by Tif Marcelo
Something passes before his eyes. “Just…thanks.”
“Of course.” I don’t know what I expected, but a part of me wished it was more.
“We should go, huh?” He looks longingly at the exit.
“Do you need help to get there?”
“If you don’t mind.” Half of his face scrunches into a wince.
“C’mon, Teddy, let’s go.” I giggle and take his hand, leading him to the exit. But this time, I remind myself that we’re just friends.
After I swing home to change into my uniform, update my mom, and pack myself a snack, I head back out into the afternoon. Like usual, the Inn is packed. Cars line the side of the road on the long driveway leading to the Bookworm Inn, and it takes me a couple of rounds circling the parking lot before a space becomes free.
The snow is steady and each flake is heavy and wet. For the first time in forever, Mr. Weather from KHLY is right: He called for steady snow through the afternoon and heavy snow in the evening.
But Mr. Weather doesn’t prepare me for the chaos inside.
The gift shop is packed to the brim, and it’s hot. I spot Teddy at the register. In addition to his polo shirt, he’s wearing a Santa hat. It jingles every time his head moves, and it’s so adorable.
Upon closer inspection, however, I realize Teddy is far from jolly. He’s sweating, his hands moving quickly across the register. Another green sweater darts by—I miss who it is—and a child in the store cries. Someone barks out a laugh, and another person sneezes.
It’s going to be a rough night.
I slip in behind Teddy once I’ve dumped all my stuff in the break room, and after exchanging a silent hello, I jump on the second register.
Two people come toward me. Both are grandma types who try to beat each other to the counter. I already have my hands up as they approach. One never underestimates the determination of lolas, Filipino or otherwise. “Ladies, I can only take one at a time.”
“I got here first,” says the grandma in red.
“That’s because you cut me,” says the one in green, pointing along the left side of the register with her cane.
“Well, that’s your problem. That isn’t the line. This is the line.” Grandma in red points toward the ground where there are arrows on the floor, marked by red duct tape.
“We have arrows?” It takes me aback. It’s only been four days since my last shift.
“I taped them down the other day to divert folks so they don’t clump up right in the middle,” Teddy says while packing up a T-shirt.
“Wow,” I say. I’m reminded of the different-colored footholds in the climbing gym. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“Thanks.” He looks at me, hanging on a beat longer than usual.
Butterflies stir in my belly.
“So, it’s me who’s first.” Grandma in red yanks me out of my thoughts.
I nod belatedly, then turn to the grandma with the cane. “I apologize for the wait, but if you can move back to the arrow, I can help you next after this customer.”
Grandma with the cane grumbles but does as I request.
Indeed, after the initial confusion, the arrows help with the crowd. And despite my wandering thoughts, and the occasional brush against Teddy while behind the counter, I focus enough to manage the long lines and stock inventory.
“Do you know about the snowstorm that’s supposed to roll in tonight?” says the customer in front of me with a Southern accent and a cowgirl hat. She only has one thing in her basket: a magnet. “I’m planning on grabbing a ton of water tonight, in case we get snowed in.”
Here’s the thing about the snow up north. What others might think is a snowstorm is, simply, heavy snow. A true snowstorm cuts out power and roads. In the Finger Lakes, our power grid can handle snowfall. Our snowplowers are the best in the business, making sure our roads are clear at all hours of the night and day. School is hardly ever canceled. “Oh yeah?” I say anyway, just to keep the conversation moving. “That will be six dollars and one cent.”
She hands me ten dollars. “This place has been the absolute best. I’m sad I won’t be here for the event on New Year’s Eve. I was a day late for tickets.” She declines a bag. “Jonah Johanson is such a dreamboat.”
“I agree.” I sigh and wave to the customer. To Teddy, I whisper-scream, “Did you hear that? Tickets are sold out. I’m so glad my mom got tickets for us.”
“Do you really think Jonah Johanson is a dreamboat?” he asks.
I wave another customer over. “What do you mean?”
“You totally blushed.”
As I scan the customer’s things, I bite back a grin. “Jonah Johanson was voted the sexiest man alive by People in 1998.”
“Yes, he was,” says the customer with a smile. He swipes his credit card. “I still have the copy.”
“See?” I point out. Carefully, I wrap the wooden backscratcher with the movie quote etched with Scratch my back? No way! in tissue.
Teddy frowns. “He’s like…a dad.”
“Yeah, so?” I tease as I pack the backscratcher in a bag. To the customer, I say, “Thank you so much for coming to the Bookworm Inn.”
“I’d call him Daddy,” the customer says with a nod, and leaves with his things.
Teddy’s mouth drops open in shock.
I cackle so hard now it’s me who’s sweating.
* * *
Two swift hours later, we serve our very last customer. After Teddy turns off the automatic doors, we both lean back against the glass and heave a breath.
“Wow,” he says.
“Whoa,” I answer back, surveying the damage left by today’s visitors.
The gift shop is a mess. Random receipts and trash litter the floor. Somebody took a liking to the magnets on the six-foot display and stacked them flat, one on top of the another. And in every small circular clothing display, hangers stick out like barbed wire.
