by AC Netzel
Her cheerful smile fades. “Homemade scones are about to come out of the oven. It’s my award-winning recipe,” she says with a hopeful lilt in her voice.
“Thank you… but I really have to go. You know how it is, tons of work to catch up on.”
Not even remotely true. The only activity I’ve scheduled is to get my car rental back then get a feel for the area before I make the most significant sales pitch of my career.
“I’ll put something aside for you. No one leaves hungry at my inn.”
“Oh, you don’t have to,” I tell her.
She walks toward the coffee maker sitting on the doily covered credenza. “I insist.” Grabbing a coffee mug, she pours liquid life into it. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Yes to both. Thank you.”
“Here ya go.” She hands the steaming mug to me. “Maybe you can join us tomorrow?”
“Sure. Maybe.” I pivot and head toward the stairway before she ropes me into another conversation. “Thanks for the coffee.”
I’m two stairs up from my getaway when…
“Nicholas!” Holly calls out.
I stop mid-step and cringe. Gah! He’s here. I’m not mentally prepared for him—unless I can inject this cup of java directly into my veins right now. Every molecule of my body tells me to continue climbing up the stairs and hide out in my antisocial cave, but my Type A ambitions have other plans. Turning around, I trudge back to the dining area.
“Where’s Noelle?” Holly asks him.
“Petting the neighbor’s dog. She’ll be right in.”
Whoopee, I get to meet the girlfriend too.
“I changed my mind. Your scones sold me,” I blurt out as I casually stroll into the dining room and turn my attention to him. “Oh, I didn’t realize someone else was here.”
Our eyes meet, and a slow, sexy smile lifts from his perfect mouth.
The sleeves on his red and black plaid flannel shirt are rolled half-way up his arm, showing off an impressive forearm and bulging biceps that strain against the fabric. His faded jeans look like they were made just for him. Wavy chestnut hair is playfully tousled, in a just rolled out of bed, I don’t give a shit, kind of way. And those blue eyes are absolutely magnetic. I swallow hard, not expecting him to look so… masculine… rugged… and Mmm.
Volunteer Deputy Lumberjerk Nick Snow is hot.
“Good morning,” he says, looking me up and down. “Didn’t peg you as an early riser.”
“Rooster,” I answer flatly, playing it cool.
He nods in amusement. “Good Ol’ Ebenezer. You can set your watch to him.”
“The rooster’s name is Ebenezer?”
“Yeah, he’s a cranky old bird.”
I smile back while I figure out where to steer our conversation. Proposing property sales is definitely not on today’s to-do list. They mustn’t know why I’m in Arid Falls, not just yet. I can’t make a pitch until I figure out my angle first.
“So, what are you doing here? Stalking me?” I tease.
“Yes, I am,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Oh.” Didn’t expect that answer.
“I spoke with Jeb. Your car should be here later this afternoon. I was stopping by to leave a message with my aunt to give you.”
“And you came all this way to tell me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I huff out a long breath. “You make me feel like an old lady with all that ma’aming. Please call me Summer.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smirks. This sarcastic bastard likes to mess with me.
“Funny,” I deadpan. He may be nice to look at, but God, I hate this guy. I redirect my attention to Holly. “Is that bacon I smell?”
“Sure is. Do you like bacon?”
“Love it.” My dream is to lie out in the blazing hot sun in a bacon dress, turn on all sides until my dress is crispy, then slowly strip bite by bite.
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll bring out a full tray.” Turning to Nick, she raises a brow. “I trust you’ll be hospitable to my guest.” That raised brow is a warning. Holly knows her nephew is a pain in the ass too.
I like Holly.
He bends down and kisses her cheek. “Absolutely.”
With a stern expression, she points her finger at him. “I’ll be right back.” She walks into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Mr. Sexy Asshole.
“So, what brings you to Arid Falls?” he asks.
“Err… uh,” I stumble on my words and take a quick sip of my coffee. I haven’t had time to develop my story entirely.
