by Kate Meader
BH was rearranging his trench coat and umbrella—sorry, brolly—moving his coffee cup a quarter inch until it was just so, and likely congratulating himself for his nasty set-down. Gunnar placed a hand on his shoulder. BH squirmed and tried to extract himself but the Viking was having none of it. Whatever was said was for BH’s ears only, and was enough to make him blanch and scurry out the door like a bespectacled rat.
The coffee shop had clearly not had this much entertainment in years. Everyone present gave one hundred percent of their attention to this exchange because one, it had the makings of a fight and two, Gunnar was so damn watchable. He had what Hollywood agents called presence. Someone that tall would always get a second look, but it was more. An intimidating, brooding, don’t-fuck-with-me solidity. No sweats today—in fact, he cleaned up really well. He wore a French blue shirt tucked into black jeans and black hiking boots. It was close to eighty five degrees outside but he looked cool and unfazed.
His audience, including Sadie, remained glued to his easy amble back.
She tried to be as cool and unfazed as him, but you know, how? “What did you say?”
“Told him he needed to leave.”
Exit stage left cool and unfazed. “What? You don’t have the right to throw people out of a business!” She only wished she’d had the presence of mind to deal that kind of blow, but in a feminist way rather than a damsel way.
His brow wrinkled like this didn’t compute for him. “He had to be dealt with.”
“I did not need that from you. I was handling it just fine when you showed up with your white knight act.”
“Everyone needs a little help now and again. You needed some help yesterday when you locked your dog in that car—”
“That was an accident.”
“Still needed help.” He moved in, bringing with him the scent of sandalwood and musk and probably a locker room somewhere. Her nose searched for that top note to ruin the rest but failed to find it. Very disappointing.
“I know you’re embarrassed,” he said quietly, protecting her from the nosey public with his low-key strength and high-impact body. “He was rude and he needed to be told that. Now would you like me to buy you a coffee?”
“Given that it’s my MO to lure unsuspecting men into my web?”
“I’m not unsuspecting. Know exactly what I’m getting myself into.”
Those dangerous blue eyes twinkled, though given their past dealings, she couldn’t be sure. Was the Viking robot flirting with her? Worse, did her body like it?
Because her mind and morals did not.
“No need. I have to go but …” She cast a small wave over the rest of the coffee shop, still watching, now waiting with bated breath for the next installment. The woman who had been sitting nearby approached and placed a hand on Gunnar’s arm.
“Oh my God, it’s you, isn’t it? I’m such a huge fan. Would you sign a napkin?”
Practically elbowing Sadie out of the way, she put a napkin down and offered Gunnar a pen. She wanted his autograph. She was a fan. Of the hockey camp counselor. This universe sure seemed like the one Sadie must have teleported in from.
Equally curious was Gunnar’s reaction. At first, he had the beginnings of a smile for the woman—as if he expected someone else—but as she continued, his expression morphed to something closer to disappointment.
“Happy to,” he murmured, sounding not happy at all. He took the pen and scrawled an indecipherable scribble on the napkin.
“They really should have played you more this past season and by the time they did it was too late!” The woman flicked a dark look to Sadie, seeking her agreement, perhaps? As she only got confusion on Sadie’s part, she turned back.
“Tell it to Coach,” Gunnar said with grim humor. He passed the napkin back.
“Oh, I will! And …” Moving closer, she offered a business card and lowered her voice. “I work in financial services so if you ever need advice or a shoulder or anything, don’t hesitate to give me a call. I’m a very sympathetic ear.”
He held up a hand to the card, a gentle but firm rejection. “I have people who take care of all that. Thanks, though.”
She squeezed his arm again and pressed a little closer, employing the side boob strategy. This involved her getting in between Gunnar and Sadie, and really getting on Sadie’s tits. “I just want you to know that I’m—we’re—here for you. Everyone is rooting for you to get back to your peak.”
His eyebrows drew close together. “Thanks, that’s nice of you. Though before I get back to my peak, I really should get back to my date.”
