Page 6 of Sweet and Salty

Like I’m going to confess that. If I tell her, then she’ll tell me, and then I’ll be tempted to wonder what her house is like. If the walls are the same soft pastels as her shirt. If she has throw pillows on her bed. How big is that bed?

I settle my mouth into a frown. “Do you need to buy something?”

“Why?”

“Because you’re in a store. A hardware store.” I gesture at the shelves surrounding us, chock-full of goods, the need for which might have delivered this odd, quirky, beautiful woman in front of me.

She shrugs as though it’s as normal to go into a shop without any need to purchase anything as it is to buy fancy coffee on adaily basis. Maybe she’s never heard of student loan debt. “You didn’t answer my question about where you live.”

“Why do you want to know?”

She lifts her gaze to mine, her dark green eyes sparkling like sunlight off the frozen lake. And that metaphor right there tells me I’ve been in Wisconsin for far too long. “Maybe I just like hearing that gruff Southern mountain man voice you have going on.” Lightning sizzles down my spine.

Before I even have time to react, she bursts into a flurry of giggles, the laughter racking through her body and contorting her in ways that are definitely Not Safe For Work. The lower part of my abdomen heats.

“Sorry, sorry. Whew, I really needed that,” she says, wiping tears from underneath her eyes with the palm of her hand.

It’s enough to shock a smile out of me, my lips creaking like un-oiled, rusty hinges. “I live over on Elk View.”

“Really?” Her cheeks flush a rosy color. I’ll bet they do that when she…never mind. “We’re neighbors then. Which house is yours? I hadn’t heard of any going up for sale.”

“Oh, I didn’t buy.” I can’t afford it now. “I rent a cabin. Just past the white barn with the green roof?”

Her jaw slackens and her eyes widen. “What? They rented that shack? Is that place even habitable?” She pulls her phone out from the side pocket of her leggings and starts typing on the screen.

“It’s habitable. The roof isn’t bad.” Or wasn’t until the snow started melting and the weight of it pulled down the corner over the bathroom. “That’s why I work here. To figure out how to fix it up.”

She doesn’t answer due to the furious texting and swooshing.

“What are you doing?” I ask before I can stop myself. I should not be curious about her or any other person.

“Texting my brother. He’s the town sheriff.” She doesn’t look up from her screen. “It has to be some sort of crime to rent that to an unsuspecting tourist. It barely has four walls. I can’t believe Maddy Olmstead didn’t know or tell anyone at hot ham and rolls.”

“Who’s that?”

“She’s one of the town librarians and gossips. What, you don’t have a town gossip where you’re from?”

“No.” Not unless you count theFort Lauderdale Cryer, which, after they ran the wedding announcement, I never—

No. Absolutely not. I’m not going to think about this. This is the exact problem with peopling. It brings up all the old shit that’s far better buried.

So I lock down every part of my body that wants to talk more to this strange, lovely woman. I dump it all behind a door marked Do Not Enter, Dragons Inside and cross my arms over my chest.

Nothing like body language to drive a point home.

She finishes texting like she’s just run a marathon, sliding the phone back into her pocket. Strands of hair escape the control of her headband. She’s an appealing cross between sexy kindergarten teacher and Easter Bunny. “No worries. The Marshall family is on it. We’ll get this whole thing straightened out.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.” I hate the gruffness in my tone, but it can’t be helped. Not if I’m going to get through this purgatory. And not the boring, sterile, waiting-room kind. Season eight ofSupernaturalpurgatory, filled with monsters ready to consume and kill.

She rolls her eyes. I wonder vaguely if she’s a Sam and Dean fan, then promptly remind myself to check my curiosity. “No one in the Midwest asks for help. If someone actually asks for a favor, you’d better alert the fire department, National Guard,and the FBI. Take the hand. We look out for each other here. It’s one of the things you’ll come to love about St. Olaf.”

“I can’t imagine ever loving St. Olaf.” As soon as it leaves my mouth, I know it’s the wrong thing to say. All the brightness that our conversation had given her fades, and she wilts like a molten snowman. I bite back the apology. This is for her own good. “Can I help you find anything?”

“Oh. Right.” She sniffs, but there are no tears. “No. I know where everything is. I do wish Moe were here.”

“He’ll be back in half an hour. If you want to come back then.” I don’t think this is true. I’ve barely worked here for two days, and in that time “gone fishing” means “I’ll be back next Tuesday.”

“No.” She steps away and moves down one aisle. I try my best not to appreciate the shape of her perfect ass encased in her leggings.Here be dragons.

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