“Hellooooo.” The front door swings open, saving me. A young girl bundled in a puffy, pink jacket, barges inside and runs through the small lobby area into the dining room.
“Shh… inside voice. The guests are still sleeping,” Nick hushes.
Her hand flies to her mouth. “Sorry,” she says through her pink mitten. She looks me over, carefully regarding me. “Are you a guest?”
“Umm. Yes, I’m staying here.”
She turns to Nick. “She’s pretty.” Then she looks back at me. “Can you cook?”
“I… yeah. Well, a little,” I answer.
“You should date him,” she declares.
I almost choke on my coffee. “I don’t think Noelle would like that very much,” I tell her.
They stare at me with the same confused expressions.
“What?” I ask.
“Why not?” she asks, placing a hand on her hip.
“Because that’s his girl…”
“Niece,” he adds before I can finish my sentence. “This is Noelle. My niece.”
“Oh,” I shake my head, “I thought. Well, forget what I thought. It’s nice to meet you, Noelle.”
She whips off her hat and shrugs out of her puffy pink coat, dropping both to the floor. An untamed mane of chestnut hair sticks out in every direction. Her eyes are the same brilliant blue as her uncle’s.
“Ah-hem,” he cautions.
She rolls her eyes in spectacularly dramatic fashion. “I know, I know. I’m picking them up.”
I turn to Nick while Noelle is busy hanging her wet outerwear on the hooks near the front door. “Babysitting?”
“No. She’s mine.”
“But you said you were her uncle.”
“I am.”
“Sorry, I’m not following.”
His expression turns serious. “My brother and sister-in-law died two years ago,” he says softly. “Ice sculpting accident. Tragic. The chainsaw…” Closing his eyes briefly, he shakes his head, never finishing his thought.
“Wow, how awful.”
“Accidents like that are more common than you’d think. I’ve had custody of Noelle ever since.”
There’s nothing common about that. That’s the freakiest of freak accidents I’ve ever heard.
“I’m so sorry.” Gently, I place my hand on his shoulder. “Taking in your niece is a stand-up thing to do.”
He glances at her adoringly then back at me. “Other than my Aunt Holly and Uncle Kris, we’re all we have. I’d do anything for that little snow angel.”
“Warm scones, fresh out of the oven,” Kris interrupts as he enters the dining room holding a tray piled high with baked perfection. With his white whiskers, red thermal shirt, and black suspenders, all he needs is a red-nosed reindeer traipsing behind him to complete his Santa transition. “Holly’s been baking up a storm.”
My mouth waters and stomach growls from the delicious aroma. “Smells like heaven. Are there any pumpkin spice scones on that tray?”
The room falls silent. Holly slowly creeps in, clutching her oversized pearls with horror flashed across her face.
“What?” I ask, staring back at the wide-eyed glares focused on me.
“Miss Sloane,” Holly says, clearly appalled. “It’s December. Pumpkin Spice season is over.”
“I didn’t realize there was a season for a flavor.”
“Dear, there are strict unwritten rules universally recognized by everyone
in civilized society. Honestly, does one wear white after Labor Day?”
I do.
“No?” I shrug.
“There’s gingerbread and apple.” She points at two piles of scones on opposite sides of the platter.
“Gingerbread sounds great.”
Her satisfied smile broadens as she unclutches her pearls and straightens out her poinsettia print apron. “Wonderful choice. Have a seat. We’ll get the rest of breakfast.”
Nick pulls out a chair. “For you, ma’am,” he teases.
Jerk.
“Thank you, Volunteer Deputy Snow.” I sit, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“I wanna sit next to her,” Noelle squeals as she grabs the seat to my right.
“Fantastic,” I lie.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Summer.”
“What’s your name in the winter?”
“It’s still Summer.”
She scrunches her nose and her lips pucker. “That’s weird.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I drop it. I guess to a kid that makes sense. Except for giving up my seat on the subway for one, I have no real experience with children. Even as a kid myself, I preferred adult company. Typical childhood milestones never interested me. Writing, reading, art museums, and planning my financial future with my accountant father was all I cared about. Even at the ripe old age of seven. I never outgrew it.