“Your …” Her head swiveled. “Oh, right. Of course! Sorry to intrude.” With one last longing look at Gunnar and a less than civil one at Sadie, she moved away.
Sadie repressed her first instinct to demand what the hell that was all about and then all instincts went bananas as he closed the gap between them, his focus on her completely.
“What were you saying?”
“Saying?”
He tilted his head, again with that unexpected humor curving his lips.
“Before? About having to go.”
Did she say that? Why on earth would she want to leave this cozy bubble made for two? Then she remembered that she really did want to leave, to escape the humiliation wrought by Buddy Holly, who had called her a bitch in front of an entire coffee shop.
Mostly, she was also curious about why people recognized Gunnar. Coach, season, play … Oh! He was a sports person. A hockey sports person.
“I’d offered to buy you coffee and you wanted to leave,” Gunnar said, his low, husky voice inviting a shocking intimacy. “But unless I go with you, it looks like I was rescuing a complete stranger. Quite the dilemma.”
He had to go remind her of what he’d done for her.
Recognizing she had little choice, she hissed, “Go get the damn coffee. Non-fat latte for me, extra foamy. And a chocolate croissant.”
There was that unexpectedly sexy grin again. She made sure not to watch his ass perfectly hugged by denim as he walked away. Instead she checked her phone for any messages, annoyed with herself for making assumptions about Buddy Holly. That’ll be the day. It was twelve—no, thirteen minutes—past the meeting time with LonelyHeart and she’d been stood up. Maybe he’d spotted her before she came in and ducked out at the sight of her. She probably was not who he had in mind.
You’re being too hard on yourself. He might merely be running behind.
Her phone vibrated. It was from him.
LonelyHeart: Just arrived. Was running late but looks like you’re later than me. Your ETA?
Her ETA? He was here?
Frantically she looked around. This must be the wrong location because no one here looked remotely likely. Still, she’d already made that mistake. Two women were clearly meeting for a girls’ catch up. Financial Planner/Swim Fan was on a computer in the corner. But she’d been here for a good ten minutes, so even if Sadie had completely misgendered her LonelyHeart, that didn’t look like her coffee date.
Other than the staff, there was no one else except Gunnar … who had just pocketed his phone.
Grave walk chill right over her heart.
No, no, no.
She looked at the message thread again, checking the location of the coffee shop. She was in the right place.
Gunnar had put in their orders. Surely, if it was him, he wouldn’t be buying someone else coffee while he waited for a date? Except it wasn’t a date. It was merely a hey-how-are-ya-let’s-put-a-face-to-the-texts meet-up and Sadie was the sad rescue he needed to expedite in the meantime because that’s what a guy like Gunnar did. He rescued damsels who did not want rescuing.
Only one way to be sure.
She inputted a message: Still a few minutes out. Can’t wait to meet you!
She hit Send.
The Viking robot didn’t even flinch. Not him. Phew.
Or not-phew? She checked her body’s reaction—surely that wasn’t disappointme
nt? She didn’t want it to be him. Under no circumstances could she imagine having anything in common with this superior know-it-all, or that he was the person she’d been joking, chatting, and yes, flirting, with for eight months.
He paid for their coffees, and she was happy to say, a chocolate croissant (good boy), and moved to the pickup location.
Whereupon he pulled out his phone.
Whatever he saw on the screen conjured a smile that hit her full-on, a photon torpedo to the chest. He typed something and …
… the bomb in her hand went off.
LonelyHeart: I’m currently with another woman at the coffee shop. Long story ;)
Oh, yes, it was.
17
Of all the coffee shops in all the world …
Gunnar walked back to where Sadie was sitting. Her head was bent low, her nose practically stuck to her phone. Interfering in strangers’ business was not his style but the moment he saw her, he’d been curious. Walking by, he had overheard her conversation with that asshole, and a firecracker had gone off in his chest. A need to protect … though no woman had ever given off an I-don’t-need-you vibe more than this one. So, this was his problem, his desire to right a wrong while he saw it.
