by Nicole Snow
“This is a big project, Alaska. Linking together that old hotel, the lab site, the mine...turning it into one big megastructure and then making it work. It’s gonna be another whole damn year to finish it.” He gives me a searching look. “You really ready to hunker down here that long?”
I’m not quite ready to say that I’m sold on putting down permanent roots here.
Because it feels like now there’s something new tied up in that, and a few things I need to work out for myself regarding a certain drop-dead gorgeous vixen and my own baggage I’m still carrying around after all these years.
“A year’s no skin off my nose,” I say carefully. “It’ll let Eli do a full year of school here. Wouldn’t want to pull him out and transfer him somewhere mid-year.”
“Definitely a plus.” He gives me a long, searching look, his brows lifting cynically, hazel-gold eyes discerning. “No skin off your nose, huh? What about off your eye? The fuck happened to you, man?”
I wince.
I’ve been ignoring the throbbing in my swollen eye all day after throwing together a little story for Eli, and ignoring the looks and curious ribbing from the crew.
“Shit. About that. Uh, I may have used up your favor with Sheriff Langley to get out of the brig.”
“What? I don’t care about that,” Holt says sharply. “I care about who knocked you around. You need backup? Because you came through for me, Alaska. You’ve had my back too many times, and I’ll be damned if I’ll leave you hanging when you need a hand.”
“It’s fine,” I growl, a little harsher than I intend. “It’s schoolyard shit, Holt. This asshole I knew back home with a grudge followed me out here to pick a fight, that’s all. I think he’s still rotting in the drunk tank. Langley wasn’t too pleased with some new guy wandering through and throwing punches.”
“Uh-huh.” Holt sinks into his chair, still giving me that look. “And how’d Miss Felicity Randall feel about it?”
“Aw, hell, don’t start.” I drag a hand over my face—and immediately regret it when I push down on that bruise. Fuck. Yanking my hand away from my stinging eye, I scowl at him. “Does the entire town think we’re a thing or what?”
That’s got to be mortifying for her with what she’s said people think of her.
Goddammit.
No wonder she won’t look at me.
Although that saved me this morning.
When I walked in the kitchen and saw her bustling around with that content look on her face that makes her seem like she’s dreaming something beautiful, God help me.
More than just my blood temperature spiked, surging a hundred degrees.
I had to be real careful to hide morning wood that could’ve hit a home run.
I’m a lucky man. That thin towel wasn’t covering much, barely holding in a throbbing salute to her glory.
Holt’s still grinning. “It’s the best gossip in town. Everyone loves it. I mean, except the usual culprits.”
“What culprits?”
“The buzzards. The clique girls who get jealous of every pretty lady who catches the eye of our dwindling local bachelors. They’re the ones who keep those rumors about Felicity spinning in the first place, and then wonder why they’re single.” His grin widens. “They’ve been gunning for you since last year. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Uh.” I stare at him. “No.”
“Oblivious. Right. More people than polar bears,” he says with an amused snort.
“Parent.” I snort back. “Gotta think about my boy before I think about anyone jumping my bones.”
I tighten my expressionless mask, making damned sure I don’t give away the lone exception to that rule.
“Yeah? Seems like Fliss and Eli get along pretty well, huh?”
Unfortunately, they do.
They jive in ways that tug at my heart, my gut, my every fucking thing till I can’t get certain thoughts out of my head.
She just fits so well into my life already, it scares me.
It’s not just about me, though.
It’s not just about her fitting into my life.
It’s about her wanting to be there, and I—hell, if I even start pressing for something real, she’ll take off like a bat out of hell.
Sighing, I give Holt a weary stare. “Look, can we hold off on planning my wedding? I’m happily single and fixing to stay that way, boss. I’ve still got too much to do for Eli to even think about stuffing someone up in his life that way.”
“You said it, man. Not me.” Holt holds his hands up innocently. “I didn’t say a word.”
Sure.
He said a lot of words.
A lot of utter shit I can’t stop thinking about, and not just because Holt put those thoughts in my head like the devil prankster he is.
If I’m being honest with myself, they’ve been in my head since the moment Felicity sat me down in her office and touched me so gently, fussing over my flesh wound with that sad look on her face.
I’m falling down a man-eating rabbit hole.
Dangerous territory.
No—worse.
I’m falling, period.
Falling headfirst for a woman with so many dark secrets it’s like I don’t even know her at all.
You know what the worst part is about falling for the ones you shouldn’t?
It’s how predictable it gets.
How you know you’re spiraling into one bad move after the next and you keep expecting this momentous breakthrough, when deep down you can see the sledgehammer coming toward you like a bullet train.
I can’t stay away from her.
Not on my life.
Last night, she came back to the cabin so late I barely caught a glimpse of her exhausted trudge before she collapsed into bed and was out cold in ten minutes.
I was five minutes away from heading out to find her myself, stuck in that memory at The Nest with Fliss in tears and those “contractors” who roughed up her place.
She’d mumbled something about monthly accounting and insisted everything was fine.
She’s drained.
Not scared.
That should be enough.
