The Holiday Switch(22)

“Not really,” I whisper.

But she doesn’t hear me, because both my friends chime in and say, “Yes, we’ll take a look around.”

Amaya excuses herself after pointing out the highlights of the gym; Carm slinks an arm through mine and pulls KC by the hand. “Let’s go.”

I should pull back, but I, too, am drawn forward, watching the climbers move up the walls without fear and effort.

Even if I prefer my feet on the ground.

When I turn the corner, oddly shaped boulders with marked footholds and handholds take up real estate on the ground. The people climbing here don’t have harnesses or ropes. Though they’re only about ten feet from the ground, a couple of the climbers are all but perpendicular and totally unsupported.

My attention is drawn to one person on a boulder. His dark hair is held back by a red headband. He’s wearing a tank top…and his arms. They’re corded and sinewy as he navigates himself under a ridge and while holding on with his left hand, dips his fingers of his right hand into the chalk bag strapped around his waist. He rubs the chalk between his thumb and fingers in an effortless and delicate motion, in contrast to his legs and left arm, which are flexed and tense.

    Muscles.

“That is…,” Carm starts.

“Wow. It definitely is…,” KC continues.

The person hefts himself to reach the next hold with his right hand, before he lets go and drops onto the padded floor. His shoulders gleam with sweat, and when he turns, it’s punctuated by a wide smile.

A wide smile on a familiar face that usually looks grumpy in my presence.

“Teddy,” I gasp. “It’s Teddy!”

Everything begins to make sense: the white chalky powder on his pants, the carabiners. His lock screen photo. How he can’t pass a doorway without hooking his fingers onto the frame.

Teddy Rivera, who is slowly turning in my direction.

Jumping Jack Frost!

He can’t see me here. He’ll know I tracked him down.

My body has a split second to move, and I drag my friends behind a group of climbers who happen to be passing by, then speed to the front entrance, where Amaya is watching us with a grin. She shoves a flyer into our hands when we pass her. “Fun, right? We have a free trial period.”

“Thank you!” And in my most natural and unhurried way, I run out the door, Carm and KC behind me, heaving in laughter.





MONDAY, DECEMBER 20

Scrooge’s Shack is a corner restaurant on South Main and Sleigh, and when I round the block just shy of 7:00 a.m., dragging from my late night of sleuthing, my insides spark like too many lights plugged into a socket.

Teddy is sitting at a window-side booth in full view, head bent down over an open book, with a finger on the page. My heart flutters; it catches me off guard. I read that a quarter of the American population hasn’t read one book in the last year. And it’s rare I see someone my age reading a book in public. This is…compelling.

Then he raises his eyes and lifts a hand in a wave when he spots me on the sidewalk. And I swear that his face lights up. Again—weird.

But despite my best efforts, I tingle in this heart-stopping way and wave back. Hopefully that means that he didn’t see that spectacle of failed debauchery last night. I, on the other hand, cannot unsee Teddy’s display of strength and ability.

    A car whooshes by, and the sound of its wheels on the cobblestone makes me jump.

Krampus! I need to get a hold of myself.

The restaurant’s bell rings when I enter, and it’s followed by Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas” piping through the speakers. A jukebox sparkles from the corner, and the waitstaff, dressed in vintage uniforms with pointed hats, brush past, carrying platters of hot cakes and other breakfast items to the tables.

I pump myself up mentally. This is going to be a simple and straightforward transaction. No dillydallying, no wayward thoughts of muscles, no banter that could lead to one of our disagreements. We’ll switch phones and I’ll be on my merry way.

I inform the hostess at the podium that my party is already here and walk toward the booth and Teddy, whose gaze has turned back to the page. He looks so peaceful, so absorbed in his book that he barely notices all the commotion of the restaurant around him.

When I near, Teddy slides out of the booth and stands. The gesture is subtle, done without fanfare, and something in my belly stirs. He smells fresh from the shower, like shampoo and body wash, though I can’t detect what brand. Out of the Inn’s green sweater, Teddy exudes a different vibe, all loose and languid.

Stop thinking of him like that!

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” There’s a frosted glass of ice water at my place setting, and my phone lies faceup next to the rolled-up utensils. I sit down, and he does the same. I peek at the page header of the book he’s reading, curiosity nipping at my heels. Whatever it is, does he like it so far? How much does he read?

    He closes the book. From a quick glance of the cover, which has a realistic photo of a person climbing a mountain, it looks to be a nonfiction.

Interesting. A book for school? “Whatcha reading?”

“It’s about climbing El Capitan. That’s a rock formation in Yosemite. But mostly it’s about going for a dream, even if it seems far-fetched. I got a great recommendation, so I thought I’d give it a try.”