She looked exceptionally pretty today. Red-gold waves fell over shoulders that were half-bared with the wide neck of her dress. And that dress … it was gorgeous, hitting just above her knee, revealing an expanse of creamy leg that tapered to strappy sandals. It was a date outfit, of that he had no doubt. So why the hell was she wasting it on that dickweed?
“Here you go.” He placed the latte and the croissant down on the bar along the window.
She stared at the cup, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“That’s what you wanted? A foamy nonfat latte?”
“Yes! Yes, it is!” Her voice was high, her cheeks flushed.
He took a seat. “Listen, don’t worry about that jag off.”
“I’m not.” She looked away.
“Have I done something wrong, Sadie?”
Her snapped her head back. “You know my name?”
“Yeah. When Isobel and I were talking about Lauren, it came up.”
“I don’t know yours. Well, I do, because Lauren mentioned it, but it’s just a name, isn’t it? I don’t know a thing about you.”
She sounded bitter about her lack of knowledge, as if it was his fault she was out of the loop. Perhaps it was.
“I’m sorry. When we first met, I launched right into you and I guess we never got a chance to make proper introductions. I’m Gunnar Bond.”
“Right. People recognize you.” Her nose twitched. So damn cute. “What’s that about?”
“I play hockey for the Chicago Rebels.”
She nodded slowly. “I don’t really follow team sports. More of a tennis person. Do you know Serena and Venus?”
“I’ve met them a couple of times. Charity gigs. They’re really cool.” He licked his lips, feeling strangely nervous around this woman. “It was kind of nice when you thought I was a run-of-the-mill jerk instead of a pro athlete jerk.”
“I don’t enjoy being kept in the dark.” There was that tone again, a veiled accusation of some crime he was unaware he’d committed. Neither did she push back on the jerk thing. Understood. “It sounds like you know all about me. I suppose my family’s misfortune has been doing the rounds at hockey camp.”
He studied her. Her mouth quivered with emotion, her jaw stubbornly set in opposition. Those gorgeous silver-blue eyes shone with anger, daring him to piss her off more than he apparently already had.
“All I see is a woman trying to do right by her sister.”
“Ah, now I have your pity. Because of my criminal father and that asshole earlier? What exactly did you say to him anyway?”
“I explained how his teeth could be easily detached from his gums if he didn’t leave in the next thirty seconds.”
She shook her head. “I do not need that.”
“Really? Because it sounded like you were apologizing for tricking him into buying you a coffee.”
“Just a misunderstanding.”
“You seem to be at the center of a lot of those, Ms. Yates.”
“That’s me. Fooling men into buying me coffee by mistake since 2009. Look, you don’t have to stick around. Any embarrassment I felt has vanished and your duty to this charade is at an end. Thank you for your service, kind sir.”
Why the hell was this woman so prickly? More important, why did it make his skin sizzle like he was flying too close to the sun?
“We got off on the wrong foot. Maybe we could start over.”
She squirmed. Literally squirmed.
“Or not,” he added.
“Like I said, I appreciate you striding in here to do your manly man thing.” Her eyes were drawn to somewhere below his jaw, possibly his shoulders.
He was so confused. But he also knew that this was the first physical interest he’d had since … well, there’d been that time with Angel, last New Year’s Eve, in the bitter cold in Maine. When he’d asked for her picture and the thought of knowing who she was and what she looked like had ignited something below the waist.
Angel, who would be arriving any minute.
Sadie stood and hovered for a second, as if about to say something. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Not that. She hadn’t even touched it or the croissant.
“Sure, any time.” What else could he say? He couldn’t demand that she stay, not when the person he was meeting would arrive any minute. He needed all his bandwidth for that because how could he explain to anyone how he knew Angel?
Oh, just the woman who answered the texts to my dead wife.
He watched Sadie leave, enjoying the sway of her hips while she did her level best to exit his breathing space as quickly as humanly possible. Which made him feel incredibly creepy.
