“Do you have to insult me while I’m sitting here feeling a major headache coming on?” I grabbed my purse, which I’d left on the sofa earlier that day. “Which reminds me, I have some ibuprofen in here.”
“Don’t take anything yet. Hold on. I’m trying to remember all the things I should check,” Conor said, tapping his fingers against my knees.
“Check?” I asked.
“For a concussion. Okay, a couple more things. Are you vomiting? No, you’re not. Okay, I have to check your pupils,” he said. “First I want to make sure they’re both dilated the same amount—the same width. Look at me.”
He was leaning close to me, staring into my eyes, when the front door flew open. We jumped back as Sean rushed in, panting and out of breath.
“I’m making sure she didn’t hit her head too hard. Ruling out a concussion,” Conor said.
“What are you, a doctor? You don’t know anything about that!” Sean said.
“Yes, I do,” Conor said. “Who do you think got a concussion once? Not you—me.”
Was it me, or was this competition a little insane, when it came down to arguing over who had the most skull fractures?
“You’re full of it.” Sean sat on the sofa beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. “How are you feeling?” He gave me a little squeeze. “You okay?”
Conor pulled the fleece throw over my legs.
“You can go now,” Sean said.
“I want to make sure she’s okay,” Conor said.
“I’ll look after her,” Sean said. He got up and followed Conor to the door. I could hear them arguing, but I was starting to get a headache, so I just leaned back against the pillows and relaxed. The door closed, and I assumed Conor was gone.
“How’s it going?” Sean asked.
I wasn’t sure if I was still seeing things. There was a hazy light. “Hey,” I said.
“You okay? Really?”
“Yeah, well. I should probably borrow Brett’s helmet next time I try to take Bear down to the rink.”
“Ouch.”
“But other than that, I’m fine.”
“Good.” He took off his hat and rubbed his head, making his hair do that cute static-y thing. “I kind of have some bad news for you, though. Something I forgot to tell you.”
“What. You can’t go skiing that weekend?” I sat up so quickly that I did actually feel dizzy for a moment or two.
“What weekend?”
“Sean!” I threw the fleece blanket toward him. “I told you a hundred times, Groundhog Day weekend—”
“I know, I know! Sorry. I just forgot for a second there.”
“You did check to see if you can come. Right?”
He nodded, handing the blanket back to me. “But I have to tell you I’m not completely sure yet. Because Coach keeps changing our schedule around, and we might have this game scheduled with a college JV team that day, but hopefully not. Anyway, the bad news I had to tell you is that…I’m not going to see you anymore—”
“What?” How much bad news did he expect me to take in one sitting?
“This week,” he finished the sentence. “I’m going away for four or five days, to North Dakota for a hockey camp thing and a tournament. We’re leaving tomorrow, actually.”
“Oh. Is that all?” I leaned back on the pillows with a contented sigh. He still wasn’t completely sure about the Groundhog Getaway, but what was more important, really? The fact he was here with me now, or the fact I could bring him to meet all my friends?
Wait a second. That was a tough call.
Sean smiled and snuggled close to me on the sofa. “So I’ll see you when I get back. It should be a couple days before the Snow Ball,” he said.
“Speaking of which. What should I wear?” I asked.
“You know that habit you have of not wearing enough clothes or layers? Go with that.” He grinned at me.
“Okay, but I’m not wearing the Snow White costume,” I replied.
Chapter 14
Conor had my double latte ready even before I claimed a table. He brought it over as I sat down, sliding the mug toward me.
“Thanks for making sure I got home okay the other day.”
“Oh. No problem,” he said.
I could tell that we both sort of flashed on that awkward moment when he was gazing into my eyes, and Sean walked into the house.
“See anything?” he asked, pointing to the mug.
“A very hot coffee with my name on it?” I asked. “Oh, you probably want your three dollars, don’t you?”
“Plus tip, yeah.” He smiled. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”
I looked around the bakery café, wondering if they’d made some change I hadn’t noticed when I walked in. All I noticed were several new posters for Winter Carnival on the bulletin board.
“I made a pattern.” Conor gestured toward the mug again.
“What?” I felt confused.
“A pattern. In the foam. It’s…well, it’s supposed to be a snowball. It kind of looks like a formless blob, now, doesn’t it.” He pulled over an empty chair from the next table and straddled it.
“Does that really look like a snowball to you?” I joked. “Well, snow, maybe. It is white.” I lifted the coffee cup to my lips to take a sip.
“Thanks.”
“Hey—part of the reason I came here is because we need to order a cake for Brett’s birthday.”
“Cool! Hold on a sec.” Conor got up from the chair and went over to the counter. He came back carrying a small piece of paper.
“How old is he going to be?” Conor asked. “Four, right?”
“Right,” I said.
“Vanilla? Chocolate?” he suggested. “No, wait. It’s Brett. It has to be strawberry.” He tapped his pen against the table. “We don’t actually make a strawberry cake. How about a white cake with strawberry frosting?”
“That’d work,” I said.
“What did Gretchen say?”
“She said get anything, but make sure it’s not her favorite. She’s been trying to lose weight. Her fave is chocolate, so this should be safe.”
“What’s your favorite?” Conor asked.
“Mine?” I laughed. “Chocolate, too. With chocolate frosting. No, wait—even better? Banana cake with chocolate icing—”
“Yeah, but have you ever had raspberry chocolate cake?” Conor said. “The baker here makes a killer torte like that.”
“A killer torte,” I repeated. “Hmm.”
“Yeah, okay, maybe I’ve been working here too long. So, about this coffee thing,” Conor said.
“What…coffee thing?” I wondered.
“The snowball. Have you heard about this Snow Ball party thing?” Conor asked.
Oh, no, I thought. He wasn’t really going to do this, was he? “Is everything a thing?” I joked.
“Hey, I’m all about the things,” he replied.
I laughed, hating to tell him something he wouldn’t want to hear. Because it seemed like he was about to invite me to the party, though I couldn’t understand why. Did he think Sean and I had a falling-out? Or had we had one…without Sean telling me? Was there something I didn’t know?
“Remember that day at Buck Hill?” I said.
“Unfortunately,” Conor mumbled. “I mean—not the hanging out with you part. The being on a float part.”
“We weren’t on a float, we were on a bed!” I said.