The Sweet Talker

by Cathryn Fox

  “Are you okay?” Wiping her hands on a cloth, she comes out from behind the counter to get a better look at me. Stupid tears prick my eyes, and I try to fight them back as I hold my hand up to wave her off, like what just happened out on the street was nothing more than an unfortunate incident. But it wasn’t an unfortunate incident. Not to me. No, to me I’d just lost a huge part of my soul in that snowbank, and nothing or no one can bring it back now.

  “It was an accident,” I say, working to push down my anguish and hating myself for the way I treated a complete stranger. Mr. Pothole, or whatever his name was, never meant any harm, and he definitely didn’t drive into that puddle on purpose. I hold one finger up in front of Kayley’s worried face. “Pothole, one.” My thumb and index form a circle. “Josie, zero.” I struggle to project my best happy voice despite the storm going on inside me.

  Another customer enters the store as she shoos me away. “Go get changed, I’ve got this.”

  With little choice in the matter, I nod, walking to the back of the chocolate shop, thankful that my apartment is above it and I don’t need to go outside again. I was on my way to Coffee Klatch to grab a couple of lattes for Kayley and me—Christmas time is crazy busy at the shop, giving us little time for breaks—when I accidently dropped my phone into a snowbank.

  I was seconds from fishing it from the slush when I was assaulted by a cold puddle. Some might say after that incident, the rest of the day could only go uphill, right? Heck, right up until that moment, I tried to be one of those positive people—despite the pain I’d been through over the last year. But this time, I couldn’t summon any glass-half-full attitude. Watching that plow drop its blade, and undoubtedly scoop up my phone and carry it away, sliced my already wounded heart in two. I’m surprised I didn’t bleed out on the ground. I know, I know, you’re probably thinking, it’s just a phone, it’s replaceable. You’d be right. The one thing that’s not replaceable, however, is the voice message my late husband sent me last year before he passed away.

  I haven’t been able to bring myself to listen to it, and that’s why I packed up my store in Boston, moving to Holiday Peak. A fresh start. A fresh town. A fresh—or rather not so fresh—puddle of dirty slush in the face, and everywhere else.

  “I’ll be right back,” I say to Kayley, pretending to brush remnants of snow from my face. It’s a week from Christmas, the holiday spirit is high here in Holiday Peak, and tears are the last thing anyone needs to see. I’m not a girl to bring anyone down. Before I can make it to the back room, the bell over the door jingles and I spin, half expecting to see Mr. Pothole. My gut clenches as the town’s sheriff, Patrick McCullum walks in. His eyes go wide at my disarrayed state.

  “Josie, what happened?”

  “Fight with a pothole, the pothole won,” I explain. Maybe if he sees me like this, he’ll stop asking me out. He’s a nice man, as sweet as can be, but I’m just not attracted to him. Not that I’d go out with him even if I did like him. That would dishonor my late husband’s memory. Since it’s not in my nature to hurt anyone, a couple of months back, I told a little-white lie, just to preserve his feelings. I point to the back steps. “I’m just going to go get changed.”

  “Yes, go. Wouldn’t want your boyfriend showing up for the holidays seeing you like this. He’d think we weren’t taking good care of you in this town.” The fine lines below his eyes crinkle, a light dusting of snow in his salt and pepper hair. As I take in his smile, there is a part of me that suspects he doesn’t believe I have a boyfriend in Boston. He’d be right. Who knows, as a sheriff, maybe he even did a bit of digging.

  “He would never think that. He knows how much I love Holiday Peak.”

  His brows raise. “He is coming for the holidays, right? I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

  “Yeah, uh sure, that’s the plan. I’d better go get changed.”

  As I head up the steps, I berate myself for lying. Nothing good can come from it, and now I’m caught in a web of deceit, with Patrick expecting my boyfriend to visit over Christmas. As I scold myself for that fib, my thoughts switch to my behavior on the street. I was upset and angry, not so much at being soaked, but at the loss of my phone. I never should have taken my troubles out on Mr. Pothole. He offered to make things right, pay for dry cleaning, buy me dinner, and weirdly, take me axe throwing. Strange, but nice, and there was something about his eyes—a kindness in them that really caught me off guard—that drew me in. That could also be why I lashed out. Everything about him triggered a reaction in me—desire. Guilt quickly followed.

