“Yeah, can I bring a friend?”
Hunter clears his throat. This whole thing sounds crazy sketchy, and I’m really starting to think he’s planning my death but couldn’t think of a way to lure me to the X marks the spot.
“I’d rather you wouldn’t. It’ll only take an hour, or two, tops. Can you meet me on the l’Acadie entrance side?”
I frown. “Sure. I’ll meet you there at two.”
“Thanks a lot, Katie. I’ll see you then.”
I hang up and turn to Dean, following my nose. Goddamn it, this guy knows how to cook!
He’s got spicy eggplants planted in the just-from-the-oven baguette sliced down the middle. Provolone follows, and hunks of roast beef and ham followed by a sliver of crunchy lettuce and tomato. He tops it all off with cracked pepper and my taste buds go into overdrive; I start salivating.
“So I’m going to leave after this amazing sandwich you’ve made me then I’ll come back with donuts, okay? I mean, if you still want me here. That was presumptuous, sorry.”
Dean grins and waves the knife at me, then repeats the process on the second sandwich. “Who says any of these if for you? You think I got to this size eating one sandwich? Well, don’t look so crestfallen, I did make you one. My dad would sock me one if he saw me treating a lady like that. Pfffftt, he’d roll over in his grave.”
“Wh-what?” I choke out, I’m sure I didn’t hear that. He’s joking. He’s going to start laughing now. But Dean’s face is impassive, as his grin drops off his face.
“Yeah, he died a couple of years after high school. Heart attack.”
“Dean, I’m sorry,” I say, feeling my heart beat hard in my chest, reminding me it’s still there, healthy and all. Shit, who helped him through that?
“It was quick and clean, I guess. Just a lot of shit left unanswered, you know?”
I shake my head; I don’t know. I’ve got both my parents.
Dean jerks his chin towards the island, and I seat myself at a stool where he’s placed a plate in front of me. “Bon appétit!” He takes a massive bite out of his sandwich and stares at me while he chews.
“I wanted to ask him what the secret to being successful in life was, how the hell do I get a loan without being fucked over, how do I do anything by myself? My mom didn’t do any of that, and I was eighteen at the time, trying to get everything right. It was a tough.”
“I don’t remember him very well. I may have seen him once or twice at graduation, but tha was it. From what I do remember, he was always cracking jokes.”
“Yeah, he was.” Dean nods, looking straight at me but somewhere far, far away. “He loved making Mom laugh. And sometimes the way he’d look at her while she did screwed with my head. My parents were happy together, really happy, the kind of thing you see in Nicholas Sparks movies.”
“Who?”
Dean’s eyes get big and his mouth pops open. “You’re supposed to know who that is. The writer dude who wrote The Notebook?”
I raise an eyebrow. “How the hell do you know about The Notebook?”
Dean scoffs. “Please, every dude who ever had a girlfriend knows about that movie. Then gets reamed out for not being the perfect Ryan Gosling. Trust me, I know The Notebook.”
“Well, I never saw it. I like my chick flicks featuring the great yet every sexy Leonardo Di Caprio.”
Dean pulls a face. “If you make me watch Titanic, you’re going to sit through the extended version of The Lord of the Rings plus Braveheart, so choose wisely.”
I cringe. I never got the whole loving the hobbit and evil weird Gollum guy. The only saving grace in that series was that I can watch Viggo Mortensen swing a sword all day, everyday.
“Alright, fine. We won’t go there.”
“Everything okay with your buddy?”
I nod, chewing on the deliciousness that is a sandwich made by Dean Carter. Shit, he’s going to make me fat, I just know it. “Yeah, I gotta meet him at Rockland for a bit, then we can hang if you want.”
Dean nods absently. “The Habs are playing, so if you don’t wanna watch that, uh, well, the door’s staying locked.”
“Nah, I like watching the games. I just don’t root for the Habs anymore.”
Dean almost chokes on his food. “What? How could you?” He looks wounded. “The blood in my veins is bleu, blanc et rouge!”
I shake my head at his theatrics, a tiny smile on my face. “I just gave up on the hope of getting a 25th cup. The game’s changed, we don’t dominate anymore.”
“Sacrilege! Kill the witch! Kill the witch!” Dean says, pointing at me. “No, but, really? Who do you root for? Please don’t tell me the Leafs.”