Teddy and I look at each other. His hair is disheveled; white cotton fuzz from the Christmas village snow sticks on his uniform sweater. My sweater has a couple of price stickers attached to it, and the patch logo on my upper chest hangs by a thread thanks to an eager baby who was handed to me when their mommy needed to use the bathroom.
We both crack up.
“That. Was. Madness,” I say.
“I have never, ever witnessed anything that chaotic. What did I even do that whole time?”
“You did everything, Teddy. And pretty well, actually.”
“Are you just saying that so you can thank my teacher?”
“That’s actually a stellar idea.” I reach to pat myself on the back, but groan. My arms are sore, and my cheeks hurt from all the smiles for customers and from laughs with Teddy—I haven’t had that much fun working in forever. “But seriously, the arrows on the floor? The complimentary samples of the Bookworm Inn boxed chocolates? It was genius. After you thought of passing them out, they flew right off the shelves. Your strategy worked.”
“Someone told me once that a way to a customer’s heart is through their eyes. And I thought, why not open the box for them to see what’s really in it?”
I warm at the thought that Teddy actually listened to me. “That was all you. But thanks.”
“I didn’t get to say it earlier, but…I had a good time ice-skating and taking pictures with Santa. And at karaoke.”
This time, my groan is deep and regretful. “We don’t have to talk about karaoke.”
“But, Sandy—”
I laugh. “Shut up!”
“No seriously, you were so good.”
“Thanks.” And yet, suspicion nags at me. “What’s up?”
“What do you mean what’s up?”
“That was a compliment sandwich. I’m waiting for the bread.”
He throws his he
ad back in laughter. And maybe it’s the furnace kicking in, but a warm flush starts in my toes, rushes straight up my torso, and then up my neck.
Teddy rests a hand behind his head and dips his chin to his chest. “Now that you mention it…”
The warmth halts at the level of my chin. I sense that someone needs a favor. “Let me guess, you need for me to take a shift.”
“Yeah, actually. The thirtieth. Tita Lou just put up the schedule and I’ve got—”
“—practice for your competition.”
He nods. “It’s coming up close, and I want to spend as much time climbing as I can. Will you do it? We can switch shifts.”
I heave a breath, but I don’t actually mind. The last few days brought our relationship to another level, to real friendship.
“I don’t have any shifts to switch,” I say.
“I’ll owe you one?” He raises his hand for a high five. “I’m good for it.”
I roll my eyes and slap his hand.
“You’re the best. Yesss,” he says.
Our hands fall, still intertwined. My gaze drops down to our linked fingers. He’s still holding on. I’m still holding on.
And his hands are warm, calloused, and strong. This is the first time we’ve really touched. Not glove to glove, not hand to carabiner, or hand to shoulder. But skin to skin.
His eyes are rounded, startled. But neither of us lets go. And, after the initial shock, it feels right. Comfortable.
Voices snatch our attention. At the sound of footsteps, we jump back. I find myself in front of the flimsy souvenir sunglasses. As I rearrange the inventory, I brave a final glance at Teddy, who’s working on separating the magnets. I wish a pair of these sunglasses could render me invisible.
Ms. Velasco enters with a familiar face—Kira Mahoney, Jonah Johanson’s PR person. Their smiles are as bright Rudolph’s nose.
I feel like a voyeur, peeking out from behind the display. But I don’t want to disrupt them. In my periphery, Teddy is silent too.
Until the magnets he’s arranging fall to the ground, making a clacking noise.
“Oh!” Ms. Velasco scans the floor. “Teddy? Lila?”
We both inch away from our hiding places and head toward them.
“Hi!” I wave. “Hi, Kira.”
Teddy does a halfhearted salute.
Ms. V looks just as flustered as we feel. “Thanks to both of you for stepping into the shift.”
“Yeah, sure.” But what I’m curious about is Kira’s presence. What can I say? I’m nosy. “Is there news about the event?”
“Actually, yes.” With a short and sweet glance at Kira, she says, “We’ve been ironing out the schedule. Took a little bit with coordinating arrival and departure times, and of course the staffing we would need.”
“But we have it down now,” Kira adds.
“Can you share?” I clasp my hands against my chest. I’m just short of getting on my knees and pleading.
“The actors will participate in a panel. Then we’ll have fireworks, and a special book and swag signing. We’re expecting the daughter of the late author to come represent the author camp.”
My jaw drops at this, and tears prick my eyes. “Wow, that’s so special.”
“Well, I’d better get on the road,” Kira says. “We’re supposed to get dumped on tonight, and I want to beat the snow.”
“Thank you again for stopping by,” Ms. Velasco says. Right then, if I could put an emoji to her expression, it would be heart eyes. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Of course. Nice to see you both again, Teddy and Lila.”
After a round of goodbyes, Kira and Ms. V head to the back exit.
“Okay, you can roll up that tongue and put it back in your mouth,” Teddy says.
“How could you not sit there and absorb the greatness?”
He snickers. “She’s the PR rep to the stars, not a star herself.”
