Snowflake Wishes (Holly Springs Romance Book 1)

by Kasey Stockton

  Snowflake Wishes

  Holly Springs Romance, Book 1

  Kasey Stockton

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Kasey Stockton

  Cover design by Blue Water Books

  First print edition: September 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations for the purpose of a book review.

  Contents

  1. Madison

  2. Jake

  3. Madison

  4. Madison

  5. Jake

  6. Madison

  7. Jake

  8. Jake

  9. Jake

  10. Jake

  11. Madison

  12. Madison

  13. Jake

  14. Madison

  15. Madison

  16. Madison

  17. Madison

  18. Madison

  19. Madison

  Epilogue

  Next in the Holly Springs series

  Also by Kasey Stockton

  About the Author

  For Christmas lovers everywhere

  1

  Madison

  I saw the object flying right before it hit me square in the face.

  “Watch out!” a masculine voice yelled from the other side of the street.

  His warning was too late. Struck between the eyes by the small, but hard object, I dropped the box of Christmas decorations I’d been clutching and fell flat on my back, the wind leaving me in one quick swoop.

  My lungs searched for air as I lay sprawled on the sidewalk, my eyelids heavy and thick. A headache formed instantly between my eyes and I blinked slowly as a sparkly silver object came into focus on the cement beside me. My tinsel garland, of course. I blinked away the fog threatening to descend on me, the trash can next to me and tree branches above it slowly coming into focus. My nose throbbed and tears sprang to my eyes, blurring my vision and the man that was now leaning over me.

  “I am so sorry!” he said, picking up the errant Christmas decorations and shoving them back in the box. “I didn’t think that through.”

  I sat up slowly, pushing away the strong hands that gripped my shoulders. “I’m fine,” I lied. I was fairly positive my nose was broken and this idiot was to blame. My hands came up to gingerly cup my nose and I winced involuntarily, eliciting a frown from the man squatting beside me. Warm, gooey blood seeped from my nostrils and covered my fingers.

  The stranger pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it at me. I balled it up and pressed it to my nose. I couldn’t help but notice his expensive watch. What kind of man carried around a handkerchief? A rich one did.

  “Please, let me drive you to the hospital.” He glanced around, obviously unfamiliar with the area. “We should get someone to look at your nose.”

  We did not get strangers often in our small town of Holly Springs. When we did, they were either adventurers stopping for gas, or lost tourists in need of directions to one of the larger ski resorts they were heading to.

  “That’s really not necessary,” I said, coming to a stand. I felt fine. Aside from the probably broken nose and fuzzy feeling in my brain, naturally. And the blood. I glanced down at my shirt and groaned. It was never going to come out. Somehow it had even managed to drip on the short apron tied around my waist.

  He reached forward as though he meant to steady me and I pushed away his hands. Why was he constantly touching me? Uncomfortable, I stepped away. “But thanks anyway.”

  He scoffed. “I can’t just leave you like this. At least come in and sit down a minute.” He gestured toward The Bell behind us. “This place looks quiet.”

  I clenched my jaw. He didn’t know; he couldn’t. I leaned down and picked up my box with one arm, keeping the other pressed to my nose. My voice came out nasally. “Yeah, it’s quiet.”

  He stepped forward, his longs legs crossing the distance in one stride, and held the door for me. I set the box on the floor and took a seat at a booth along the back wall. The blood seemed to have slowed. I grabbed a napkin from the table and pressed it to my nose, shoving the sodden handkerchief into my apron pocket.

  He slid in opposite of me, his dark eyebrows pulled together in concern. Combine his angular jawline and piercing blue eyes, and I had a veritable romance novel cover model on my hands. Perhaps that was what he was doing around here—an on-location photo shoot.

  Honestly, a man this conventionally handsome could not be anything but a model. His shoulders were too broad and eyes too blue for much of anything to be going on in that perfectly styled head of his.

  “What was it that hit me?” I asked, a headache forming above my eyes.

  He grimaced. “A bottle of hot sauce. I was aiming for the trash can.”

  “From across the street?”

  He had the grace to look chastised. He glanced away, giving me a view of his profile—he even looked perfect from the side. If he was not a cover model for romance novels yet, then he really should be. He could make a killing in that field.

  “Wow,” he said under his breath. “The service here is something else, isn’t it?”

  “I’m sure they’ve got a good reason for taking their time.” I glanced around the small diner, trying to see it from an outsider’s perspective. It was quiet, yes. But it was also simple, and lovely, and rich in history. But then again, I was biased.

  “If I yell out to Duke do you think he’ll answer?” He indicated the framed photo on the wall behind the counter. It hung beside the award for Best Diner in Town, with the name Duke Bell typed in the winner’s line. “No wonder this place is empty. No one is working.”