Holly and Kris carry in tray after tray of traditional breakfast staples from the kitchen. Three silver chafing dishes are set up on the credenza with scrambled eggs, home fries, and strips of bacon. Butter, homemade jellies and jams are placed on the long farmhouse table alongside the platter of scones that are definitely NOT pumpkin spice.
“Eggnog, Miss Summer?” Kris asks. “Made it myself.”
“Eggnog? Like with brandy, eggnog?”
“Ho, ho,” he says with a deep belly laugh that’s one ‘ho’ short of a brothel. “Gracious no.”
Too bad… some brandy may have taken the edge off the weirdness in this room.
“Sure, I’ll have a little. Thank you.” This meal beats my crappy protein bar by a mile.
“Here you go, Noodle,” Nick jokes as he places a full plate in front of Noelle.
“My name is Noelle.” She rolls her eyes, annoyed. Even the kid knows he’s irritating.
“When you finish your breakfast, I’ll walk you to your lessons at Ms. Carol’s,” Nick tells her.
Lessons? I can work with this.
“Oh, I play piano too,” I add, searching for that common thread that will unite us. “I loved my piano teacher.”
Her nose wrinkles, one eye slightly squinting. “I don’t play the piano.”
“Sorry, I just assumed. What kind of lessons are you taking? Guitar? Foreign Language? Martial Arts?”
“Caroling,” she answers.
“You mean voice lessons?”
“No. Christmas Caroling.”
That’s a thing?
“Oh, that’s very…” I pause, searching for the right word, “specific.”
And strange.
“It’s pretty common around here,” Nick tells me.
I nod. “Of course. Because it’s Christmastime.”
“No. Because folks around here like to carol. All-year-round.”
He said that with a straight face. I wait for the punchline, but I don’t think it’s coming. This is one eccentric town crammed with Christmas crackpots.
“Ah, that makes sense.” It doesn’t. “The bacon sure smells good,” I say, changing the subject.
“Stay seated. I’ll make you a plate. What do you want?” he asks.
“You don’t need to.”
“I’m already standing. What do you want?”
“Everything. It smells amazing.”
He smiles. “Trust me, it is.”
Turning his back to me, he plates our breakfasts. I stroke my index finger under my bottom lip and soak in the view of his broad, muscular back and perfect ass.
“Here you go.” He turns around, handing me a plate piled high with ‘worth the extra miles on the treadmill’ calories.
I reach up to grab it, our fingers brushing lightly against each other. Our gazes meet, and he gives me a half-smile.
“Umm, thank you,” I say softly, giving him a polite smile back.
“You’re welcome.” He pulls out the empty chair next to me and sits with his breakfast plate.
I look on either side of me. I’m a Snow sandwich.
“So, Summer,” he says.
“Ah, you are capable of saying my name.” I raise a sly brow, break off a piece of crispy bacon, and pop it in my mouth.
He chuckles. “I suppose I am. What brings you to Arid Falls?”
I weigh my answer to this question carefully. I have to be honest enough that I’m not entirely lying, but not so honest that I’m telling the whole truth either. This is a mighty fine line I’m treading.
“To look at some property.” Specifically, yours.
He cocks his head to the side. “Really? I didn’t think small towns appealed to you. You know, they’re full of busybody cultureless hacks.”
“I didn’t say that.” I totally did. “If it came out that way, it’s because I was stressed out, tired, and hungry. I apologize for any misunderstanding.”
“So, you’re planning on moving?”
“Hopefully.” To a better apartment when I get a raise for snagging your lot.
“Hmm,” he hums with a skeptical expression across his face.
“What’s that hmm about?”
“I didn’t picture you to be the type of person to live in a place like this.”
“Really?” I ask, surprisingly offended because he’s a thousand percent correct. “Why not?”
“You seem…,” he hesitates.
“Spit it out, Snow.”
“You seem a little high maintenance.”