Fuck, I’m not her guard dog...am I?
The following evening, I answer my own question.
I’ve just picked Eli up from the Fords’ place after work, and the cabin feels too empty. I need to go grocery shopping, but tonight there’s no harm in picking up a treat or two from the pastry counter at The Nest.
As I park the Jeep in front of the kitschy little café, Eli lifts his camera and snaps a pic through the windshield. I glance at him, cutting the engine and lifting my brows.
“Really, little man?”
He pouts. “The lighting through the glass helps capture the energy of the place, Dad.”
I swallow a laugh. I don’t want my kid thinking I’m making fun of him, but he sounds like a pint-sized art critic. He came back from the Fords’ yesterday yammering on about color values and light palettes, fancy stuff I’ve never heard him say before in his life despite his passion for photography.
Doesn’t take much to figure out it has to do with that Tara girl.
Her aunt, Haley, is a professional artist, and apparently Tara’s intent on following in her footsteps.
My son, apparently, is intent on impressing an artsy big city girl.
Yeah, kid. I know how you feel.
Even if the girl I’m aiming to impress is as small-town as it comes.
Suppressing my grin, I give him a nudge, then step out and follow his enthusiastic stride into the bustling café.
After Brody’s, The Nest is the town’s evening gathering place. People stop by in groups to socialize, have a little dessert, a lot of sweet coffee, and catch a boatload of gossip.
Suddenly I’m self-conscious, and not because I’m painfully aware of the eye-grabby attention from the gaggle of superficially pretty women. Their eyes stab at me the second I walk in.
Thanks, Holt.
Mo
re than anything, it’s because I’m painfully aware of Fliss, this lively whirlwind behind the counter.
Her part-timers have nothing on her when she ignites the place like she’s trailing magic wherever she goes. The Nest zings with her personal touch added to every order and always greeting everyone with a sweet smile and good humor no matter how short or surly they might be with her.
That’s what gets me most.
Even now the vulture crew daggers her with ugly looks, but they still come here and slurp down her coffee with fake-ass smiles.
And I know Fliss well enough to know she’ll still return a genuine smile every time, and not just because The Nest needs the money.
That’s who she is.
She notices Eli before she sees me.
He breaks away and runs up to the coffee bar, vaulting himself onto a stool and calling, “Felicity! Come see, I just got this really cool shot of the café!”
She lifts her head, and her smile blazes even brighter. Fuck.
“Just a second, Eli.”
She finishes her latest transaction, waving her customer off with a sunny laugh, and turns back to Eli—only to halt midstride as she catches sight of me.
Then her smile vanishes.
That shouldn’t make my gut plummet.
It’s back a second later, after that split-second falter, returning with the slow creep of rose-pink across her cheeks. She glances away, tucking her hair behind her ear in a delicate gesture that makes my chest thump, my pulse throb, my attention seize.
Shit.
Have I been misreading her this whole time?
Is she not avoiding me because maybe—just maybe—
Damn.
I damn myself for the hope flaring in my chest.
This is madness.
I just well told Holt yesterday that I’m not doing this. No chasing her down. No way, no how, no dice.
Eli comes first, forever, and anything else is secondary—including women so damaged and pretty they could drop a man cold.
Yet, as Fliss flashes me her shy smile, leaning over the bar to look at the viewscreen on Eli’s camera, my spinning head doesn’t want to listen to the thought of her playing second fiddle.
Breathe, you fucking moose, I tell myself.
I do, taking a deep, fortifying breath before I sit next to Eli, leaning in shoulder to shoulder with him for a look at his latest.
It’s a good shot.
The windshield’s natural filter adds a glazed tint to the deepening mix of twilight purple and gold falling over the café’s exterior. The glittering lights illuminating the people look more like a dramatic painting rather than a photograph.
Felicity’s eyes linger on it with focus.
I smile. Once again, it strikes me how she just gives herself to things that way, how she takes Eli seriously and actually seems truly entranced by the photo.
Her eyes gleam with wonder as she reaches for the camera and then stops, curling her fingers.
“Eli,” she breathes. “It’s so lovely. I almost didn’t recognize the place.”
Eli beams with pride, blushing like Felicity. My heart thuds in my chest with mixed pride in my kid’s talent, and that frigging tug almost hurts when I see how they are together.
She’s so good for him.
I’d have to be blind to not know he misses having a mama. And Felicity’s supportive interest just makes him bloom in ways I’m not sure I can give, even though I’ve been trying like hell.
Could we be good for her, too?
Could she handle a package deal?
I’m about to split open wondering about all the things I shouldn’t, especially this thing I’ve been trying to deny that’s getting too big to contain.
The magnetism that keeps pulling me to her.
The destructive want I’ve been trying so hard to avoid.
Let’s be real. She’s not the only one who sometimes won’t look. Having her in my home—up close and personal—has been making me ache nonstop.
Just glimpsing her sleeping in my bed with her hair splashed over the pillows in a cinnamon cloud, her drowsy puttering over that French press in the mornings, my eyes always caught on the falling strap of those loose tank tops she likes to sleep in...