  Since he was with Declan, the town’s hockey hero, I can only assume he plays for the Seattle Shooters too. From his physique, his body all strength and power—not that I was really looking, it’s just a hard thing not to notice when a guy is that built—I can only assume he’s a defenseman. I’ll have to get a hold of Declan’s mother, find out who the guy was and send him a box of chocolates as an apology. That almost makes me laugh. I’m soaked because of him and I’m the one apologizing? But seriously, I should have handled the situation better. He’s not the reason my phone is gone. Why the heck didn’t I listen to the message? I had a whole year. But I already know the answer to that. I couldn’t bear to hear Jon’s dying words. Maybe in some way that kept him with me, gave me some twisted sort of hope that he wasn’t really gone. Unfortunately, that thinking is unhealthy and damaging, and keeps me stuck in the past, yet there is nothing I can, or want, to do about it. Moving onward and forward would be a dishonor to Jon and our marriage.

  I hurry up the last steps and push open my apartment door. I’m instantly greeted with a bark and a wagging tail. Miss Mabel, named after Mabel, a lovely lady at Coffee Klatch who took me under her wing when I moved here, is quite happy at the unexpected sight of me. Mabel was the one who suggested a puppy, a chocolate lab, like the name of my shop. It’s like she could see the loss deep inside me, the need for something to love. Mabel had lost her own husband years ago, and if there was one person who knew what I was going through, it was her.

  I drop to my knees as Miss Mabel licks at my jacket. “That’s yucky, Miss Mabel.” I give her a kiss, and stand to check her water bowl, which is almost full. “Would you like to get out for a quick walk before I have to go back to work?” Her tail wags faster and I hurry out of my damp jeans and coat. At least my sweater survived. I tug on yoga pants, a heavy vest, and a different pair of boots as I hang my clothes to dry.

  I snatch her leash. “Come on, girl.”

  Outside she drags me down the sidewalk, wanting to sniff everything. I really need to find the time to get obedience classes. Everyone wants to stop to see the fifty-pound puppy, and she soaks up the attention. As we get closer to Coffee Klatch, she begins to sniff harder, and like a dog on a mission, she makes a beeline for the shop, knowing Mabel will always have a treat for her.

  The door opens, and a man steps out, his back to us. Miss Mabel breaks free from me, and I call out to her, but it’s too late. The guy turns, something in his hands, and Miss Mabel jumps up on him, knocking him to the wet sidewalk. Mortified, I run and the second I see exactly who she knocked over, the world closes in on me. I’ve been a good person. I pay my taxes on time. Donate to charities and help my neighbors. Why does life keep throwing me curveballs that knock me on my ass? Or in this case, Mr. Pothole on his ass.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say and try to drag my big pup off, but the guy is holding her favorite bear claw and she’s drooling all over it as he tries to hold it out of her reach.

  “Fine, take it,” he says and feeds his pastry to her, but at least he’s smiling. Correction. He was smiling, until his gaze finds me.

  Mabel, my friend, comes rushing outside. Something I don’t recognize moves over her face as she takes in the way I can’t seem to keep my focus off Mr. Pothole. Wiping her hands on her apron, she says, “Josie Moser, meet Brody Tucker.”

  “We already met,” we both say at the exact same time, and Mabel’s grin grows wider. Miss
Mabel gobbles the bear claw, and proceeds to lick Brody’s hand, and my insides tighten as Brody’s gorgeous blue eyes lock on mine. My God, his gaze hits like a warm caress, touching me in all my girly parts—parts that have been dormant for a long time now.

  It’s wrong to feel this way.

  I grab Miss Mabel’s leash and tug her off. She turns, sees her namesake and once again goes crazy, jumping up for more goodies. “You’ve had enough treats,” I scold. I turn back to Brody. “I’m so sorry. I’ll replace your bear claw, and your clothes. I can wash them or dry clean or whatever.”

  He sits up, and puts his arms on his knees, like he’s in no hurry to move. “That was some great payback.”

  “It wasn’t payback,” I explain quickly. I’m not the kind of girl who believes in revenge, and I don’t want him, or anyone to think I am. “It was an accident. I promise.”

