She snorted. “Close. I asked if you’d started Christmas shopping for your family yet.”
“Oh. I’m done, actually. I always order Christmas gifts the first week of November. Because I wrap them myself and bring them with me instead of having them delivered, I like to leave plenty of time. What about you?”
“I usually do one marathon shopping day, in actual stores, the Saturday before Christmas.”
He frowned. “Between the depleted selection and the crowds, that doesn’t sound very efficient.”
“No, it’s not. But it’s a rush. Like my equivalent of rappelling down a mountain or bungee jumping off a bridge.” She pointed her fork at him. “You know, even though you’re done, you should go with me just to experience it.”
“I’ve never experienced tequila shots, either. I can do one and then the other, and get both experiences out of the way at the same time.”
“I’m not taking you drunk Christmas shopping with me.” She leaned back in her chair and watched him over the rim of her glass as she drank her wine. “I might take you home with me tonight, though, and let you kiss me good-night. And good-morning.”
“It’s the sweater, isn’t it?”
She smiled that smile from the photo on his phone, and his pulse raced. “It’s a really nice sweater.”
*
By Tuesday, Tori was ready for a day off. She’d found her rhythm, working the ten-to-two shift and doing her design work, as well as spending time with Max, but life at the Trailside Diner was turning into a sitcom. A bad one.
When Max walked in a little before two, she wasn’t surprised when he stopped right inside the door, scowling. His nose wrinkled and he gave her a questioning look as he walked to his regular counter seat. “I may be a little on the straightlaced side, but I did go to college. Why does the diner smell like marijuana?”
Tori grimaced. “Another applicant bites the dust.”
“At least he or she is probably pretty mellow about it.”
“Uh, yeah. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately, depending on your stress levels or general mood—she couldn’t tell the difference between intake and exhaust in the HVAC system and was blowing smoke in the wrong one. Not that either was the right one for dispersing pot smoke on the job, but you know what I mean.”
“What is Paige doing about it?”
“Rose is baking four batches of brownies. The first batch is cooling now if you’d like one.”
“You’re kidding.”
His expression, which showed quite clearly he knew she wasn’t kidding, made her laugh. “As soon as we could smell it, Paige left because she had Sarah in a playpen in the office. Drew came over, and Sam Jensen from the fire department, and they made sure all the exhaust fans were running. And I’m making signs to hang on the door so people can choose whether or not to come in.”
“It’s not very strong,” he said. “Although I’m not sure if it’s growing more faint, if I’m getting accustomed to it, or if I’ve stopped caring.”
“I’ll get you a brownie.” She poured him a coffee and went out back to get two of Rose’s perfectly baked, slightly gooey in the center brownies.
“Those look really rich,” he said when she set the plate in front of him. “I was kidding about being high, you know. There’s a trace odor.”
“I know. But have you ever had one of Rosie’s brownies?” He shook his head. “Then take advantage of the excuse and have two.”
She hung the sign on the door, warning potential customers of the issue and noting that Sam Jensen had given the all-clear for them to remain open. Then she went through the checklist of things to do before Ava showed up, like checking sugar packet supplies and ketchup bottles. It seemed like forever before the clock hit two, and then she was free.
“Did you come to town for errands?” she asked Max once she’d left the diner behind her for the day.
“Yes, if having coffee and a slice of pie is an errand. Although the brownies were better. I also thought maybe I’d see if you wanted to hang out at my place. I’m making tacos for dinner.”
“That’s the best offer I’ve had all day.” She tucked her arm through his as they walked down the sidewalk. “I’m going to take my car, though. I can’t stay too late.”
He bumped her with his hip. “How late?”
“Late enough,” she said, and then she laughed when he gave her a suggestive raise of his eyebrows. “I want tacos first, though. I don’t remember the last time I had tacos.”