I don’t understand how I’m this fucking wrecked.
How and why I’m obsessed with a chick so closemouthed I don’t even know her middle name.
I don’t need to know it to feel some kind of way I don’t dare dwell on, though.
I know she loves her mother.
I know her father hurt her.
I know she’s had it hard, and she never stops smiling.
I know she’d let herself shatter to keep someone else from hurting.
I know when she loves something, she loves it with her all, and she gives herself over to it without a second thought.
I know when she smiles, it’s full of pain.
I want to know what it looks like when her smile’s running over with joy.
I know enough, dammit.
Just never enough to feel like I’m anywhere close to satisfied.
I must be staring. I clear my throat awkwardly, pretending I’m just people watching.
I’ve probably got the most ridiculous look on my face. Because when she glances up and catches my eye, she jolts a little before ducking her head with a thoughtful quirk of her lips.
“Sorry,” she says. “Evening rush gets crazy. Is there something I can get you guys?”
“Coffee, black,” Eli says, drawing himself up. “Tara says that’s how her aunt’s friends drink it. They’re all artists.”
He earns himself a Dad look, and I ruffle his hair. “This one gets decaf, or he can have soda, juice, or milk. Take your pick, polecat.”
“I’ll take you not calling me that.” He sticks just the tip of his tongue out at me. “Hmph. I guess I’ll have a Diet Coke.”
Felicity chuckles. “Watching your figure, Eli?”
“Huh? No!” He sputters in a way that means yes, and I wonder just how smitten he must be with this Tara girl.
For his sake, I hold my tongue.
Felicity’s busy, and Eli looks like he’s about to crawl under the nearest table.
“I’ll take my usual,” I say with a smile.
She glances at me, the curl of her lips lingering, then nods. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
It feels like she lingers just a little longer on my drink, putting extra care into making it.
...and I’m giving my kid crap about being smitten?
Ha.
Even after Fliss leaves our drinks in front of us—and refuses to accept a single penny for them, calling it payment for room and board, along with a free muffin for me and a giant cinnamon roll for Eli—I can’t help but watch her.
How she moves.
The little gestures she makes.
The way her gaze drifts toward me almost unconsciously every now and then—before she realizes it and snaps her eyes away.
I try not to chuckle.
I thought Eli was busy with his camera, so I’m not expecting the playful poke right in my ribs, along with an amused stage whisper. “Hey. Just ask her out, Dad.”
“Hey, yourself.” I bump him back with my elbow. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why?” He just grins, and goddamn if he isn’t my kid with that wickedness in his smile. “You scared Miss Felicity’s gonna find out you like her?”
“I think half the town’s figured that out already, but if you can let grown-ups handle grown-up business, it’s probably in your best interests.”
“What’re you gonna do if I don’t?”
“You want dish duty for a week?”
“Hey!” he echoes, scowling at me. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
I’m bluffing. The boy doesn’t need to know it, though. Not when I’m the one ready to crawl under a table, now.
Thankfully, Fliss seems oblivious to our crap.
; She murmurs something to the girl working the register, then turns to slip into her back office, fingers working at her apron.
I crane my head to follow. I have a few questions I desperately need to ask her, and if she’s as tired tonight as she’s been lately, she won’t be in any shape for a heart-to-heart when she gets home.
On the other hand, if I can steal five minutes now...
I brush my fingers against Eli’s arm. “Will you be okay out here on your own for a few minutes?”
“Huh?” Then he turns his head to follow Felicity’s retreating back, and grins. “Sure. Go get ’er, Dad.”
“It’s not like that,” I grumble.
How did I raise such a little monster?
Raking my hair back with a frustrated hand, I slide off the stool and angle through a few people lingering around the bakery display case, marching down the corridor into the back.
I catch up with her just as she ducks—not into her office—but into the back storeroom. It’s dark and close and oddly homey. Giant sacks of beans and grounds fill the space with the rich scents of mingling coffee blends. Several upper shelves are lined with new-looking five-gallon glass cold brew jugs stamped with The Nest’s curling logo.
“Hey, Fliss,” I say, leaning in the doorway, watching as she hangs her apron on a hook just inside the door—only to fumble at the sound of my voice, catching her breath and glancing at me wide-eyed.
“Oh—hey,” she sputters, clearing her throat. “Everything okay out there?”
“Yep. Just wanted to catch you before you came staggering in after midnight with your tank on empty.” I offer a smile. “This a good time to talk?”
Her puzzled expression clears, only to ice over.
She leans, peering past me before beckoning quickly.
“Close the door. Please.”
I step inside, pulling the door shut behind me, which makes me realize how narrow this room is with so much packed in here. There’s barely a foot between us and next to no air circulation.
I’d swear the balmy heat isn’t coming from the close quarters, but from her.
Still, I try to ignore how my chest tightens, the way my lungs want to swell like balloons to inhale her, and focus on the issue at hand.
“What’s the plan? We can’t leave the gold at the vet’s office forever,” I say, ignoring how her teeth pull anxiously at her lip.