  I hold my hand out to help him up, but he refuses it and really, can I blame him? I brace myself, waiting for him to be as ungracious to me as I was to him.

  “I got it,” he says, pushing to his feet. “You’ve—”

  “Done enough, I know.” I swallow down the guilt pushing into my throat as my cheeks heat, undoubtedly turning a bright shade of pink. Seriously though, I deserve everything he’s dishing out.

  He stands in front of me, and I have to lift my head to see his face. I’m average height, but Mr. Pothole—Brody—is tall. Wide too. Solid. Yeah, I guess if I tried to tug him to his feet, he’d only end up pulling me down on top of his yummy body.

  Yummy body?

  Good God, who am I? I don’t know, but I’m just glad he refused my hand. Falling on him would be horrible, make a rough day even worse, and I am not going to spend one second imagining what it would be like to be on top of him, or underneath him. Nope, not going to spend a millisecond picturing his arms wrapped around me, those big hands on my back, fingers splayed wide, heating me from the inside out as he explores my body. I gulp.

  Get it together, girl!

  “What I was going to say is, you’ve been through enough already. You know, with me soaking you, earlier.”

  “It was an accident,” I say.

  He glances at Miss Mabel. “I won’t hold it against her.”

  “No, I mean—”

  Before I can get the words out, apologize again and let him know I realize he didn’t soak me on purpose, Declan steps outside. His gaze bobs between the two of us and he backs up an inch, like he just stumbled upon a street fight or something.

  “Uh oh.” Sweet Miss Mabel jumps up when she sees he’s holding a box full of treats. “Whoa.”

  I grab Mabel at the same time Brody does, and our hands touch, not unexpectedly. But you know what is unexpected? The zap of heat that travels through my arm and settles between my legs. I quickly pull my hand back.

  “Let me help,” Brody says. “She’s still a pup and doesn’t know her own strength.”

  He gets hold of Miss Mabel’s collar, and kneels on the ground. Since he’s already wet, he doesn’t need to worry about dampening his knees.

  “Hey girl,” he says in a low voice that Miss Mabel instantly responds to. “Aren’t you pretty.” He runs his hand along her head and when he reaches her hindquarters, he gives a push. “Sit, girl.” She instantly sits and he smiles up at me. “She’s a good girl. She’s just excited, and in need of direction.”

  “What are you, the dog whisperer?” I ask, and even though I’m being very serious, everyone bursts out laughing. Another wave of heat moves into my face, and I’m about to backtrack when Brody turns serious.

  “You could say that.” He pets Mabel and she sits like a good girl, leaning into him. “I love all animals.”

  “Miss Mabel seems to love you, too.” Mabel says as she glances at me, a new kind of twinkle in her eyes. Good Lord, if she’s trying her hand at matchmaking, she can forget it. I am not interested in a relationship with anyone, especially a hockey player who’s probably only in town for the holidays. I don’t care how good looking he is, or how broad his shoulders are. A guy like him probably knows he’s God’s gift to women, and no doubt wears it as a badge. I’m just going to do myself a favor and steer clear. “Doesn’t she, Josie?”

  “What’s that?” I ask. Shoot, I’d lost myself in his broad shoulders for a moment…err…I mean I lost my train of thought for a second.

  Mabel’s grin widens. Dammit, busted. “Miss Mabel seems to love Brody, don’t you think?”

  Okay, Mabel. Your matchmaking is getting a little blunt here. I adjust my purse on my shoulder and send subliminal messages for her to cut it out. But she continues to smile at me, waiting for an answer. “Uh, yeah sure.”

  “Hey, she knows a good thing when she sees it,” Brody teases, standing, his big body towering over mine.

  “Well, she kind of loves everyone, and you were holding her favorite treat.”

  Declan snorts. “Of course, it was the bear claw,” he says, and grins at me. “Did you know Brody had no friends growing up? His parents used to tie a pork chop around his neck just to get the neighborhood dogs to play with him.”

  “Asshole,” Brody says, grinning, grabbing Declan, putting him into a choke hold. I laugh at their antics, tension ebbing from my body as the two play-fight like brothers, and when Mabel grins at me, I straighten my shoulders and pull myself together.