  I stiffened. Reminding myself that this stranger knew nothing and would shortly be gone forever, I pasted a smile on my face. “Are you hungry?”

  “Actually, yes. I went into that market down the street but all I got was an energetic sales pitch on the guy’s homemade hot sauce. I bought a bottle just to get him off my back.” He laughed. “Then I escaped.”

  “Fred.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I kept the annoyance from my face. Or, I tried to. “That guy’s name is Fred and he runs the market. The market where he sells his homemade hot sauce.”

  Hot sauce which this guy used to break my nose.

  I stood, my irritation nearing a breaking point. The bell rang over the door. I glanced at the entrance and caught Britney’s eye before turning back to the stranger and pulling a notepad from my apron pocket. “What can I get you?”

  His eyes bulged as he took in my apron for seemingly the first time. “You work here?”

  “You could say that.”

  He was either dumbfounded or working really hard to recall every point of our conversation where he’d talked about my diner. I shoved the napkin in my pocket, the blood seemed to have stopped for now, and tapped my pen on the pad while I waited. Britney took a seat at the bar behind me and my false smile stretched further the longer I waited.

  He cleared his throat and turned to face me, his arm lying lazily across the back of the bench. “Do you have a decent soup selection?”

  “I’m not sure what qualifies as decent, but I’ve got a French Onion today and a corn chowder.”

  “I’ll take a French dip sandwich then.”

  “Soup?”

  “French Onion.”

  “Drink?” I
asked.

  “Coke.”

  I pivoted away, sliding behind the counter and giving Britney exasperated eyes. I caught my messy reflection in the picture frame on the wall and dipped a fresh napkin in a cup of water before wiping the dried blood from my face.

  Britney looked over her shoulder and turned back to me, her sleek blonde eyebrows raised in question. I tried to silently convey that I would not be discussing the stranger while he was sitting in my diner. I filled a glass with Diet Coke and placed it in front of her with a straw before starting the sandwich on the stove against the wall.

  Whether from sheer stubbornness or an effort to assuage my pride, I delivered the best French dip sandwich and soup I had ever made with a fresh Coke and a side of hot fries.

  “I didn’t order the fries,” he said when I placed the plate in front of him on the table.

  “On the house.”

  “Oh, but I don’t…”

  I looked at him expectantly. He didn’t what? Want them? I tried to smile, growing less patient as the headache grew more pronounced. The ring of the bell above the door saved him from answering and I left him to eat in peace as I seated Mrs. Hansen and began brewing her regular mug of tea.

  I delivered the mug with a side of plain rye toast—there really was no accounting for taste sometimes.

  “Madison, you’ve a little something right there,” Mrs. Hansen said, pointing to the bridge of her own wrinkled nose.

  Instinctively I reached up to touch the bridge of mine and regretted it instantly. “It’s probably a bruise,” I explained. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

  Safe behind the counter again, I slumped forward, resting on my elbows.

  Britney peered at me over the rim of her cup, her head tilting to the side, her eyes squinting.

  “That bad, huh?” I asked, my voice low and nasally.

  “Um,” she said. “No?”

  “I just hope it doesn’t turn into two big black eyes.”

  Britney grinned, loudly sipping the dregs of her Diet Coke. “You could always reschedule your date with Patrick.”

  I groaned. “I can’t, though. I’ve rescheduled three times already and I need his help moving my furniture.”

  “I’m going to tell him you only want him for his body.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I said, laughing. “But I might need to borrow a little concealer.”

  “Girl, you’re going to need more than a little.”

  A throat cleared to the side of the counter and I straightened. The cover model was standing a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets. That was quick.

  “Can I get you something else?”

  “No, it was great. I left cash on the table.”

  “Wonderful. Thanks for stopping in,” I said, trying very hard not to sound sarcastic. “If you’re ever back in Holly Springs be sure to stop by The Bell.”

  He gave me a look that clearly said he knew I was delivering my spiel with a side of sarcasm.

  He nodded and left.

  “Explain,” Britney said before the door had even closed all the way behind the guy.

  I shrugged. “Nothing to say.”

  Her face was a picture of doubt. “There’s a handsome stranger eating in your diner that you seem to have a strong dislike for and you’re sporting a bruised nose. There’s a story here.”

  “He hit me in the face with a bottle of Fred’s hot sauce.” I raised my hands to stave off her indignation. “It was an accident, but then he had the gall to insult my diner.”

  “Ah, I see,” she said, leaning back on her stool. “And he’s only passing through?”

  “Probably,” I said, removing her empty glass and wiping the counter to remove water rings. Hardly anyone passed through anymore, and when they did, they never stayed long. It was something which would need to change if I was going to save the diner.

  Britney sighed. “I hope you’re wrong.”

