turned to Erik. "I'll just be a sec."
Ducking inside, I found the clerk counting the money in a cash drawer. "Are you about to close?"
"Not for another ten minutes." She smiled. "We get out of here early in the off season. What can I help you with?"
I scanned the store. "I need a jacket. This hoodie is not doing it for me."
Commenting on the recent blizzard, she led me to a rack. I picked out a denim one with a fleece lining. I also splurged on some UGG knock-offs in my size, for which my frozen toes thanked me. Total cost: fifty-eight dollars. Not too bad, I thought, mentally counting my remaining cash, but I'd need to stick to necessities from now on.
"Put them on. I'll take your other stuff to the car."
I hadn't realized Erik had followed me into the store and wondered how long he'd been watching. I'd tried to hurry, but making decisions had always been stressful for me, so I suspected I'd taken longer than I meant to. A quick glance at my watch proved it. I sputtered an apology to the clerk as I left with Erik. She waved me on with a smile and a don't-worry-about-it laugh.
Standing just outside the door, I let Erik pull a tag off the sleeve of my new coat. He then ran my old Nikes and abandoned hoodie to the Jeep. In no time we were walking side-by-side en route to "The Hills," as he called it.
The café had the look of a hillbilly shack, with weathered wooden shingles and a rustic décor. It was a lot bigger on the inside than it looked from the street, and I saw plenty of booths and tables, as well as a fenced off area at one end. Judging by the speaker boxes, that was probably where Erik and others did their live shows. There was also a bar on one side.
Everyone greeted Erik by name, from the hostess to the barkeep. I got some curious looks, but no one asked any questions as we slid into a booth. We ordered drinks--me, a coke; Erik, iced tea.
"What's good here?" I asked once the waitress left. I mean, why bother with a menu when an expert sat across the table from me?
"Everything, actually."
"Then what are you getting?"
"A chicken tender salad."
So he was a salad kind of guy. I wrinkled my nose a little. The wolf in me wanted beef. "How are the cheeseburgers?"
"Awesome. Especially the one with the barbecue sauce on it." He peered over the edge of my menu and then touched the item he meant.
So that's what I ordered as well as onion tangles. He went with the salad, but also asked for chili con queso and chips, which cancelled out any nutritional points he'd earned. It came to us in a miniature skillet with savory steam rising from it. We both tucked in. I was pretty sure my eyes rolled back in my head as I relished the first bite. It was that good.
We talked about nothing in particular as we ate. I asked about the other places where he worked. He told me Hills was his favorite. I'll admit my gaze darted around the room every few seconds. I had the feeling we were being watched, and not just by Erik's friends or the other customers. It was the old hair-standing-on-end kind of sensation, and more than once I surreptitiously sniffed to be sure there wasn't a Were around. But everything seemed to check out.
"Erik? That you, cuz- zin ?"
My dinner companion tensed at the sound of his name and softly groaned. Curious, I glanced toward the door, where four enormous guys stood stomping snow off their boots. I looked back at Erik just in time to see him mouth the F word to himself.
What the heck?
He turned with visible reluctance and half smiled. "Hey, Uncle Greger . Marten, Isak , Bo--what are you guys up to?"
"Six-four, two-twenty," said a guy with sandy blond hair and sky blue eyes. Chuckling at his little joke, he sauntered over to the table with his dad and siblings right behind. "Who's this?" He nodded toward me.
"Bronte, this is my cousin Marten Thorne. Marten, meet my new friend, Bronte Hannigan ." He introduced the others, too. There was a strong family resemblance between the siblings--enough that I
Ducking inside, I found the clerk counting the money in a cash drawer. "Are you about to close?"
"Not for another ten minutes." She smiled. "We get out of here early in the off season. What can I help you with?"
I scanned the store. "I need a jacket. This hoodie is not doing it for me."
Commenting on the recent blizzard, she led me to a rack. I picked out a denim one with a fleece lining. I also splurged on some UGG knock-offs in my size, for which my frozen toes thanked me. Total cost: fifty-eight dollars. Not too bad, I thought, mentally counting my remaining cash, but I'd need to stick to necessities from now on.
"Put them on. I'll take your other stuff to the car."
I hadn't realized Erik had followed me into the store and wondered how long he'd been watching. I'd tried to hurry, but making decisions had always been stressful for me, so I suspected I'd taken longer than I meant to. A quick glance at my watch proved it. I sputtered an apology to the clerk as I left with Erik. She waved me on with a smile and a don't-worry-about-it laugh.
Standing just outside the door, I let Erik pull a tag off the sleeve of my new coat. He then ran my old Nikes and abandoned hoodie to the Jeep. In no time we were walking side-by-side en route to "The Hills," as he called it.
The café had the look of a hillbilly shack, with weathered wooden shingles and a rustic décor. It was a lot bigger on the inside than it looked from the street, and I saw plenty of booths and tables, as well as a fenced off area at one end. Judging by the speaker boxes, that was probably where Erik and others did their live shows. There was also a bar on one side.
Everyone greeted Erik by name, from the hostess to the barkeep. I got some curious looks, but no one asked any questions as we slid into a booth. We ordered drinks--me, a coke; Erik, iced tea.
"What's good here?" I asked once the waitress left. I mean, why bother with a menu when an expert sat across the table from me?
"Everything, actually."
"Then what are you getting?"
"A chicken tender salad."
So he was a salad kind of guy. I wrinkled my nose a little. The wolf in me wanted beef. "How are the cheeseburgers?"
"Awesome. Especially the one with the barbecue sauce on it." He peered over the edge of my menu and then touched the item he meant.
So that's what I ordered as well as onion tangles. He went with the salad, but also asked for chili con queso and chips, which cancelled out any nutritional points he'd earned. It came to us in a miniature skillet with savory steam rising from it. We both tucked in. I was pretty sure my eyes rolled back in my head as I relished the first bite. It was that good.
We talked about nothing in particular as we ate. I asked about the other places where he worked. He told me Hills was his favorite. I'll admit my gaze darted around the room every few seconds. I had the feeling we were being watched, and not just by Erik's friends or the other customers. It was the old hair-standing-on-end kind of sensation, and more than once I surreptitiously sniffed to be sure there wasn't a Were around. But everything seemed to check out.
"Erik? That you, cuz- zin ?"
My dinner companion tensed at the sound of his name and softly groaned. Curious, I glanced toward the door, where four enormous guys stood stomping snow off their boots. I looked back at Erik just in time to see him mouth the F word to himself.
What the heck?
He turned with visible reluctance and half smiled. "Hey, Uncle Greger . Marten, Isak , Bo--what are you guys up to?"
"Six-four, two-twenty," said a guy with sandy blond hair and sky blue eyes. Chuckling at his little joke, he sauntered over to the table with his dad and siblings right behind. "Who's this?" He nodded toward me.
"Bronte, this is my cousin Marten Thorne. Marten, meet my new friend, Bronte Hannigan ." He introduced the others, too. There was a strong family resemblance between the siblings--enough that I
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