Page 8 of Frosty the Biker

With a shake of her head and a soft smile, she kissed Anson’s cheek, then mine. “I’ll be back later. Don’t forget, your uncle’s club will be coming in to pick up supplies.”

“I got it. Now shoo!” I wiggled my fingers in a shooing motion to go with my words.

She laughed then left and I latched the door to the back room. Ralph had installed the lock toward the top of the door this morning to make sure Anson didn’t wander back there while he was here. I brought Anson into the office and started up his favorite cartoon on the TV Mom had in there. It reminded me of my childhood watching cartoons in this same office while my mom was working out front.

Now my son was doing the same thing. Though my mom may have been correct, I had left behind a great job up in Chicago, I didn’t regret it. Thankfully, I’d gotten a job with the VA. And coming back here just felt right. I paused in the doorway and looked back at my son. He was snuggled up on the couch with his favorite blanket and his Ziplock of Honey Nut Cheerios—his absolute favorite snack.

“Momma will be right out here. You stay in Nana’s office and watch your show. I’ll check on you.” He nodded while watching his show. For being almost four, he was smart as a whip. Sometimes too smart.

I walked up the hallway to the counter. Mom had already opened the register.

About thirty minutes later, right after checking on my son again, I heard the side door jingle as I was bringing Corky the next box of decorations he needed.

A familiar-looking guy with dark blond hair approached the counter. I dropped off the box and returned to the counter. He was quite good looking, but I had no idea where I knew him from, so I pasted a smile on my face. Hell, I could’ve gone to high school or college with him for all I knew. People changed a lot as they matured.

“Can I help you with something today?” I asked.

He set a paper down on the counter. It had a long list of items on it. He scratched his head in obvious discomfort and from the dark pink staining his cheeks—embarrassment. “Yeah, my prez told to come here and that y’all would be expecting me. I need to get all this stuff, but I have no idea where to find it all. Hell, I’m not even sure what some of that is.”

“May I?” I asked with a hopefully kind demeanor as I reached for the list.

“Please,” he replied with a sigh of relief.

I looked over the list, mentally trying to remember where everything was. I’d begun to regret insisting I could handle things while my mom went to her doctor’s appointment. When I glanced around, I saw that Corky was up on a ladder hanging the garland and lights from the ceiling tiles. Ralph was out loading up items for Mr. Haney.

The paint was easy. We could start there. As I motioned for him to follow me, I heard a clatter in one of the aisles. Then I heard Anson’s little voice loudly say, “Uh oh!”

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath. He must’ve snuck by when I left the counter for a blink of an eye to bring Corky that box. Guilt hit me because what if he’d gotten out the door? Or someone had slipped behind the counter and down the hall?

Thankfully, Corky was heading back to the counter with the ladder in tow, so I shoved the list at him. “Corky, can you please help me out with this? I think Anson is getting into shit,” I whispered the last part.

“I got you, Ms. Buchanan,” he said as he took the paper.

I rushed off with a quick, “Thank you!”

In the paint section, I found my son standing at the end of the aisle, looking down it with wide eyes. There was a man trying to grab a bunch of spray paint cans as they rolled away. I grabbed one that had headed my way.

Relief hit me that it wasn’t my son that had caused the mess, but if he’d startled the guy I wanted to apologize.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m just filling in right now and had to bring him with. I hope he didn’t cause this.” I rested my hand on Anson’s shoulder.

The guy was mumbling to himself and shaking his head. He obviously didn’t hear me.

“Anson, go back to Gigi’s office,” I murmured in his ear before kissing his precious little head. His little Converse shoes slapped on the floors as he hustled back to my mom’s office where he’d been watching Bluey. Then I went to help the poor man who was crouched down and trying to rectify the mess he’d made. My heart went out to him.

“It’s okay, I can get them,” I kindly told him as I gathered the scattered cans.

At my offer, his head shot up and his cheeks went pale.

Probably not as pale as mine must’ve been in that moment. “D-Dalton?” I stuttered as I blinked rapidly—like I could clear my vision of the figment of my imagination before me.

In the years since I’d seen him last, he’d gone from a still gangly young guy to a filled out, whole-ass man, yet I’d know him anywhere. His dark blond hair was shorter, but his eyes were the same pale blue that I’d seen every day for the last three years and ten months.

At that thought, I shook myself out of my shocked stupor and I whipped my head to make sure Anson had indeed gone back to his show. When I turned back to Dalton, he was staring at me.

As if all of his thoughts were playing out in words across his face, I could see the puzzle pieces clicking into place, followed by utter disbelief.

“Holy shit. Is that why I kept seeing him? How old is he?” he quietly demanded as his face went from sheet-white to an angry red.

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