“I feel like I’ve been here before,” I comment and sit down, glancing around at the old-school posters on the walls. “Or maybe it has that kind of energy, you know?”
He smirks across from me. “It’s exactly how I pictured American diners back when I lived across the pond.”
“You said you came here for college?” I recall our conversation from the night we met.
“I got a scholarship to attend Cornell and play hockey. It was my lucky break.”
“Impressive. Did you enjoy attending an Ivy League school?”
“The coursework was a lot, and I struggled to balance everything. But being an athlete helped. I got some freedom because of that.”
The waitress interrupts us with a notepad in one hand, and a tired but friendly smile on her weathered face. “You two ready to order?”
Rasmus glances at me, letting me go first.
“Can I get a vanilla milkshake and a large order of fries? Thanks.”
“You got it, hun.” She turns to Rasmus. “And for you?”
“Double bacon burger with fries and a chocolate shake, please.”
She nods and leans in secretively, lowering her voice. “You know, you look a lot like that new Peacocks player. Rasmus something.”
“Can’t say I’m much of a hockey fan, but he must be a handsome guy,” he cheekily says first and offers his hand. “Kidding. I’m Rasmus Westerholm. Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Oh, our cook Billy won’t believe this. But it’s lovely to meet you, Rasmus. That was a heck of a game on Tuesday. Your goal in the second period had Billy jumping up and down.”
“Tell him to come by and say hi when he’s not busy cooking the best fries in town,” Rasmus offers. “It’s always great to meet fans.”
The waitress leaves us alone after that, and once she’s at the other end of the diner, I whisper, “You handled that well.”
“I’m used to it. Although it’s still weird to be recognized. I never even considered it as an option when moving to the US.”
“Is it hard being so far from your family?”
“I actually have no family left in Sweden, so it’s easy in a way. But the language, culture and all these little things are different. It took me a long time to feel like I’m home here.”
My heart squeezes hearing about his family. I had no idea. “What happened?”
“There’s not much to tell, honestly. My dad passed away and my mom left when I was really young, so I was raised by my grandparents on my mom’s side. They both died before I finished high school. I lived with my coach and his family for a while after. These days, it’s just my cousin Manu and my tía Marisol. They live in Mexico, so I still see them pretty often,” he explains with a small smile. “But let’s talk about something else tonight. It’s been a long day, and I don’t want to think about my past too much.”
I nod, sensing the heaviness in his words. “So, what do you want to know?”
“Tell me something about your work as a fashion buyer. You know a lot about what I do daily, but I have no idea about your everyday life.”
“Well, for starters, I work for a handful of boutiques in Manhattan. My job is to curate their seasonal collections, findnew designers, forecast trends, and attend a lot of meetings both around the City and other places.”
“You get paid to shop?” He looks baffled at the realization.
“Basically, yes,” I smile at the question I’ve heard many times. “But it’s way more than that. It’s a lot of travel, even more spreadsheets and meeting new people.”
“Sounds intense,” he comments, his gaze lingering on me with a hint of curiosity. “How’d you end up doing this? I figured you might work for the team, following the rest of your family, or maybe with the other family company I read about online.”
“Someone has been doing his research.”
He chuckles, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Guilty. I prefer knowing what I’m getting into.”
“Well, I hope you’re ready for what you might find,” I reply, matching his playful tone. “I always wanted to do my own thing. I discovered fashion early on as you can imagine someone growing up attending private schools in the City would. And when I started college at NYU, it was easy to combine business and fashion studies together.”