Taking a seat and a sip of his now-cooled Americano, he tried to parse what had happened. Anyone might be embarrassed to be insulted in public like that, but Sadie was surely made of stronger stuff. She’d stood up to Gunnar just fine when he made that false accusation of neglect.
Only one conclusion made sense: this woman hated him.
Sighing, he checked his phone, which had vibrated this second with a message from Angel.
Sorry, something came up and I have to take a rain check. Later!
That sounded about right.
Outside Jenny Isner’s house, Sadie sat in her car and did what she should have done the minute she found out who Judgmental Viking was. She employed her Google-fu.
Gunnar Bond, aged thirty-two. Youngest son of a Finnish ski champion mom and American hockey player father, both now living in Finland. Former captain of the LA Quake. Lost his wife and four-year-old twins in a traffic accident in California almost three years ago.
Sadie dragged in a choppy breath. There it is. She had inherited his wife’s phone number.
She scrolled through links to news items, most of them with pictures, usually the same one. A clean-shaven Gunnar in an LA Quake hockey jersey, carrying a beautiful blond little girl, all smiling eyes and smug contentment. And why not? He’d had it all. Beside him his wife stood with a blond boy in her arms. His wife, Kelly.
Yet again Sadie felt like a trauma tourist, spying on this man’s pain.
Gunnar Bond was Sadie’s LonelyHeart. Not hers, she shouldn’t say that. Shouldn’t even think that. What forces had aligned—or misaligned—to produce this crazy coincidence? More to the point, why had she fled the coffee shop instead of fessing up? It would have been so much easier to rip off the Band-Aid there and then, tell him who she was. Instead she’d panicked and allowed a situation to get more complicated. As if that were possible.
Fifteen minutes later, sitting in Jenny’s kitchen, she tried to calm her brain and make conversation like a normal person. Lauren was in the Isners’ den playing a hockey video game with Jason and Jason’s fourteen-year-old brother, Sean. Sadie really wanted to go d
own there and drag her home—put an end to this miserable day—but Lauren didn’t seem to have a lot of friends, so she left them alone.
Jenny gave a TV commercial mom smile. “Coffee or tea?”
“Tea would be nice. Thanks.”
This woman would know more about Gunnar. Sadie considered how to play it and decided to go direct.
“So what’s the deal with Gunnar Bond?”
Jenny filled a cup with hot water. “What makes you ask about him?”
“He was kind of nosey about Lauren yesterday, so I figured I could be nosey back.”
“Do you like him?”
Her cheeks heated. “God, no. Forget I asked.”
Jenny passed a cup of tea over. “I’ll let you steep that to your preference. In case you like it thick, strong, and bearded.”
“Oh, can it,” Sadie said with a nervous giggle. “So he’s good-looking, but that doesn’t give him a pass on being an ass. The man accused me of abusing my sister. As if I don’t have enough to deal with.”
“He was probably feeling overprotective. Do you know his story?”
She nodded. A man who lost his family might overcompensate when he suspected another child in trouble. “What happened to him was awful. I can’t imagine the pain he must have gone through. Must still be going through.”
Jenny considered this. “Theo’s worried about him. That’s why he persuaded him to come back from that cabin in the forest.” Over coffee yesterday, Sadie had heard all about Theo, who was Jenny’s husband’s son from a previous relationship. At Sadie’s quizzical look, she added, “Gunnar went sort of off grid and lived in the middle of the woods in New Hampshire for a few years after the accident. Goes there when he’s not here.”
The Unabomber cabin! Another puzzle piece slotted in. “Oh. That sounds lonely.”
Jenny smiled. “Yeah. The Rebels are big on brotherhood and bonding. No one’s allowed to be lonely, according to Theo.”
Sadie liked the sound of Theo. She also liked knowing that LonelyHeart had people looking out for him, even if the beneficiary of their kindness was a jerk like Gunnar Bond.
But they’re the same person, her brain chimed in.