of girl, isn’t she?”
Joe dimpled. “Part of her charm.”
Mr. Finley pierced me with his gaze. “Then it must be in the eye of the beholder.”
Something about him made me want to stick my tongue out, but I didn’t because I’d figured out who he was. “You come in every day to look at these, don’t you?” He was Grandmother’s customer.
Mr. Finley sighed as he replaced them. “I do.”
“Why don’t you just buy them?”
“I might.”
“Today?”
“I don’t think so. No. A purchase like this would be an extravagant luxury not to be indulged in with someone who is merely selling ski equipment. Skis like these must be purchased from someone who appreciates them as the fine work of a master craftsman.”
“My grandmother will be here on Monday.”
“Ah. Just so.” He reached out to shake Joe’s hand and nodded at me. “Well, goodbye then.” He walked out of the store. The door closed behind him with a tinkle.
I turned to Joe. “How about you? Still interested in mere ski equipment?”
“Do you have something in neon green?”
“We just might. I don’t suppose you’re a groomed trail type of skier?”
“Why ski someone else’s trail when you can make your own?”
“Just wanted to be sure. The first decision to make is whether you want a metal edge. It makes skis better for turning, but it also makes them harder for touring.”
“So it’s either one or the other? Turning or touring?”
“You could buy partial. Almost have the best of both.”
“Good. That’s what I’ll take.”
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a pair of waxless, would you?”
“And take all the fun out of skiing? Nope.”
“But do you plan to be truly faithful about waxing?”
He held two fingers up in the air. “Scout’s honor.”
“Because if you are, then you’d get better performance out of a sintered base ski. But if you aren’t, then your skis will just collect a bunch of dirt and pine pitch and they’ll end up being slower. Your choice. But you better not lie to yourself about how often you’re willing to wax.”
“Let me think about it.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Two twenty.”
“How tall are you?”
“Six feet.”
“And how much control do you want to have?”
“I’m totally out of control.”
I couldn’t help myself from smiling, but I tried very hard not to laugh. “Yes, I know. But because you’re a novice, I’d recommend a wider ski. It’s more stable. It would give you more control than a narrower one.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“Listen, are you serious about buying or are you just here to torment me?”
“Both. Seeing you six days a week isn’t enough.”
I felt my cheeks warm. I was being ridiculous. He was only flirting. “Then what about sidecut?”
“Who what?”
“The difference in the width of the ski, taken in three measurements.” I pointed at the Rossis as an example, starting at the bottom. “At the tail, the waist, and the shovel.”
“You’re the expert. What would you recommend?”
“The more sidecut, the easier it is to turn. The less a ski is sidecut, the easier it is to ski straight. And fast.”
“Can’t I have it all?”
“In cross-country skiing? No. Sacrifices must be made.”
“Well, that settles it. I have no idea what I want.”
“Why don’t you just rent a pair? Or two or three. Then you can try all the options and decide for yourself.”
“You guys do rentals?”
“No.”
“Bummer. Can I look at boots?”
“Sure.” I turned away from the racks of skis and started toward the boots. “But there’s no real standard for bindings, so you’ll have to get both at the same time.”
“Fine. Let’s do it.”
I walked him over to the display wall of boots. “We don’t appear to have any in neon green, but I can check in the back.”
“No need. What am I supposed to look for?”
“Well…there are control issues.” I took a black boot from the display. “Cross-country boots
Joe dimpled. “Part of her charm.”
Mr. Finley pierced me with his gaze. “Then it must be in the eye of the beholder.”
Something about him made me want to stick my tongue out, but I didn’t because I’d figured out who he was. “You come in every day to look at these, don’t you?” He was Grandmother’s customer.
Mr. Finley sighed as he replaced them. “I do.”
“Why don’t you just buy them?”
“I might.”
“Today?”
“I don’t think so. No. A purchase like this would be an extravagant luxury not to be indulged in with someone who is merely selling ski equipment. Skis like these must be purchased from someone who appreciates them as the fine work of a master craftsman.”
“My grandmother will be here on Monday.”
“Ah. Just so.” He reached out to shake Joe’s hand and nodded at me. “Well, goodbye then.” He walked out of the store. The door closed behind him with a tinkle.
I turned to Joe. “How about you? Still interested in mere ski equipment?”
“Do you have something in neon green?”
“We just might. I don’t suppose you’re a groomed trail type of skier?”
“Why ski someone else’s trail when you can make your own?”
“Just wanted to be sure. The first decision to make is whether you want a metal edge. It makes skis better for turning, but it also makes them harder for touring.”
“So it’s either one or the other? Turning or touring?”
“You could buy partial. Almost have the best of both.”
“Good. That’s what I’ll take.”
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a pair of waxless, would you?”
“And take all the fun out of skiing? Nope.”
“But do you plan to be truly faithful about waxing?”
He held two fingers up in the air. “Scout’s honor.”
“Because if you are, then you’d get better performance out of a sintered base ski. But if you aren’t, then your skis will just collect a bunch of dirt and pine pitch and they’ll end up being slower. Your choice. But you better not lie to yourself about how often you’re willing to wax.”
“Let me think about it.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Two twenty.”
“How tall are you?”
“Six feet.”
“And how much control do you want to have?”
“I’m totally out of control.”
I couldn’t help myself from smiling, but I tried very hard not to laugh. “Yes, I know. But because you’re a novice, I’d recommend a wider ski. It’s more stable. It would give you more control than a narrower one.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“Listen, are you serious about buying or are you just here to torment me?”
“Both. Seeing you six days a week isn’t enough.”
I felt my cheeks warm. I was being ridiculous. He was only flirting. “Then what about sidecut?”
“Who what?”
“The difference in the width of the ski, taken in three measurements.” I pointed at the Rossis as an example, starting at the bottom. “At the tail, the waist, and the shovel.”
“You’re the expert. What would you recommend?”
“The more sidecut, the easier it is to turn. The less a ski is sidecut, the easier it is to ski straight. And fast.”
“Can’t I have it all?”
“In cross-country skiing? No. Sacrifices must be made.”
“Well, that settles it. I have no idea what I want.”
“Why don’t you just rent a pair? Or two or three. Then you can try all the options and decide for yourself.”
“You guys do rentals?”
“No.”
“Bummer. Can I look at boots?”
“Sure.” I turned away from the racks of skis and started toward the boots. “But there’s no real standard for bindings, so you’ll have to get both at the same time.”
“Fine. Let’s do it.”
I walked him over to the display wall of boots. “We don’t appear to have any in neon green, but I can check in the back.”
“No need. What am I supposed to look for?”
“Well…there are control issues.” I took a black boot from the display. “Cross-country boots
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