“That’s pretty dang close.”
“And,” he continues, “Jonah and Remy are just people.”
“Teddy. Remy Castillo has survived Hollywood. And she looks like us. You saw the film. She was amazing in it.”
He shrugs and fusses with the tabletop display of lip balms.
“Wait a sec, you still haven’t watched the movie?” When he doesn’t answer, I press, “Did you at least read the book?”
He shakes his head, and the expression on his face loses its playfulness; his lips thin into a serious expression. “I’m too busy climbing. I have a competition, remember? Which is much more important than an old movie. In fact, I need to go to sleep. Let’s get this place cleaned up.”
“Oh, so now you’re being responsible?” I tease.
He counters with a deadpan expression. “I did learn from the best.”
Something is up. He’s acting like old Teddy again. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.” He bends down to pick up merchandise from the floor. “It’s late, and I’ve got an early morning. Time me, Santos. We’ll be out of here in an hour.”
“Fine.” But he doesn’t hear my answer, because he’s already left my side.
Count out register—check
Wipe down counters—check
Complete go-backs—check
Tidy up break room—check
Vacuum—check
“So?” Teddy stares at me in earnest, holding a dust rag. “All done?”
I look up from the laminated list. “I think so.”
A grin splits his face. “Ha—didn’t I call it? I called it. One hour.”
And despite my best efforts not to inflate his ego, I say, “You called it. You were right.”
“Am I the fastest closer at the Bookworm Inn or what?”
“This is ridiculous. I haven’t closed with everyone.” Then I raise a finger. “Wait. I have closed with everyone. Still, the point is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous but right.”
When Teddy is motivated, he is an entirely different person. His brief sullen mood earlier has disappeared. Not once did he and I argue during closing, nor did he question anything on the checklist. “Now if you were this agreeable from the start, things could have been different.”
“I like to keep people on their toes.” He lifts the rag. “I’ll put this away and lock up. Where did you park?”
“At the entrance to the parking lot.”
“I’ll walk you out, then. I’ve got my boots with me.”
“You don’t have to, but okay. See you at the back door.” I grab my things and turn off the lights. It’s just past ten p.m., and there’s still enough time to get home and type up my next blog post in the peace and quiet.
Teddy waits for me at the back exit, which he’s opened to the white expanse of the parking lot. There are solid inches of snow on the ground. The wheels of Ms. Velasco’s car, parked next to the Inn, are half buried, and the flakes continue to fall like a sheer curtain.
“Crap.” It’s going to be a slippery drive home.
“Let me go grab a shovel.” Teddy disappears toward the Inn.
I slip on my winter boots and step out onto the pathway. The snow gives with the slightest touch, which is a good sign.
The door creaks behind me, and I turn. “The snow isn’t bad. Just some drift.”
“Actually.” It’s Ms. Velasco at the door instead of Teddy. “I got a call that we have a couple of felled trees. Jamie and Lina, who are trying to come up the hill to work the night shift, can’t get through. We’ve got to wait for Clyde to get up here and move the trees before you can go down the hill, but he says it will be about three hours.”
Clyde works the Inn’s landscaping.
“Oh no.” There goes my night.
“I’m sorry, honey. Do you want me to call your paren
ts to say you’ll be late? You’re probably super tired. Maybe I can put you in a room…Oh darn.” She bites her lip.
I come to the same conclusion at the same time she does.
“All of our rooms are booked,” she says. “I’d say stay in our cabin, but it’s quite tight in there with me and Teddy and his things. But you can hang out in the gift shop if you’d like. It’s safe, and you can lock the door, watch movies to pass the time until Clyde can clear the driveway.” The door opens and Teddy appears behind her. “Can you wait with Lila? Now that Jaime and Lina can’t come in, I’m on duty for the first part of the night. We’re short as it is, and we’ve got a full house.”
“Yeah, of course, Tita Lou.”
She wraps her arms around Teddy’s shoulders. “I’m so lucky you’re here with me this winter. You’ve saved me more times than I can count, even if I don’t know where you are half the time.”
Teddy looks at his feet. “It’s all good, Tita.”
“Same here,” I add.
Her shoulders round in relief. “Thank you both for understanding.” She leans in to hug me and Teddy at the same time. “When you’re both at Syracuse, you’ll have to make sure to come visit me often. I’ll miss you both.”
Ms. Velasco’s words don’t catch up to me until I’m inside.
When you’re both at Syracuse, you’ll have to make sure to come visit me often.
When Teddy first arrived at the Bookworm Inn, I’d categorized him as a seasonal worker, someone who’s here temporarily, when there’s actually a great possibility that I will see him after this winter.
If I can afford Syracuse, that is.
It puts all the emotions I feel for him in a different context. It’s like the first snowfall of the year—full of potential.
The clang of metal grabs my attention. Teddy walks in carrying two folded padded chairs under one arm and pillows and blankets under the other. “Courtesy of the Bookworm Inn. Tita Lou was worried that the break room chairs weren’t comfortable to sit on. You can use one as an ottoman. And blankets in case you get cold.”