  Ignoring her, I moved around the counter to clear Hot Sauce Guy’s table. The full plate of fries sat untouched. Scoffing, I dumped the plate in the clean-up bin with the rest of the dirty dishes.

  “My boyfriend is constantly out of town and I need some eye candy. We could use some fresh men,” she said, spinning around on her stool. “Especially if they look like him. They don’t make them like that in Holly Springs.”

  2

  Jake

  Hitting that woman in the face with a bottle of hot sauce had not been my strongest moment. But, in my defense, she appeared out of nowhere. And I hadn’t been the leading quarterback for my high school football team for nothing. Usually, I had excellent aim.

  I hadn’t meant to offend her, either, but it wasn’t my fault she brought out fries. I didn’t ask for them.

  I reached my car at the end of the block and slid into the front seat.

  My phone lit up. Two missed calls. I closed out the notification screen; I would call back when I had something to pass on. Plugging the address into my map app, I pulled onto the road, following the computerized woman’s commands until I reached a yellow house with a wrap-around porch at the end of a quiet street. It wasn’t too far from the center of town, but still far enough away to have some privacy.

  Blowing out a breath of pent up frustration, I leaned back in my leather seat and gazed at the house. My black Audi stood out like a sore thumb in the quaint, relaxed neighborhood. I should pull away before I was spotted, but something about the quaint little yellow house beckoned me. And I hadn’t come all the way to Holly Springs just to work.

  A knock came on the passenger window and I jumped.

  A young kid with a backward baseball cap pressed his face to the window, squishing his dirty nose against it in a pig-like fashion.

  I rolled the window down a bit and he jumped back. “Hey, mister,” he yelled. “What was that for?”

  A smudge remained on the outside of the window. I could have wiped it away if I still had my handkerchief, but it was now in an angry waitress’s pocket covered in her blood. Gross.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  The small blonde boy looked confused.

  I swallowed my annoyance. “You need help finding your house?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

  Then go away. I pasted a smile on my face. “Better run along then,” I said tightly.

  He scoffed, and then obeyed. I would never understand children.

  I turned back to look at the yellow house and stilled. A woman stepped from the door, her white hair cut short and curling under. She wore a red sweater and carried a large bag over her shoulder. I slid lower in my seat.

  A banging on the passenger window made me jump. The kid was back.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, loudly.

  “Shhhh.”

  I glanced back at the house but the woman didn’t appear to have noticed us yet.

  “Who are you?” the kid asked.

  I turned back to him. “A stranger. Clearly you shouldn’t be talking to a stranger.”

  “Why are you watching Mrs. Hart?”

  Swallowing, I wracked my brain for a way to get the kid to leave. He was asking too many questions and he was going to attract attention.

  The kid’s grubby fingers gripped the top of my open window, forcing me to cringe. I bet this town didn’t have a detailing service. An idea hit me. “You want money?”

  That seemed to get his attention. I dug in my wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. Well, it would have to do. I had nothing smaller. I shoved it toward the kid and his face lit up.

  “Now you can go home,” I said, holding onto the money.

  “Okay,” he said, tugging. I let it go. “Thanks, mister.”

  I stayed low in my seat while the woman got into her station wagon and pulled out of the driveway. That car had to be almost as old as I was. Was she unable to afford anything better? I held my breath while she drove past me. She hadn’t seemed to notice. But then aga
in, why would she?

  My phone buzzed loudly in the cup holder and I picked it up.

  Mark was calling again.

  I answered. “Hey, man.”

  “Any updates?” Mark asked. Always so direct. He got the candid genes, I guess. I was left with the tact.

  I was tempted to tell him about the kid I bribed to leave me alone. He probably wouldn’t have found it funny, though. “I think we might be chasing a dead end here.”

  “What is your data to back that up?”

  I swallowed a sigh. It was a pointless endeavor.

  I glanced at the idyllic yellow house. The only reason I accepted the job was because of her. Mark had to know that, even if he pretended he didn’t. “I don’t have much data, Mark. I’ve been here for two hours. I haven’t even spoken with the owner yet.”

  “The old Jake would be done with the project in two hours,” he snapped back.

  Well I wasn’t the old Jake anymore, was I? “I’m doing you a favor here,” I reminded him. “And it’s going to take a few weeks, at least. You knew that before you sent me here.”

  “It’s not a favor if I’m paying you. Don’t waste my money.”

  I hung up before I could snap back at him. Older brothers were the absolute worst. I pulled my computer from the back seat and switched it on. No Wi-Fi.

  I glanced about me. The plethora of trees and absence of buildings was going to make my job a little harder. I’d done jobs all over America, of course, and even some across the ocean. But usually I was in a large city. The architecture changed, but not much else.

  I groaned. I forgot to get the hotspot fixed on my phone, and I needed to work.