Page 12 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

The bowling alley is out of the main “hub” of the little town, on the two-lane road heading towards the big highways and the mall. Sometimes driving on the roads around here in the winter or at night gives me the creeps, like this would be the perfect setting for a horror movie, with these dark walls of pines on little windy roads, and big stretches of lonely road. Right now, in the summer, with pink skies, purple clouds, and a little sliver of moon rising, it’s pretty.

Pine Lanes is crowded, too. Families and kids are zooming around the entrance when I pull in. For a second, I wonder how I’ll find Gordon, which is dumb, because the man is the size of a boulder.

Rockland. Boulder. Ha. I’m so funny.

“God, Andrea, get a grip,” I mumble, pushing open my door.

“Hello.”

I screech and drop my steel water bottle on my cute pink canvas wedges.

Gordon Rockland has been found. He looks startled, but he drops to his knees and reaches under my car to retrieve the water bottle from where it rolled after denting my toes. “Here.”

“Thank you. And, hi. Um, sorry about that. I didn’t see you there. I don’t know how, since you’re as big as a boulder,” I mangle a greeting, apology, and probably-offensive statement into one breath. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. Again. I’m sorry, again. You know, you can leave. I’m embarrassing myself.”

Rockland stares at me in silence, dark eyebrows in his craggy face raised even higher than they already were. “Why would I leave? Why are you embarrassed?”

“I said you were as big as a boulder,” I barely whisper, mortified beyond vocalization.

Rockland looks down at himself, which means I can, too.

Holy Big Boy. Legs like tree trunks. Arms like barrels. Like, I’m not into big, musclebound guys. I have no idea why I find him fascinating.

“But I am as big as a boulder. In fact, my family—” He stops short.

My turn to give him the quizzical stare.

“My family members are all built like this,” he mutters, face pained.

“I’m still really sorry. That wasn’t supposed to be rude. Like, I like how you look.” Oh, shit. Why? How? How is it possible that I’m finally an “adult” with a career, in charge of tiny humans for nine months of the year, and I’ve gotten worse at dating?

“You do?” Rockland’s face has gone from startled to surprised to outright shocked.

“Uh-huh. In a purely objective and polite way.” I finally climb all the way out of the car and stand next to my date as he towers over me. “I blame the kids for my lack of conversational skills. I’m sorry. Again.”

Rockland nods, slowly. Eyebrows finally lower. Then, “I don’t have that excuse. I’m just bad at talking to people. I usually just save them and leave.”

I don’t know why, but that makes me smile. He’s so honest, and he has so much to brag about, and yet he doesn’t. And yeah, he’s sure not a chatterbox, but maybe he’s the smarter one. I’m running my mouth nonstop, and it’s been a disaster. “I could learn a lot from you. If I didn’t talk so much, I’m sure we wouldn’t be here. Oh! Not that...”

“You don’t want to be here?”

“I do! But you probably don’t. You’re being like... The ambassador of Pine Ridge. Helping the sobbing cat-lady find things to do because she’s lonely and pissed that she missed her summer vacation. Right?”

The shocked look is back. “Wrong. If I had a pet that I loved, and people that I loved, I would be sad if they were far away or endangered.”

“You don’t? Have people or pets, I mean.”

He shakes his head. “No. I have family. We are... We are not in communication. They don’t love me. Well, my father might have.” His face looks thoughtful, as if this is a true puzzler that he needs to figure out.

I don’t know how he says something like that without cracking. I cannot imagine not having my crazy family love me. Even Tita Carla. She may nag, critique, and disapprove, but if anyone ever hurt me, she would take him apart, inch by inch, all while telling him exactly how he’d ruined her day.

My hand leaps to his and gives it a little squeeze. “Well, sometimes your family can be made out of the people you choose.”

“Hmm. Should we bowl? Or you can leave. I would understand. I’m not good at dating.”

“Me, either.”

“Yes, you are. You are enjoyable to listen to, and so kind.” He stops, blushes, and mumbles something like “not to mention pretty.”