“Pfft. You’d be surprised what I’m capable of. And incidentally, my maintenance is none of your business.”
He leans in close to my ear and whispers, “From what I see, you maintain yourself pretty darn well.”
I take in a quick breath, surprised at his close proximity and fresh-out-of-the-shower clean scent. This person sitting next to me, living in this insane world, is all man. An attractive, clean-smelling, hard body, delectable man. A warm feeling rushes through my veins.
No.
I’m not attracted to him.
His unexpected sweet talk released some wayward pheromones into our shared space. My pheromones are merely drawn to his. And my traitorous body responded.
I gulp down a swig of eggnog, wishing it was spiked to high heaven. Ignoring the tingling sensation shooting down places it has no business being, I fake a smile.
“Very funny,” I whisper to him, feigning shock. “And inappropriate.”
Not buying my dismay, he grins and straightens himself back into his chair. “Where are you planning on looking?”
“Not sure. I thought I’d drive around today and get better acquainted with the area, but I don’t have a car.”
“I’m free for a while. I’d be happy to give you a tour,” he offers.
“Really? I don’t want to intrude on your Sunday.”
“Sure. Noelle can come back here after her lesson. She loves spending time with Holly and Kris.”
“Are you taking her on a date?” Noelle asks out of nowhere.
My eyes widen, and I shake my head. “This is definitely not a date.”
“Too bad.” She puffs out a long, exaggerated breath. “He needs a girlfriend.”
“That’s enough, Noelle,” Nick warns.
I turn to her, amused, and a little afraid. “Just how old are you?”
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Eight.”
“I’d have guessed much older,” I half-joke.
“Uncle Nick says I’m an old soul.”
“My dad used to call m
e an old soul too.”
“Really?” Her eyes widen, twinkling with excitement.
“Yeah.” I lean in towards her and whisper, “Us old souls are extra special people.”
She beams a radiant, genuine smile that lights up the room. There’s something about this feisty little girl that touches me. Kindred spirits, maybe.
“Love to all.” We’re interrupted by a couple of middle-aged hippies donning tie-dyed shirts, matching fringed vests, a ridiculous amount of turquoise jewelry, and the glazed look of peace and harmony in their eyes as they enter the dining room. The man is sporting a long gray ponytail that ends in the middle of his back and a soul patch under his bottom lip. The woman, with jet black hair as long as Rapunzel’s, has a daisy-embroidered headband tied around her forehead.
I’ve done all the socializing I can handle so early in the morning. I stare down at my plate then shovel my remaining breakfast in my mouth at record speed. It’s a shame because I barely taste what I’m sure is bursting with first-place awards, blue ribbons, and all sorts of crap for best everything ever baked, broiled, or fried, but…
I can’t with these hippies.
I just can’t.
“Whoa, you might want to actually chew your food before you choke on it,” Nick tells me.
I narrow my eyes in his direction, then resume my eating frenzy.
After wiping my mouth with my napkin, I crumble it into a ball and throw it on my empty plate. “Done.” I turn to Nick. “I’m running upstairs to change. Will you be ready to go soon?”
He laughs, looking down at his half-full plate. “Sure.”
I turn my attention to The Woodstock Experience in front of us as they pour themselves some herbal tea. “Sorry. I have to leave. Enjoy your meal.”
The man with the long ponytail smiles and flashes me the peace sign. “Groovy.”
Chapter 8
After sprinting upstairs to my suite, I change out of my yoga pants and sweatshirt. Retying my hair into a bun, I take a quick shower.
With a towel wrapped around my nakedness, I open the closet door and survey the neatly hung, in color order, collection of clothing I brought. I overpacked as usual. Enough clothes are hanging here to keep me in a different outfit for weeks.
Do I go with casual or business attire? Even though I’m stealthily figuring out the guy, I want him to feel confident that I’m a capable businesswoman he can trust with the sale of his property once I come clean with my true intentions. Then again, he seems pretty down to earth. Dressing casually may make him more comfortable with me—like I’m one of them, and he’s passing on his property to family.