  “If you’ll excuse me. I’ll see about replacing your bear claw. Come on, girl.” I take hold of Miss Mabel’s leash and tug, but she seems reluctant to leave her new friends.

  “Hey,” Brody says, letting Declan go. “I’ll be in town for the holidays. If you want, I can give Miss Mabel some puppy behavior lessons.”

  I turn back to him, nibbling my lip. While that does sound good, and I just haven’t had a moment to work with her, I can’t just hand my pup over to a stranger.

  “I…I…well…”

  Miss Mabel leans against Brody, in a disgusting display of loyalty, as she wiggles in contentment. I meet her pleading eyes, and suspect she’s siding with Mabel, and trying to set me up. Traitors!

  Brody’s gorgeous blue eyes lock on mine. “I’d love to work with her.”

  “I can pay you.”

  “Sure, we can figure out payment later.”

  He winks at me, and my pulse jumps. Why do I get the feeling that he’s not looking for a monetary exchange? My deceitful body takes that moment to heat up, liking the idea. My God, I’m surrounded by traitors! My own body included.

  3

  Brody

  My mind is on Josie as I pull up to Declan’s childhood home, killing the ignition. I take in the twinkling lights on the bushes, as well as the big bulbs hanging from the numerous trees in the yard. An unfamiliar warmth spreads through me, and my chest squeezes.

  “People here really love Christmas, huh?” I say, like I find it amusing when the truth is, I kind of like it. But Declan can see right through me, knows me well enough to understand that I had a lot of loss and bury my emotions behind humor. A coping mechanism, I guess.

  “It’s a thing.” From my peripheral vision, I can see the way he’s eyeing me, assessing me. I keep staring straight ahead and he opens his door. “Come on.”

  Grabbing our bags from the trunk, snow crunches beneath my boots as I follow him up the walkway. The front door opens and his mother, a huge inviting smile on her pretty face, spreads her arms when she sees her son coming her way. As they embrace, my chest aches right around the vicinity of my heart. But I’m not going to let my own lack of family bring me down. Although I have to say, it really would be nice to have a place to call home. I have my house in Boston, decorated by professionals, but it lacks a woman’s touch. My thoughts drift to Josie. Everything about her screams home and hearth, and that weird burning sensation in my chest grows as temporary insanity takes hold of my brain, having me imagine what it would be like to rush home to her after a hard day on the ice.

  Declan’s voice pulls me from my musings as he introduces me to his mot
her, Donna, and I smile as she pulls me into her arms, like I’m one of her own. I’m about to stop her, not wanting to get her all wet, but she doesn’t seem to care, and you know what, it’s a nice feeling. A foreign feeling, sure but also a nice one. I’m about to break the hug, but she doesn’t let me. Instead she squeezes a little tighter, like she might just know what I’m lacking in my life.

  “Brody, welcome.” She beams at me as she finally lets me break from the circle of her arms. “We’re so happy you’re spending the holidays with us.”

  My heart pounds a little faster, instantly at ease here. “I’m happy to be here,” I say, handing over the flowers I purchased for her on Main Street, right after Miss Mabel ate my bear claw.

  “Oh how thoughtful.” She sniffs the flowers, and her eyes briefly close as she takes pleasure in the floral scent. Her eyes spring back open. “Come in before you catch your death of cold.” We step inside and the warmth of the home washes over me, embracing me in a tight squeeze similar to the hug Donna had just given me. “Brody, how did you get all wet?”

  Shit. I examine her clothes, note the few wet spots. “I’m sorry if I got—”

  She gives me a ‘do not worry’ wave. “I’m perfectly fine. It’s you I’m worried about.”

  “I slipped.”

  “Goodness, are you hurt?” My heart does a weird little tumble at her motherly concern.

  “Just my pride,” I say.

  “He was knocked over by a dog looking to get his bear claw,” Declan explains, handing the box of donuts over.

  Donna laughs. “Let me guess. Miss Mabel.”

  “The one and only,” I say with a laugh.

  “She’s a delightful little pup, but needs a bit of training. Josie is so busy with the shop, but the pup has been good company for her.” She goes quiet for a second, and it’s followed by a frown and then a tsking sound. “All alone in that loft over the shop. That’s just not right.”