, and I hoped he was finding my rapt